Mom and Me, 1968
I’ve been wanting to write a tribute to my mother now for quite some time, so when it was announced that the topic of this edition of the Carnival of Genealogy was mothers, I was thrilled. But then “something” came up, as usual. Blogging, and life in general, has been non-existent for the last two weeks because I’ve been sick. As in feeling-awful, missing-work, doctors-don’t-have-a-clue, everyone-please-stay-away-from-me sick. But I also had what you might call writer’s block caused by the subject matter, not my clogged brain – what do I write about that sums up my mother and how much she means to me?
Mom and Me, 1975
It’s not that there’s a lack of material – there’s so much to say! Do I write about how I almost lost her (that is, she almost died) three times in my life – including the day I was born? Or how she taught me everything I know about my faith in God? Or how her beliefs and illnesses shaped my views on health? Or how she’s without a doubt the World’s Greatest Cook? Or about her extreme generosity? Or her talents as a dancer? Or her unfulfilled dreams that could have used her other talents? Do I talk about how she met my dad? Or how hard it was for her to simply become a mother and the sicknesses she endured after giving birth?
I simply have too much to say about my mother, but I felt too sick these past two weeks to say any of it. I even missed Mother’s Day itself last week. But the COG deadline is today, and I am finally feeling better. I realized I can fully introduce my readers to my wonderful mother with one simple story. While I was home sick, she brought me chicken soup. Twice. I’m not talking about that stuff they call “soup” that comes in a can – no, this is the real deal as only my mother (and deceased grandmother) could make it. Oh. So. Good. I’ve tried to duplicate this magic; I’ve failed. To put this act of charity in perspective, I’m not a child sick in my room upstairs. She’s 73 years old, but she drove twenty minutes to come to my house (dragging along my dad, also recovering from a bad cold). She came because she knew it was the only thing that would help me get better. And it did.
But I have a theory on that…I don’t think my cure came 100% from that delicious chicken soup. No, not entirely. I have no doubt it came from my mom’s love. You see, she’s my chicken soup for my soul. Who could ask for anything more?
Mom and Me, 1997
[Written for the 72nd edition of the Carnival of Genealogy: Mothers]
What's Past is Prologue 
What a great way to sum up what your mom means to you, “chicken soup” for your soul. Perfect.
Donna, I literally have tears in my eyes. When I came to that last paragraph, they just poured down my cheeks. I thought of all the times I have been sick and needed some of my grandmother’s soup (not chicken, but delicious vegetable). Thank you for reminding me of a mother’s and grandmother’s love that is so healing. Your mother was a beautiful woman, inside and out!
Simply beautiful.