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| 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
