Praise for my Mother

Helen and Ozzie

In two days we will celebrate Mother's Day.  I always think of  my grandmother because she suffered so much during her years as a mother.  Having her house boarded up and sent out into the desert with her children and a few things on a donkey.  Could I have ever done that?  So, in honor of our mothers and grandmothers, I share this poem that my own mother wrote for her mother.

PRAISE FOR MY MOTHER

Come, my precious mother, my song of praise will be for you

You, who has loved with her heart and soul, honest and true

In the “Old Country” known as Aintab, was the birthplace for me

Where the Turks killed so many Armenians, not a nice place to be

How you carried me next to your heart, wandering here and there

Saddened, heart-broken people, were scattered around you, everywhere

You managed to nurse and diaper me...(Oh Lord, I can’t comprehend how!)

It seems like a miracle, when I stop and think about it now.

You lost five of your children to the ravages of the Genocide

Your very soul must have cried, deep, deep down inside

Yet you held on to Christianity, reading your bible faithfully

knowing there is a Heavenly reward, kept you going remarkably

Like the wandering Gypsy, we moved, not knowing where to stay

Syria, Jerusalem, Italy, France, were the countries we tried along the way

America stretched out it’s arms to Armenians, in need of love and care

We found it to be the best–no more for us to compare.

I remember so well, in our young tender growing years;

When my brother and I sat besides you, bible in your lap, no more fears!

How sweet the stories were.  With childish delight we’d turn to God’s book,

As we snuggled close to you,...cozy in your own little “nook.”

During “depression years,” you worked and worked so hard, my dear mother

Never  hearing you complain, but praising God for bringing us together

Our big round oak table in the kitchen, was a fun place to be

Talking of happy things, laughing and eating, feeling very free!

Whatever my problems on earth may be,

Mother, you listen and tell me very carefully:

“Count your blessings my dear...you have many,”

“Name them one by one...you will then feel lucky!”

For our Christian fellowship, I am indebted to thee

Dear Lord....Sweet Lord...Bless my Mom for ME!

Azad 1981