"Leatha Jaramillo"
July 5, 1921 - September 1, 1981
I often think back to when I was a child,
And of my Mother and what she went through,
Trying to raise me and my brother too.
I was about three when my dad left home,
Leaving my Mom to raise us all alone.
It's not easy for a woman alone with a family,
A woman so young, full of life and vitality.
There were many sacrifices that she made,
Pleasures of the young she had to waive.
Now that I'm grown and a mother to,
I can realize all the hardships she went through.
To us she had to be both mother and dad,
We were her life, all she had.
Material things were not always there,
But we never lacked in love and care.
And I am certain that she knows,
Just how deep our love and respect for her goes.
I love the silver in her hair,
the ways she shows how much she cares,
Her loving hands and tender touch,
The look in her eyes that says "I love you so much."
My dear Mother the love we have for you
To put into to words is really quite hard to do,
And through this life come what may,
Nothing can destroy or take that love away.
~ Joyce Astry ~
Copyright (c) 1975
