What My Mother Means To Me

In December 1951, I turned ten years old-- Harry Truman was president of the United States, The Korean Conflict raged on a faraway peninsula, The Golden Gate Bridge closed due to high winds. My mother developed melanoma in her left leg. In December of 1956, I turned fifteen years old-- Dwight D. Eisenhower was president of the United States The Korean Conflict was over, Asian flu reached pandemic levels, and, Elvis Presley purchased Graceland. My mother died on a hot July 1957 evening in our home, And our lives changed forever-- For, you see, our mother meant the whole world to us. Elizabeth Agnes Allport Hankins was only forty-two-years old when she passed away, leaving three children: my sister Lois, the oldest at twenty-two, my brother Jimmie, the youngest at ten, and me. Two communities mourned the death of our sweet, Godly mother who for a little over five years, through suffering and pain, cared for us kids and taught us how to care for ourselves, for “After I’m gone,” she would say, “You’ll need to know this.” We never heard her cry, We never heard her complain, We never heard her express fear. We never heard her question her faith in God. For years, no matter where I was living, I would always return on Memorial Day to visit my mom’s grave in that old, overgrown cemetery in the West Virginia hills. One Memorial Day, I suddenly realized something I had not before. My mother never has lain deep in that cold, stony ground-- She forever lies in the sweetest, Godliest depths of her children's hearts, She is still watching over us just like she always did, and, because she is always with us, We need never go back. FIRST PLACE WINNER Written on March 28, 2021 For the “Mother” Contest Sponsored by Constance La France