Is this momentous day approaches once more, it seems appropriate to include, along with the memory gem, which many have asked to have reprinted for the occasion, the letters which came in response to Ruth Vernon's recent letter, which included a mention of Mother's Day. It is especially appropriate that one of the letters is from "Twenty Some" who originally contributed Gillan's poem to the column last fall.
Mother's Day seems to me to be a wonderful day to retain in the calendar and I, like the rest of you, feel that father deserved credit too. But I would rather build up a separate Father's Day wouldn't you? Seems to me we could spare a day of peace for the two wonderful people who gave up themselves and ordered their lives for our sakes. Mother's Day is not a selfish day, even for the mothers. I know as a pack my box of dewey crabapple blossoms for my own little mother, I am not thinking of the day as it tribute to me, although I am a mother, for I know in my heart that I have not gone far enough nor done well enough to deserve tribute yet. I am thinking only of her, and the sweetness of her influence, and all the lives that touched her.
Thinking Back
As she sits at home on Mother's Day, and receives the boxes and the telegram for her six scattered children and their mates, I know that she is not accepting them smugly as her due, but is thinking back to her mother –little lame, Grandmother Kate, that ardent unvanquished spirit, who raise seven children and conquered the trials of pioneer life as gallantly as any emperor marshaling his legions against barbarians, and who, at the age of 85, left this life for one which I hope will provide her a satisfying outlet for her activity and her brilliance.
So it goes. No mother is basking in the glory of the day, though the remembrance and appreciation of her children is sweet to her, but each is looking back and laying her gratitude at the feet of her own mother. It is a sort of answer to worship which broadens the heart in humility and reverence. – Hope.