One year ago today my mother died. It was probably the most horrible day of my life, and I have missed her terribly since.
One thing I am glad that I did over the last few years was write down some of the stories she told me about her life when she was young. So, instead of writing something today that makes me and everyone else want to cry, I am going to share one of my favorite stories that my mom told me about when she was growing up on a small farm in rural Wisconsin. My mother was the youngest of the family, and she was a small child during the time of this story. The family consisted of her older sister, Grace, and her parents.
“One late spring, we had a duck that hatched about four or five ducklings. One day, the babies went missing. While my parents and Grace were milking, I walked around the front and back yards looking for the ducklings.
Suddenly, I heard faint quacking, and walked toward the sound. It grew louder as I got closer to a hole in the ground made by a fence post that my father had pulled out. He hadn’t yet filled in the hole, and when I looked into the hole, I found the ducklings at the bottom! I reached down, brought them up, and they were reunited with their mother.
I couldn’t wait to tell my parents!”
I always enjoyed hearing my mother’s stories from when she was growing up. I am hoping someday to make a book of them so Mother will never be forgotten. I miss her more each day.