Tilly Evan Jones

I love you my Mother, the woman who bore me, the woman who endured so very much to raise me and all of  your children.  You have  never been  a victim of your life, you are a survivor.  You are the greatest freedom fighter, a woman who raised yourself  high, amidst a rather chaotic background, who made mistakes, and prospered, who did right things, and lived.  I salute you.

You are the woman, who, I realize are the core of me, the backbone that has moved me through my chaos, although until today I have never voiced this knowledge to you.  Our own relationship was somehow diminished early in my life, through no fault of yours, but rather through the sadness and anger  of external life.  Our distance became an unhappy habit.

I love your spirit Mom, your strength, your toughness, and your truth of life.  This is something you need to know this day.  You are a landmark in my life; the woman with the fierce history, the woman who walked through fire to protect her own, lived through pain, loved her babies with an intense heart.  You are the woman who touched a growing plant and made it blossom with beauty. 

You made it through not only one, but four husbands, now that is enough to make any woman give up.  Good grief!  Four men to raise!  And still you moved forward. You raised eight babies into I think pretty amazing people.  You had to, sadly, see one go, our Linda.  You lived through war, poverty, the harsh environment of that little farm in Iowa, cold winters, broken bones, back-breaking work, the strong rarity of a difficult every day existence.  Yet, you created beauty for us all and your self in the best way you could.  We always had flowers growing, and remember that wonderful peach tree you sheltered so faithfully out by the milk house door, the one that you nursed through many winters?   Mom, you are tenacious, stubborn and determined.  You are a scraper, a fighter, an artist, and a love;  all rolled into one.

I inherited my love of the sunshine from you, my love of the earth, my love of a good time, and perhaps my obstinate personality.  I inherited my red hair, my blue eyes, my nose, my hands, my sometimes faithful adherence to putting my foot forward every day… all from you.

I see large beauty in small items;  this I learned from you, the woman who could take cockle burrs to turn into works of art, the woman who taught me how to iron leaves between sheets of waxed paper to frame on the wall, to bake a roast beef, fry a chicken, tried to teach me how to sew, but rightfully gave up on that one.

You taught me how to bowl, to tie my shoes, clean a house, read a book.  I inherited a quest for knowledge from you, the want to understand what is happening around me.

You are a human goddess, full of the vagaries of both divine and human spirit.

You, our Mother,  have made a full and intense life, you have sung beautiful songs, raised recalcitrant children, birthed cows, planted fields, created beauty.  You are the woman of the moment, woman of the world

Bless you Mother with love.