Plea for Forgiveness

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We were living on a farm near Tulsa, Oklahoma, In July 1921. The noise of the men and machinery in the process of baling bluestem hay came with the breeze through the  open kitchen window, where, shortly before ten o’clock, I  was busy cooking the noon meal for a  crew of hungry men.

My three children were in an adjoining room.  As I worked,  I thought about my mother in Indiana,  who slowly was dying of cancer of the liver. Until my husband David  and I had moved  west, we all had lived in the same house. Not a  doting grandmother,  my mother had  made my life pretty miserable after the birth of each child.

A hush  fell over the place. I glanced through the window and saw  the men  standing around the water keg, I stepped  to the door of the next room to see what my children were  doing. I  gasped. There on my low rocker sat my mother,  with her  arms around my children.  Memory  of her pain-ravaged face as  it turned toward me still brings  tears  to my eyes.  Her eyes were pleading silently for forgiveness and love.

The vision was like a flash- gone in an instant, but as  real as life.  When my astonished  eyes could focus again,  I saw my oldest child lying on the floor reading, his feet propped in a  chair. His  sisters sat on the floor, dressing their dolls.

They  were unaware of the shock I had  received.  I forgot to bake  pie that day and was scolded for my negligence. I never did tell  my husband of this experience; he  would have laughed, But that pleading look in my mother’s eyes meant more to me  than pies.

That same evening a telegram came. It said: “Your mother died this morning at ten minutes of ten o’clock.”

Ellen Blazier

 Claremore, Oklahoma

December 1964

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