Mother.

Kind.

Giving.

Nurturing.

I was her eleventh child. She lost her husband when I was nine months old.

The door to Ada’s home was always open and she knew how to warm one’s belly. Had times been different for women, more than likely she would have owned a restaurant. I imagine it would have been a farm-to-table affair because of her green thumb.

She was beauty. When she looked in the mirror, she’d tilt her head this way and that—who did she see?  Lifting a tube of ruby lipstick she smoothed it across her lips—perfection every time.

Her eyes sparkled and filled with magic when she’d tell stories. And any news you had to share she’d revel in the moment too.

She listened. Whether you were happy or sad she was always there. She never judged. She never offered unsolicited advice. What she gave was love—unconditional love.

Her eyes reflected a life veiled by time. I’ll never know her dreams. I’ll never know the young woman who enlisted in the Women’s Army Corp in 1944—forever she will be a mystery to me.

Everything I am, all that I have, the woman I’ve become . . . I owe to my MOTHER.