A Mother's Touch

This is a picture of my mother and me. The back of the picture says it was taken in June 1943, so I would have been 3 months old. I have many pictures of my mother holding me, cuddling me, adoring me, touching me.

My mother and father were married for seven years before I was born. I know my mom loved children. There are many photographs of her holding her nieces and nephews as babies, and then even when they were in the four-to-six-year range, she was there holding their hand.

I don't know why my mother and father didn't conceive any children for six years, because once mom had me, she had children at regular intervals, until she was told that to have another child could endanger her life.

I wish I could remember more clearly those times in the pictures I have of mom holding me.

I do remember, however, times when I, as a young girl, would sit on my mom's lap while she read to me. I remember sitting next to her in church, and she would rub my hand with hers. I remember the feeling of that touch. A mother's touch.

I regret that I didn't touch my children more than I did. I am in awe of the remembrance I have today of my mother's touch.