Originally Published: May 14, 2002 6:15 p.m.
It's waking up sick, and she's there holding my hand.
It's crying just after I skinned my knee and being held tight.
It's throwing my spinach into my milk and listening to her laughter.
It's getting dressed for my first day of school and not understanding her tears.
It's skipping kindergarten on a beautiful spring day, getting caught, and seeing her smile.
It's tracking mud through the living room and hearing her run the bath water.
It's seeing her on her knees trying to find my pet snake, which she never especially liked.
It's remembering how she looked when I got my first pair of long pants.
It's thinking about how interested she was to hear about my first day of high school.
It's recollecting how cool she tried to be when I came home from my first date.
It's reflecting on how proud she looked when I got on the bus to leave for college.
It's wondering how she managed to tolerate my pseudo-sophisticated college ways.
It's being hugged and loving it when we celebrated my graduation.
It's never forgetting the look in her eyes when I said good-bye and left for Korea.
It's rejoicing together when we saw each other after I returned.
It's watching tears of joy as she welcomed a daughter into the family on our wedding day.
It's marveling at how young she looked when she held her granddaughter for the first time.
It's finding her sitting rapturously intent on helping her grandson put together a new Christmas toy.
It's holding her tight and listening to her sobs when my father died.
It's sharing her last several years together as her health declined.
It's reminiscing on a life in which she gave so much to us, her family.
It's being a son who remembers her with deep love on this Mother's Day.
(Ron Barnes is a longtime Prescott resident and a semi-retired educator and businessman.)