For Those Whose Mothers Died Young

Nancy Hanks

If Nancy Hanks
Came back as a ghost,
Seeking news
Of what she loved most,
She'd ask first
"Where's my son?
What's happened to Abe?
What's he done?"

"Poor little Abe,
Left all alone.
Except for Tom,
Who's a rolling stone;
He was only nine,
The year I died.
I remember still
How hard he cried."

"Scraping along
In a little shack,
With hardly a shirt
To cover his back,
And a prairie wind
To blow him down,
Or pinching times
If he went to town."

"You wouldn't know
About my son?
Did he grow tall?
Did he have fun?
Did he learn to read?
Did he get to town?
Do you know his name?
Did he get on?"

- Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet

***

GJ - I do not mean to provoke anti-Lincoln comments. I grew up in Illinois, where Lincoln is on the license plates, in an area where Lincoln served briefly in the Blackhawk War. Our college library had a collection of Lincoln materials. He was a saint, in other words.

Someone posted on Facebook about a mother who died relatively young. I know several people who had that experience, probably the most dominating event in their lives.

The poem is quite touching, a good reminder to consider mothers while they are still alive. Mine lived to be 90 plus, active until the end, still composing poems on the fly as we wheeled her around the nursing home. She even led the nursing staff in a rousing singing of "God Bless America." When we did not sing loud enough, she made us start again. I think she was remembering her teaching days in WWII.

We sang "Don't Fence Me In" with the rest of the nursing home. I thought nothing of the song. When it was finished, she said, "That's me."

I thought, "I got this from both sides of the family."

Some have absent or disappearing dads, and some fathers die young. I remember my neighborhood friend losing his dad while we were in high school. It was a sudden heart attack while painting in a closed garage. My friend became a cardiologist.

Runaway fathers make their sons very insecure and perhaps far too attached to Holy Mother Synod. I imagine they also have great ambivalence about their mothers. Was it her fault? His fault? Both?

I worked at my father's shop, from age 8. The early years meant a few hours on Saturday. Later I worked full-time during the summers. That gave me an introduction to quality ingredients, perfectionism, and working long hours.