What did I learn from my Mother:
1. My Mother Elaine taught me that not even the sky is the limit! She would lovingly smile, look deep into my eyes, and say, “You can do anything!” Those were her favorite words to encourage me, and that idea kept me going, growing, learning, and striving through all the years of my life. Her words and my effort helped me to move from being a waitress to a copywriter for an ad agency to vice president of high tech companies in Silicon Valley. I then created my own marketing consulting firm, became an author, an international speaker, and started a publishing company. My Dear Mother expressed her joy at my success continuously.
2. Mom taught me about self-reliance, and the need to fulfill responsibilities. The words, “You can do anything,” became limited in her life since she had two kids to raise and needed her government job to pay the bills. She kept going through it all with a smile on her face. Her ability to focus and her practicality provided an example for me to proceed with both feet on the ground, although my head was often in other dimensions.
3. Mom taught me hard work and the completion of projects. My family moved from town to a lovely country home overlooking the Mississippi River near LeClaire, Iowa, when I was in the third grade. Mom and Dad had built a ranch style house together on an acre lot, and it was a wonderful place for my younger brother and me to grow up. The two of us built our own playhouse and created a quarter acre garden with lots of strawberries that we sold on the side of the road. Working and persevering are strong motivators that have brought me many rewards.
4. Mom taught me about out-of-control emotions and to be a peacemaker. When I was thirteen, Dad left for another woman. Mom cried and screamed, “Daddy, come home!” over and over again. Her ferocious anger had set the tone at dinner time before Dad left. Her outrage would always become loudest just before we sat down to eat. It was one of the reasons he left. From an early age, I tried to be a peacemaker between them, but it didn’t work. Yet, that habit has pursued me for many years, even until today when I think I can help people find inner peace.
5. Mom taught me about elegance and lady-like behavior. Her nickname from friends was “The Duchess.” It may have been the influence of her Sun in Leo that made her walk straight, head held high, seeming to be taller than her 5’1” stature. She dressed beautifully in all the latest styles and had a dressmaker sew for her. I was her little doll with a darling wardrobe of frilly dresses in lovely fabric, like my favorite, lavender organdy dress that made me feel like I was a flower.
In later years Mom told me, “You always look like you walked off the cover of Vogue,” which, of course, was the highest compliment she could pay. Being a “lady” was defined as being kind, polite, dignified, true to your word, well-read and intelligent, etc. I believe that these behaviors helped me to advance into all types of jobs and executive positions without any type of harassment.
6. Mom taught me that a difficult childhood does not need to ruin our lives. I don’t remember when she first told me she was adopted and did not know her biological parents who were in New York when she was born. Their names were on her birth certificate, but the orphanage wouldn't release any information. She did remember a long train ride when she was about four years old in 1917. I later learned about the orphan trains that she must have traveled on from New York to Iowa. I think perhaps her parents died in the Pandemic and there were many orphans in New York.
Mom didn’t learn she and her two brothers were adopted until she was twelve years old. One day she opened the newspaper and read that her adopted Mom had gone to a hotel and committed suicide. She refused to go back to the Catholic School she had attended since kindergarten. The priests and nuns believed that suicide is one of the worst sins, and she didn’t want to be persecuted at school. Eventually, she did return and finished high school, but the scars were deep, and it seems that her anger may have stemmed from her intense memory of abandonment. Even with this terrible experience, she learned to enjoy life and love deeply. Her example helped me during times of loss, sadness, and pain.
7. Mom taught me to be available, if possible, to care for those you love when they are hurt or ill. When I cut my feet in a lawnmower accident at the age of twelve, and when I was stabbed in a parking garage with a collapsed lung at age 27, my Mom was immediately on the scene and ready to care for me until I was well. She always demonstrated unconditional love.
I had the opportunity to take care of her for the last two years of her life, and she kept asking, “How am I going to repay you.” I would answer, “Are you kidding, Mom, I am repaying you for all that you have done for me all of my life!”
8. Mom taught me to give what I can to help others. When out shopping, she would sometimes refer to a woman in passing as, “She is a No bread-Baked.” I had no idea what that meant, until one day I asked. She told me that during the depression, many women baked extra bread and left it on the window sill for hungry people to take. And there were those who would put up a sign that said, “No Bread Baked!”
Mom would always bake extra food and take it to the neighbors or invite them over for coffee and cake in the afternoon. She gave everything she had physically and emotionally to my brother and me and was generous with her time, volunteering at a senior center until she passed away twenty years ago at the age of 87 on Memorial Day 2001.
This idea of sharing and giving what you can have been a major part of my life during my career in marketing to large and small businesses, serving as communications and corporate donations director for the American Cancer Society and AIDS Services Foundation, and for three different Chambers of Commerce. It was my desire to develop community services, educational outreach, and enhance relationships between the city government and the business community. There is so much opportunity to grow and develop ourselves and our community.
I think of my wonderful Mom every day, and I will love and remember her forever.
About the Creator
Verlaine Crawford
Verlaine loves poetry, art, philosophy, and travel. She led workshops around the world, owned startups in Silicon Valley, and authored: Ending the Battle Within, Daughter of God, The Heart of Transformation, and Emotional Healing.
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Ezomindus
In a valley where silence grew like silver grass, And the mountains seemed to hold their breath, There lived a soul whose name no map could claim—Ezomindus. He was no king of armies, no lord of stone halls, But a traveler of thought, a seeker of questions, A spark that refused to bow to fear or certainty. Ezomindus was born on a night When the moon hung low, swollen with mystery, And the wind whispered secrets through the cracks of the world. The elders, wise yet fearful, said, “This child will wander paths unknown, And his thoughts may burn like fire.” The stars, however, had their own counsel: “This child will wonder, And in his wondering, awaken others.” From his first breath, he listened—not just to people, But to the heartbeat beneath the soil, The rhythm of rivers carving their patient paths, The quiet ache of shadows folding over themselves. He heard the sorrow hidden inside laughter, The longing beneath simple words, The unspoken truths between two people’s eyes. While the villages built houses of brick and pride, Ezomindus built bridges of questions. “Why does the river never hold its shape?” he asked. “Why does the flame dance even as it dies?” “Why does the heart ache for what it cannot name?” His questions were neither rude nor loud; They were gentle arrows of thought, Piercing the illusions of routine and comfort. He wandered through forests older than memory, Where trees leaned close as if to hear him think. Roots twisted like ancient riddles, Leaves shimmered with the dust of forgotten stars. “Everything changes,” the trees whispered, “Even the one who asks.” Ezomindus was not afraid of change. He feared the stillness that numbed the mind. He saw cities wrapped in golden noise, People chasing shadows of approval, Running toward mirrors that reflected only themselves. He whispered to them softly, “Your chains are not iron—they are thoughts You never dared to examine.” Some laughed. Some scowled. Some left. A few felt something stir inside, A small trembling recognition of a mind not yet free. He carried no sword, yet battled storms of doubt. He climbed mountains that seemed to pierce the sky, Where air thinned into honesty, And only the purest thoughts could survive. At the summit, there was no throne, No crown, no prize—only a mirror of ice. In that mirror, he saw himself Not as hero nor as failure, But as a river of becoming. His courage and his fear flowed together, His wounds glimmered like constellations, His mind stretched out like the horizon itself. He understood at last: To conquer the world is smaller than conquering the mind. So he descended, carrying no gold, No trophies, no scrolls of fame, Only awareness. He spoke in marketplaces, empty fields, In the hush of midnight and the blaze of noon. “Do not fear the darkness,” he said. “It is the canvas upon which your light can paint.” As years passed, Ezomindus did not grow old in spirit. His eyes remained young with curiosity, His voice tender with truth. Children gathered around him, Drawn to the way he asked questions Instead of offering answers. “What is strength?” one child asked. He smiled and replied, “Strength is choosing truth Even when lies are easier, Even when the world calls for silence.” “What is freedom?” another asked. He touched the soil, the roots, the wind. “Freedom,” he said softly, “Is seeing your own thoughts Without becoming their prisoner.” “And what is love?” they asked. He paused, feeling the wind trace his weathered face. “Love,” he said, “Is the courage to let another soul breathe, To honor their mind as you honor your own, To walk beside them without claiming their journey.” Ezomindus became a legend, Not of battles won or lands conquered, But of minds awakened. He did not build empires of stone; He built awakenings, Invisible yet eternal, A revolution of thought, quiet yet unstoppable. When his final evening came, The sky blazed in amber farewell, And the valley seemed to lean closer in sorrow. He lay beneath the same moon That had watched his first breath. Around him stood those Who had once been lost in noise, Now awake to the rhythm of their own hearts. “Master,” they whispered, “What remains when you are gone?” Ezomindus looked at them, At their trembling hope, At their eyes opening wide to their own truths. “I remain,” he said, “In every thought you dare to examine, In every fear you face with courage, In every moment you wake instead of drift asleep.” His breath faded like a candle surrendering to dawn, Yet the valley did not grow silent. It hummed with awareness, Alive with the minds he had stirred. Ezomindus was never a body— He was a question set on fire, A space between impulse and reflection, A courage to look within. He was the whisper that said: Do not live asleep. Do not fear the depths of your own mind. For the greatest journey Is not across oceans or stars— It is through the vast, uncharted realm Of your own consciousness. Long after, children would trace his steps in the forest, Listening to the trees, to the rivers, Learning to see the unseen. They carried no scrolls, no crowns, Only the seed of questioning he had planted, A spark that refused to die. And so Ezomindus lives, Not in stone or story, But in every mind that dares to pause, Every heart that dares to reflect, Every soul that refuses to sleep While the world drifts blindly onward. For life is fleeting, And the noise of the world can drown the quiet, But the mind that awakens is eternal. Ezomindus taught this: To live is to be aware, To be aware is to be free, To be free is to walk the endless path Of truth, courage, and love. And somewhere, when the wind bends the silver grass And the moon hangs low like a question, A voice stirs inside the restless heart: “Do not live asleep. Do not fear your own depths. For the greatest journey Is not across oceans or stars— It is through the vast, uncharted Realm of your own mind.” Ezomindus is not gone— He is the question set on fire, The mind that will not sleep, The whisper inside every heart That chooses awareness over comfort, Courage over fear, Truth over illusion. And the valley, ever alive, Breathes on, Shimmering with the light of a mind awake.
By The best writer a day ago in Motivation
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