Today’s story begins yesterday, or perhaps before, for when does a story really begin?  Yesterday my Dad called me early, I laugh, for early now that I have retired is not the same as it was before. I answered the phone and he tells me that the shelf in his garage fell down as he was taking out the ladder.  Well the story actually began before yesterday as my brother said the week before said he would clean dad’s gutters so yesterday dad decided he would get the ladder out from the garage for my brother.  Well taking the ladder out of the garage is not an easy task as first, it is a big ladder, then it is stored back in the corner, and Dad’s garage is like packed-to-the max so getting the ladder out is a challenge even for me, must less my ninety-two year old dad.   As dad was getting the ladder out, he bumped the shelf on the garage wall causing it to fall.  Well this was the highest most shelf, the shelf where all the Christmas decorations were stored, things you only needed once a year.  It didn’t just stop there; the Christmas shelf fell on the shelves below it and so on in a dominoes effect and ended with several shelfs and their contents falling off the wall.  On the good side, Dad wasn’t crushed under the avalanche of falling Christmas decorations, but it left the garage in a disaster.  So, Dad calls me first thing in the morning and tells me what happened and says “You need to come over and fix it.”  My brother was coming over to clean the gutters so he could help.  Shortly after my dad called to tell me this my brother calls and tells me Dad called me and said I was going to meet him to fix the shelves. 

  So, I spent three hours fixing the shelves, taking what hadn’t falling off, removing old broken brackets off the wall, installing new brackets, reattaching the shelves. In the process I had to move things out of the way, old things, things from years long ago.  Amongst the fallen debris was a trunk filled old things my mom had saved; baby shoes and baby clothes from me, my brother or sisters, old baby blankets, my mom’s cheerleader sweater with a big “W” on it.  With Mother’s Day this Sunday, what a poignant, twist of fate that my dads accident caused me to open a chest of keepsakes from my mother, things she cherished, things deeply rooted.    

I repaired the shelves, restored the items on them, but there were some things that needed attention.  The baby shoes and clothes my mother saved I asked my niece if she would want them for her new born child, my mother’s grandchild she didn’t live to see.  I contacted my sister and she want’s Mom’s cheerleader sweater.  From mother to daughter, to granddaughter the keepsakes will pass as it should.    

Today my dad called me from his car and said he had just bought some flowers and if I would go with out to Mom’s grave to place them upon it.  Dad had mentioned doing this earlier in the week but I just let it pass away but he didn’t forget.   Dad came by and I drove him out to the old country, to the Shiloh cemetery, and we put new flowers on Mom’s grave and cleaned up Grandpa and Grandma Junior’s grave.  We then went to over to the Flemington cemetery and put flowers on Dad’s mom’s grave.     

Where does this story begin, yesterday, last week, with our mothers or fathers, with their mothers/fathers, our grandmothers and grandfathers.  We or all deeply connected to our mothers and fathers before us, and theirs before them.  On this special day we call Mother’s Day, we pay homage, respect and gratitude to our mothers.    

 I deeply feel my Mother’s presence in me, for it is deeply rooted    

Larry Mixson, 07-01-2019