I want my mama

60 years ago my mama was 40 years old. She knew just what to do when her little girl had a bad cold. Her words echo, "put some sox on your feet, get back in bed, I'll be there in a minute." The minute seemed like eternity because I wanted her attention so much. Her loving hand on my forehead as she checked for a temperature. A new washrag that she had cooled in ice water that would replace her warm hand. She would smile and say, "it will run it's course, you'll be fine in a few days." She'd leave then and I would dread the time she would be gone milking cows, feeding livestock and bringing water into the house from the cistern. Before long pots and pans began their noisy trek to the stovetop and oven where she would be preparing homemade macoroni and cheese because she knew it was my favorite. Where are you, mama? As tears begin to form in my eyes from missing you, you appear in my mind just behind the figure of God and I hear you say, "it will run it's course, you'll be fine a few days." I love you, mama.