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STAND TALL--WALK PROUD
Author Melody Lee
© Copyright 2000
STAND TALL--WALK PROUD
I can almost smell mama’s cookin’ when I walk into the kitchen. The old homestead is so quiet, flooded with memories. After I finish the chores I’ll visit mama in the nursing home. On a good day she remembers me, we share the memories she has left.
The Lord called dad home six years ago. Mama and I only have each other now. She always said dad was her best friend. They worked side by side in the field. Dad plowed the rows, mama followed with the seeds. Harvest time, dad cut and mama raked. They’d check the fence on horseback, listening to the sounds of saddles, riding into the sunset. They were never to busy to enjoy God’s beauty.
There was always a hot meal on the table. Mama said she was never to tired to cook for her men. The aroma from the kitchen always made company feel right at home. Dad was never to proud to help with the dishes. I can still hear them laughing over the soap suds. I always had a clean shirt and clean bed to sleep in.
When the Army requested my presence for two years, dad a mama were ready to retire. They had me late in life claiming I was their one special miracle. In my eyes they were my miracle. Retirement was good. The garden was smaller, the cattle were less, and the neighbor 1500 acres away took over the fields. They sat by the hour on the swing under the big oak; dad whittling, mama crocheting, enjoying each other, listening to God’s creatures, watching the horses run in the pasture.
Mama was by dad’s side to the very end, never complaining, speaking only words of love. When God called, mama prayed, asking him to take care of her best friend. She turned to me and said, "You’re the man of our family now. Papa wants you to always stand tall and walk proud."
For almost five years I’d often find mama sitting on the swing talking to dad. She said he was always with her. Soon it will be mama’s time to be with dad. When the time comes I’ll cry like a baby, but I will continue to stand tall and walk proud.
Yesterday wasn’t a good day for mama, she didn’t remember me. I pray today she will.
"Hi son, been here long? Stand up tall! Don’t slump! Hold your shoulders back. Where’s papa?"
I’d been in mama’s room for over an hour watching her sleep with her afghan wrapped around me; thanking the Lord for the memories and love he has given my family.
Thank You, firstname.lastname@example.org
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