"All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother," Abraham Lincoln.
He lost his mother at age 9; I kept mine until I was 58. She’s been gone for a dozen years, but I miss her still. I was a momma’s boy, and my closeness to her made me who I am, so I am grateful.
I was lucky that I married a woman who liked my mother and vice versa, although in the early years of our marriage, my wife was concerned about my weekly telephone calls with my mother. Those tapered off over time.
Mom was a marvelous and talented human being, who turned out two marvelous and talented sons. I fancy that I am carrying on her work of loving kindness.
I am not a man of regret, but I do wish I had been more thoughtful when I pulled up stakes and moved 3,000 miles away to college. Alas, I think we are all pretty self-centered at age 18, so I devoted nary an instant’s thought to the pain she suffered when her beloved son abandoned her. I spent another nine months living with her during the rest of my life, but the first transition was, I think, harder than it needed to be.
Sorry mom. Thanks mom!
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