I saw my future in-laws on rare occasions.

The 760 miles between Montreal and Halifax prevented us from being together more than twice a year. Our meetings were few, but it was clear to see -- I would have no use for mother-in-law jokes -- she was pure gold. I loved her instantly.

My father-in-law was more of a challenge. Behind his serious manner, he attempted to hide a soft heart. Few grew close enough to see his tenderness. I like to think I was one of those who did.

They'd been through a lot in their lives. They immigrated to Canada during the Hungarian revolution. With two young girls in tow, they crossed the heavily guarded border into Austria and immigrated to a country they knew little about. They sought peace and found it in Canada.

My mother-in-law suffered with cancer for many years, and although it was in remission, we knew her time was short.

During one visit, as we left their hotel room on the night before their departure, I glanced back to see her standing in the hall, staring after us. Her look of sorrow brought tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I knew what she thought, "Will this be the last time?"

I stopped my wife and made her wait as I walked the distance to that small woman and hugged her tight.

"Mom," I whispered, "You hang in there. Come back for the wedding. I want you here."

The day of the wedding was hectic but joyous. Georgia and I stood face-to-face as we said our vows. There was a tremble in my voice as I said mine. After we were pronounced man and wife, I hugged my new bride, took her arm and walked her down the aisle and into our future.

My mother-in-law said later, "I could hear it in your voice. I know you meant every word you said."

At the reception we sat at the center of the head table, as there were numerous calls for us to show signs of affection. A spoon would strike the side of a glass. Across the room, another would join in. The clattering of spoons to glasses grew, until Georgia and I rose to our feet and kissed tenderly.

It was time for speeches. When it was my turn, I stood, turned, faced my new father-in-law, and raised my glass in the air.

"Tibor, thank you! I thank you for your courage. Many years ago, you made a decision to flee your homeland, cross a guarded border, and make your home in Canada. This lady beside me was born in a far-away country but now sits beside me as my wife. It was your strength and courage that made this possible." With a trembling voice, I continued, "Tibor, thank you for giving me your daughter."

The room was quiet, except for muffled sobs. I returned to my seat and wiped the tears from my eyes.

The afternoon flew by. We danced, hugged, and excepted words of encouragement. At one point during the festivities, I managed to find my mother-in-law alone. I crouched beside her chair and said, "Mom, you made it. I'm so glad you're here."

She hugged me, "Michael, I'm very happy. All I ever wanted, was to see Georgia settled. Today saw it happen. I can go in peace."

"Mom, hang in there." I said. "I want you to see your grandchildren."

She looked at me doubtfully. "I'm happy now. I don't expect to see my grandchildren."

I reached out, pulled her to me, and whispered in her ear, "Mom, you will. I just know it."

My mother-in-law did live to see her granddaughter. Thirteen months later our daughter was born. She came and held her, as tears spilled down her cheeks. Within a year, she passed on and lives forever in our hearts and memories.

My wife, Georgia, passed away October 10th, 2003. She is with her mom now. Two moms together for eternity.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom, my mother-in-law, Georgia -- the mother of my children, my new wife Ginny, and to all the moms reading this story.

Mothers are the strength behind great families. I've been blessed with some great ones.
 

It doesn’t matter where I live when May comes calling with colorful flowers and the newness of spring time, and the soon to be Mother’s Day celebration, I’m happily transported back to a small town in Michigan and a little white church on Main Street.

Although we lived in the city, each Mother’s Day weekend we’d make the trip to my grandparent’s home for the annual Mother and Daughter Banquet at the church where my mother, grandparents and their parents before them had attended.

My mother would bring a basket of spring flowers, either home grown or bought at the City Market, and colored ribbons with accessories. While grandmother prepared a covered dish, we’d make corsages for my great-grandmother, her twin sister, my grandmother, and one for my mother and a smaller one for me.

My youngest recollection of going to the little white church where all the tables were covered in nice cloths and spring violet plants was the age of 5, and I had a new pair of black paten leather shoes for the occasion. The women were so nice and laughed, complimented one another on their dresses, and especially on their covered dishes; as each lady made something she was most proud of to take to the banquet.

As I got older often my own church or community activities would require my participation in the city, but we always tried to make a trip to be with grandma for the banquet. My great-grandmother lived until I was into my 20’s and she attended as well. It made four generations and something I was proud to be part of. I had the song “M O T H E R” memorized by the time I was 8, and sung it with pride. Gifts wrapped so pretty were given to the oldest mother in attendance, and often that would be my great-grandmother, or she would get the gift as the oldest of four generations.

When I became the mother of a daughter, we often attended the same banquet when time allowed. At that time my great-grandmother was in her heavenly home, and now my grandmother was the oldest of four generations. I’ve attended various Mother and Daughter banquets over the years, and I’ve chaired many of them in my home church, however, there was something special about going to grandma’s knowing this was such an old tradition for so many years, before I was even around, that I’d try to make the trip with Mom and my daughter when possible.

The years progressed and catering replaced the wonderful covered dish dinners. I often ordered the corsages for all of us, and again recognition was given to four generations, and a nice plant to grandma. When she was in her late 80’s she decided to sell her house in the small town where she had always lived, and we had such great times at, and spent time in FL and MI.

In 1995 the day before the Mother and Daughter Banquet, Grandma quietly passed away at my parent’s home where she had been living, she was 91. It was Mother’s Day weekend. So many thought raced through my mind, and again we made the trip to the town where the little white church that meant so much over the years was located. In lieu of flowers we asked for donations to be given to the church, in memory of Grandma. Somehow I knew she would have wanted it that way.

Distance and family living in various states make it hard to get together for Mother’s Day now, but how I would enjoy a trip back, with Mom now 82, and my daughter and three young grandgals. I miss those years when the yummy covered dish dinners and little violet plants were so simple and nice, and whenever I hear the song “MOTHER,” memories come alive of a little white church where we enjoyed so many banquets together in celebration of Mother’s Day.

                                   ~ M O T H E R ~

M is for the million things she gave me,
O means only that she’s growing old.
T is for the tears she shed to save me,
H is for her heart of purest gold.
E is for her eyes of love-light shining,
R is right and right she’ll always be!

Put them all together they spell Mother,
the word that means the world to me.

By: Howard Johnson, 1915

                                                       ~ Diane Dean White ~