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Quote by Joel H. Morris

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All Our Yesterdays

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Joel H. Morris

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“Dear Mother, You used to call me Sparrow. Why Sparrow? Well, because the woods are full of sparrows, and you loved everything outdoors. Songbirds, wildflowers, wind. You could read the weather like a poem. But why did I remind you of a sparrow and not another songbird? I never thought to ask. With their white cheeks and dingy underparts, plain brown sparrows are everywhere. They beg at outdoor tables and hop under city benches. They nest in chimneys and rafters and even tailpipes. Sparrows are not much to look at, but they’re smart. Canny. Tiny, feathered battle-axes. Sparrows are survivors. I like to think that’s what you meant… No woman is a star. No woman is a god or a tree or a magician. But for a while, in your arms, the universe was the right size, and I knew where I was…Mothers have a sixth sense. Their love is occult.”

LoveMothers
Book:Heartwood
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“Of humans, she had stood beside the wombed to try to protect during childbirth. In the form of the Seven Hetherus, human fates were determined as newborns. Later, Hetheru helped the deceased move to the Duat-land of the afterlife. And she greeted them with bread. Seven more cows and their male consort, who some say is Usir,[45] Lord of the Cows, assist the deceased according to the Book of the Dead. The cow called She of Chemmis[46] nurses the deceased with her milk. [47] Thus Hetheru and her brethren aid humans seven times with their births and seven times with their rebirths; and also for the gods. Now Hertheru was silent. She slept. Her great lungs heaved. I kept vigil over her through the night, gently stroking the Mother of mothers like my babe, as she had comforted and nuzzled so many.” [45] a.k.a. Osiris [46] Present-day Akhmim, Egypt [47] Pinch, 178 Page 80”

Animal RightsMothersSanctuaryAnimal WelfareAnimal LiberationAncient EgyptHathor
Book:Lament of Hathor
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“I can hardly wait till he gets old enough to talk," sighed Diana. "I just long to hear him say `mother.' And oh, I'm determined that his first memory of me shall be a nice one. The first memory I have of my mother is of her slapping me for something I had done. I am sure I deserved it, and mother was always a good mother and I love her dearly. But I do wish my first memory of her was nicer." "I have just one memory of my mother and it is the sweetest of all my memories," said Mrs. Allan. "I was five years old, and I had been allowed to go to school one day with my two older sisters. When school came out my sisters went home in different groups, each supposing I was with the other. Instead I had run off with a little girl I had played with at recess. We went to her home, which was near the school, and began making mud pies. We were having a glorious time when my older sister arrived, breathless and angry. "`You naughty girl" she cried, snatching my reluctant hand and dragging me along with her. `Come home this minute. Oh, you're going to catch it! Mother is awful cross. She is going to give you a good whipping.' "I had never been whipped. Dread and terror filled my poor little heart. I have never been so miserable in my life as I was on that walk home. I had not meant to be naughty. Phemy Cameron had asked me to go home with her and I had not known it was wrong to go. And now I was to be whipped for it. When we got home my sister dragged me into the kitchen where mother was sitting by the fire in the twilight. My poor wee legs were trembling so that I could hardly stand. And mother -- mother just took me up in her arms, without one word of rebuke or harshness, kissed me and held me close to her heart. `I was so frightened you were lost, darling,' she said tenderly. I could see the love shining in her eyes as she looked down on me. She never scolded or reproached me for what I had done -- only told me I must never go away again without asking permission. She died very soon afterwards. That is the only memory I have of her. Isn't it a beautiful one?”

Mothers
Book:Anne of the Island: Anne of Green Gables Series Book 3
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“All along, I thought I was protecting the kids. Shielding them from realities behind closed doors. Sacrificing to maintain a two-parent Christian home. Making hard, better choices for their faith, family, and education than I made for myself, trying to safeguard them from pain. But they saw. That was obvious now. And staying meant raising sons who hit women. Staying meant raising a daughter who stayed with the man who hit her. And that would be my fault. I'd be the one who taught them life like this was okay. I didn't just let erratic violence continue happening---I helped by refusing to leave. Good mothers don't let this happen to their kids.”

MothersDaughtersSonsGenerationalReligious AbuseIblp
Book:A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy
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