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Poem

Every Sunday, my sisters and I would tag along with Mom
To the church down the street,
Excited for the day to unfold.
Mom would wear her Sunday’s best; I remember she looked so elegant,
With a fancy hat on her head.

We’d walk up the many steps as fast as we could,
The church bell ringing as we knelt.
To this day, I believe it was the most beautiful church.
The memories created as a child bring so much comfort.

Mother handed us each a dime, clutched tightly until
The basket was in front of us—
The offering.

Each visit down that way finds me passing and longing for simpler times.
My sisters and I would excitedly hurry ahead, knowing our next stop—
The little corner store.
The Ma and Pop shop where you were treated like family,
And a little treat made its way to our hands.
Nothing too big, just enough to feel the sweetness.

We’d hurry home, especially in the summer,
To gather blankets, a bread bag holding peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
And a big orange cooler full of Kool-Aid.
The trek to the beach felt long,
But frolicking in the water on a hot day
Was pure joy through a child’s eyes.

Arriving home with sand in our hair and in our suits,
A reminder of a mother’s greatest gift:
Start the day with the Lord and end it with
What memories are made of—
Priceless childhood moments
Dwelling in the recesses of your mind,
Made even more magical in our twilight years.

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