Mary Louise Marshall Harris

I went to visit Mom this morning.  

A fresh quilt was tucked neatly around her.

Her complexion and lungs were clear today.

She remembers my name, 

      the names of family, 

          is aware of her surroundings.  

The radio was tuned in to her country station.  

Overall, she appeared well.  

This past summer, my Aunt Betty gave me a special gift--

the copy of Little Women which Mom received as a Christmas gift on December 25, 1941, 

so I brought it to share with her today.  

She was very moved to see the handwritten inscription by her mother, my grandmother Leona, 
on the inside front cover: 

 "To Mary Louise Marshall, Merry Christmas 12/25/1941, With Love, Mother."  

I helped guide her fingers to the place on the paper across which her mother's hand once moved
a touchstone to her childhood--for both of us.    

I showed her the beautiful illustrations.  

She wanted me to read her a few pages, 

and so I turned down the radio and 

tried to make Jo and Amy and Beth and Meg come to life in her imagination.  

As I read I kept peeking at her to see if her eyes were closed,

but they were open--staring at the ceiling.  

I paused occasionally to relate a part of the story or a description to her. 

 "Meg had an abundance of soft brown hair and full lips."

--Mom, you must have looked like Meg.
This book is the only evidence I have of her childhood and of my grandmother.
Leona Baxter Marshall died prematurely at the age of 52, three years before I was born.

Then we sang together--

she remembers all the words and every note of the tune to The Lord's Prayer 

and I read her the scriptures from today's lectionary readings.

I didn't have to prompt her to sing.  

She simply joined in, joyfully.

I showed her videos of her great-granddaughter Emma on my iPhone 

(in this case, technology, especially Facebook, is WONDERFUL!)  

We reminisced...I reminded her of how grateful I was that she always 

made sure I had a packed lunch and clean handkerchief each day when 

I was a school girl. I assured her that she was...is...a good mother...that the three of us kids are proof. 

I stroked her hair and told her over and over again, tears streaming down my cheeks, how much I love her, 

and how grateful I am that God gave us the opportunity to come to a point of complete and total forgiveness and healing of our relationship.  After over a half-century, a miracle, really.  

Each time I said this, she sat up to give me a kiss, her eyes glistening, and told me she loved me, too.

I assured her that God loves her so much and that God knows how much she loves Him.  

I asked her to please try to get better--to ask the nurses to get her up every day, 

because I need her, and reminded her that I would be back in two weeks.