Persistent Mysteries

     I really don't enjoy being introduced as the "5th cousin of my grandmother's cat".  So I continue to pursue the elusive bit of genealogical information that will settle once and for all what relation I am to Colette's grandmother's cat.  (As long as that cat doesn't drag me in!)

     I met Colette Keniry through John Whalen.  John Whalen lived in St. Thomas, Derrynane, Le Sueur County, Minnesota.  He was my grandfather's cousin on his father's side.  John's father Thomas and my great grandmother Bridget Whalen Hogan were siblings. John's mother was Mary Herlihy Whalen.  She was a native of Carriganes, Ballydesmond, Cork.
     When Mary Herlihy arrived in New York, it was the 4th of July 1889.  She had to wait until the next day to get off the ship because of the holiday. The Le Sueur Sentinel announced her arrival thus: Mary Herlihy arrived from Queenstown on the 4^th after 10 days on the “City of Paris”, cousin of Dennis Sheehan.
     She was headed to St. Thomas, Minnesota where her brother Dan already lived.
     My favorite part of this whole story is that ongoing connection to Ireland.  Mary kept in touch with home. It was traditional to write at Christmas and Easter. At some point, the correspondence was done by Colette's mother--Kate Kelly Lynch.  Then Colette took over the job.  John Whalen's wife, Margaret, used to correspond with Colette.  Then, after Margaret's death, John wrote to Colette.  John gave me one of the letters.  I couldn't read her handwriting, so I did my best to decipher her name and wa-la!  Somehow, she got the letter! We have been writing since 1978. Thus, this family has been corresponding since 1889!!!!! I love that part! Unfortunately, none of those old letters exist.
     Back to the genealogy.
     When John's parents married, they got a dispensation to marry because they were (if I understand this correctly) 1st cousins once removed.  You'd think that with this specific of information, sorting out the exact families involved would not be THAT difficult!!!  But, that common ancestor is unknown.  The trail ends just before that person.
     Mary Herlihy's line is as follows:  John Herlihy & Mary Hartnett; John's father--unknown. Colette's line goes Catherine Kelly-->Hannah Herlihy--John Herlihy & Mary Hartnett-->unknown.
    Our line goes:  Mare-->Marguerite-->James J. Hogan-->Bridget Whalen-->Julia Sheehan-->Mary Herlihy Sheehan-->unknown.  Now, here is the rub.  Mary Herlihy Sheehan appears in her marriage record and in the baptismal records as Mary Sheehan.  Where does that Herlihy come in!!!???
     In the death records for the siblings of Julia Sheehan Whalen, the parent's names do not agree.  On Patsy Sheehan's death certificate, his parents are given as Dennis Sheehan and Mary Herlihy.  On Dennis Sheehan's certificate, the parents are given as Patrick Sheehan and Johanna Herlihy.  On John Sheehan's death certificate, his parents are given as Michael Sheahan and Mary Sheahan. Oops!  Looks like I don't have a copy of Julia's or Mary's death certificates.  Notes say that Julia's maiden name is Sheehan.
     Anyway, you get the point of confusion. On this side of the pond, the common knowledge is that the parents' surnames were Sheehan and Herlihy. In records in Ireland, the mother always appears as Mary Sheehan--even in the marriage record.
     At this point, who knows!  Could the mother of Mary Sheehan be a Herlihy? Probably not, because that would not work out with the 1st cousin once removed theme. I am entertaining that Mary may have been previously married. Right now, It looks very likely that John Whalen's grandfather and William Herlihy (whom I have not yet alluded to) are brothers.  I'm basing this on the furor caused by the marriage of Julia Babe Herlihy and Denis Herlihy.  They were third cousins.  Her grandfather was said William.  Denis' grandparents were John Herlihy and Mary Hartnett. The common ancestor would be the father of John and William.
     Well, let's add a little more.  Colette believes that the woman in the photo wearing the hat is her grandmother. Hannah Herlihy is a sister of Mary Herlihy Whalen.  She came to the USA in 1902.  She had been working previously to that in Limerick as a milk maid. The stories on Colette's side of the pond were sketchy. She was told by her mother that her grandparents had moved to America. Hannah was living in St. Thomas in 1903 she attended the wedding of wedding of Mr. Hogan in St. Paul according to a little news bit in the Belle Plaine Herald. This turned out to be the wedding of Thomas H. Hogan and Julia Kalka.  Thomas was the brother of James J. Hogan.
  
     The mystery continues...
  
 In the photo:  front: John, Jimmy, Tom, Thomas.
In the back:  sisters Hannah Herlihy and Mary Herlihy Whalen.

Uncle Jimmy's Birthday

     James Patrick Hogan was born on this date in 1932.  I wish I had a picture of Uncle Jimmy and Grammy sitting on either end of the couch!  That is what I remember most vividly.
     I feel a little sad that I don't know more about him.
     I know he served in the Korean war. Jeffie was his dog.  We weren't allowed to go into his bedroom at Grammy's.
     He married Doris Tapson in 1961.  They had two children:  Michael James and Brian Donald. Both of them married and had kids. We've lost contact.
     I remember Jimmy as being gentle. He died in 1989. RIP

Grammy Anecdote

     There was bacon fried this morning, which I was going to ignore.  My toast popped up and wa-la, why not put that bacon on my peanut butter toast.  (Stop the yucks and try it!!)
     This reminded me of Grammy.  She used to fry up bacon very crisp.  Then, she put it between 2 grocery bags and crushed it with a rolling pin until it was very fine.  Then she added it to a mushed-up banana and fed it to the current baby.
     I don't know why!

"I have called you by name, you are Mine." Isaiah 43

     The Irish often followed a naming pattern when giving their children names. You can see this play out in Ma's family. The children in the family are Mary Alice, Ann Mary (Ma), John, James and Dorothy.

The pattern is:
Sons
1st son was named after the father's father
2nd son was named after the mother's father
3rd son was named after the father
4th son was named after the father's eldest brother
5th son was named after the mother's eldest brother

Daughters
1st daughter was named after the mother's mother
2nd daughter was named after the father's mother
3rd daughter was named after the mother
4th daughter was named after the mother's sister
5th daughter was names after the father's sister

Ma's parents were David O'Connell and Margaret Doherty. David's parents were John G. O'Connell and Mary Ann Pyles. Margaret's parents were James Doherty and Ann Heatherston. Now, when you get to Dorothy, by tradition, she should have been named Margaret. The mother has the option of giving this daughter another name she likes. Colette Keniry used this option. When she got to the third daughter, she named her Fidelma. 

The pattern isn't exact in the James Doherty family. His parents were Hugh Doherty and Sarah Evans. Ann's parents were Richard Heatherston and Roseann Lynch. The children in this family were Sarah, Richard, Rose, Margaret, Hugh, Mary, Matthew, Samuel and Michael. It would be understandable that the name Richard preempted Hugh because Ann's father died about 1867, so it the first son may have been named after him. The next son is named after James' dad. Matthew is a brother of Ann. Both Ann and James have a brother Michael. Margaret is an older sister of Ann. At least the names are mostly in the family. The name that is puzzling is Samuel Henry.

Of course, this was not set in stone. If a child dies, you will often find another child given the same name in order for there to be a living namesake. Sometimes the pattern wasn't followed at all. If someone in the family died, a child could be named after that person, altering the pattern.

I remember Mom saying that her father wanted to name her Bridget. This would have followed the pattern for his mother's name was Bridget Whalen Hogan. None of the children were named according to the pattern, though Catherine had her mother's name and Uncle Jimmy had his father's first name.

One of my favorite stories is about all the Timothys in the Burns family. There were a lot of Tims. They were given nick names like "Old Tim", "Big Tim" and Timothy Q.

To differentiate people, names were often combined. There was a woman called Ceily Dick. Her name was Cecelia Kilduff Byrne. Her husband was Richard Byrne--thus her identifier. In Ireland, sometimes the nicknames would indicate the father. There is a Timmy Patsy Herlihy--his father is Patrick. There is a Jehr Billy--his father is William Herlihy. There is also Thad Jack--you guessed it--his father is John Herlihy. 

Tale of Two Bovines

     One of the pleasures of the Internet age is the availability of so much information at your fingertips. The first cow story is just a short add found by doing a search on the address of Patrick and Mary Hogan in St. Paul.
The Library of Congress has digitized selected newspapers and a search may be made at Chronicling America.
The following add was in the November 12, 1889 issue of the St. Paul Daily Globe:

Lost and Found.

Cow Lost—Lost since Nov. 6, 1889, one red cow with white spots on both flanks, with horns turn in.  Finder will please send word to Mrs. P. Hogan, 755 Sylvan st., city.

The other story was found the old fashioned way--by cranking through pages of microfilmed newspapers at the Minnesota History Center. 

Cow Walked Her Way Back Alone from St. Paul to St. Thomas Farm

By Win V. Working

          It’s a shame to start this story with a hackneyed reference to Mrs. O’Leary’s cow and the Chicago fire, but it can’t be helped. For this is a tale of another cow that achieved distinction in a novel way.  She didn’t start a fire, but she set a record—not for butterfat, but for finding her way home from West St. Paul to a farm near St. Thomas.  It happened back in pioneer days.  The cow belonged to James Whalen, an early settler who lived two miles south of St. Thomas. Here is the story as related to the writer by Thomas Whalen, son of the pioneer, who now lives on the old homestead:

          “I was only a young gaffer at the time, but I remember the incident distinctly and can vouch for the facts stated.  We came here about 60 years ago and one fall not long after we had settled on the farm father sold a cow to a man named Donovan.  He got $40 for her.  She was a fine cow, red in color, but only a scrub, of course.  We needed the money and had more cows.  Anyway, Donovan led the cow to Belle Plaine and there loaded her in a wagon or truck drawn by oxen.  At Jordan he picked another cow and took both to West St. Paul.  He wintered them and along in May put them in a pasture along the river.

          “Our cow had had a calf and seemed contented in her new home.  But one day, along about the first of June, both cows broke out of the pasture and disappeared, leaving the calf, which was probably tied up, behind. Donovan hunted for the cows high and low and decided they might have fallen in the river.  But he write to us to learn if we had seen anything of the cow, and we sent word back that we had seen no sign of her.  There the matter ended for the time being.

          “Then along in the later part of August—I know we had our harvesting and stacking done—we happened to look in the barnyard one morning and there was our cow.  She had a bell on and her udder was full.  We finally decided that she had just wandered away and had stopped at different farms, going in at night and being milked with the other cows.  Farmers along the way had probably milked her because they saw that she was fresh and had a full udder.  Any sensible farmer would do that.  Then she likely wandered on until she got to our place. She was nearly three months on the way, and, of course, we don’t know that she really started for home.  She may have simply drifted along until she got here.  But the fact is, she did get back home all by herself, all the way from West St. Paul.

          “We wrote to Donovan and he told us to keep the cow awhile.  In October he came and got her and that was the end of the cow incident.  But a good many people have found it difficult to believe the story and I am glad to have an opportunity to make public the real facts, so that people will not think we had been trying to put something over all these years.”

          The Whalens came to Minnesota from Michigan.  Thomas was born at Portage in that state in 1860.  His parents came from Ireland.  He was about 10 years old when the family settled on the farm near St. Thomas, where one son has lived continuously ever since. That section was all woods when the Whalens arrived, although several families were there ahead of them.  Among their early neighbors were Dennis Sheehan, an uncle of Thomas; Charles Denzer, Dennis Ring, John and Timothy Shea, Michael Courtney, John Merry, Thos. Healey, James Hickey, Daniel Fowler and the Connellys.  The church at St. Thomas was a log structure then.

          The Whalens farmed with oxen and lived in a log cabin.  There were seven children when the family came to Minnesota and two ore were born here. Only three are living.  This two besides Thomas are Mrs. Frank Blake and Mrs. John Buckley, both of St. Paul. These two sisters, by the way, can substantiate Mr. Whalen’s cow story both he and his wife informed the writer.  Thomas married Mary Herlihy June 28, 1892, in St. Paul.  She had been keeping house for her brother, Daniel Herlihy, near the Whalen farm.  Mrs. Whalen is a native of county Cork and the rich, charming brogue of old Ireland still distinctly marks her accent, and there is no danger of mistaking Thomas for a Swede or a Bohemian from his accent for that matter.

          The elder Whalen died in 1880 and his widow’s death occurred 14 years ago.  Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Whalen have three children, all boys—James, John and Thomas. They live at home and operate a farm near St. Thomas, which their father bought three years ago in addition to the home place.

          “Times have changed since I was a lad here,” Mr. Whalen mused. “it was a wild country then, but all the new improvements have come right into our neighborhood.  The news comes in by radio and every little while an airplane passes overhead.” “Ah, yes, there have been changes,” he added as he shook his grey head. But Mr. Whalen and his good wife both chuckled heartily as amusing incidents were recalled and gave evidence that they have not been cheated of their share of happiness, which by the way, they found for themselves.—Midland Feature Service.

Belle Plaine Herald, 19 February 1931

Shanty Irish

     When I was at Dad's last time, I mentioned the Whalen name.  I wish I could remember his immediate comment, but it alluded to their lack of cleanliness.
     I had heard before, from mom, whose people these are, that they were definitely not fastidious people.  Mom recalled a time that Grammy visited the Whalens and someone was stirring with her arm and there were flies all over the place. Grammy was appalled.
     The Whalens lived near Dad's grandfather in Derrynane Township, in Le Sueur County. To the left is a picture of Julia Sheehan Whalen.  She is the mother of Bridget Whalen Hogan who was Mom's grandmother.
     Julia was born about 1832 in Kerry, Ireland. I have not found a baptismal record for her. Her obituary says that she was married in Detroit to James Whalen. I have searched page by page for the Whalens in the 1860 census in likely counties for the family, but to no avail.  Both Bridget and Thomas were born in Michigan according to other census records. (Thomas is the father of John Whalen).
     Julia had siblings here in Minnesota.  Her known siblings were Dennis (1828-1905); Michael (1829-@1870); a female who remained in Ireland; Patrick (1837-1925); Mary (@1841-1918; William (1842-1917); and John (1845-1915).  Dennis, Patsy and Michael all lived in the upper peninsula of Michigan before moving to Minnesota. They worked in the copper mines.
     I have a couple of stories I love to think about--one Aunt Lill Krumweide told me.  She said that Gramdma Whalen had bright blue eyes and they sparkled.  She spoke Irish.  When she came to the house, she had a kid get her a glass of water, put it on her head and proceeded to perform a jig.
    Julia also smoked a clay pipe.  Francie O'Connell said she would often be seen with the Donahue women walking the long way to St. Thomas Church for Mass.
     So, when you get feel yourself getting a little uppity, remember your Shanty Irish great great grandmother!!!  (I'm pretty sure I got a few of these Sheehan genes!)

Julia's Obituary:

Mrs. Julia Whalen, a Pioneer Resident of St. Thomas, Passes Away.-

On last Wednesday, Mrs. Julia Whalen, who has lived in this community since 1866, passed away at the home of her son, Thos. Whalen. Mrs. Whalen, who had attained the ripe old age of eighty-seven years, fell about three weeks ago fracturing her hip, and was unable to stand the shock. Before this in spite of her years, she had remained wonderfully active.

The deceased was ever a cheerful, patient woman, ready and anxious to help anyone in distress and to share her last possession with the needy. Her happy helpful disposition made her many friends who will hold her memory a cherished possession.

Mrs. Whalen, whose maiden name was Julia sheehan, was born in County Kerry, Ireland in 1832. When a young woman she came to America and lived first in Detroit, Mich. Here she was married to the late James Whalen. In 1866 Mr. and Mrs. Whalen moved to Le Sueur and settled on a tract of land in St. Thomas, then a portion of the big woods. Until her husband's death in 1880, they lived and worked upon this farm, enduring at first many hardships. Since her husband's death, her son, Thos. Whalen, has run the farm, and she made her home with him. The land is now well developed.

To Mr. and Mrs. Whalen nine children were born, five of whom survive their mother. The living are Thos. Whalen of St. Thomas, Mrs. Nat Edelkam of LeSueur, Mrs. Hogan, Mrs. J. J. Buckley and Mrs. Frank Blake of St. Paul. She is also survived by a brother, Patrick Sheehan of Le Sueur and by a sister in Ireland.

The funeral services were held last Friday morning at ten o'clock in the St. Thomas catholic church, Rev. Dobbins conducted the services. The remains were laid to rest in the St. Thomas Cemetery.

The following were here from a distance to attend the funeral, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Blake, Mr. and Mrs. J. Hogan, Mrs. L. Van Core (sic), Miss C. Hogan, and Mrs. Carlson, all of St. Paul.

Le Sueur Herald, 19 Nov 1919

Tide of Grace

     I'm trying to make up for lost time here.  I was a little preoccupied in the last month or so because of a tradition--I think I can call it that at this point--of making baptismal gowns for new members of the family.  My inspiration for this was my mother-in-law, Dot Hansen Blaha. She made baptismal gowns for each of her kids, Jim, JoEllen, Gery and Cindy.  My kids were all baptized in their father's gown
     So, for most of my nieces and nephews on the Burns side, I have made a gown. We are now onto the next generation. I call them "the second cousins".
     The last two to be baptized were Evan Daniel Borton, my grand nephew and Stella Marie Blaha, my granddaughter.
      Evan Daniel was baptized at Holy Trinity Church in South St. Paul, Minnesota on April 18, 2010.
     Stella Marie Blaha (Estella Maria so the priest said) was baptized on May 8, 2010 at Our Lady of the Angels Church in San Diego, California.

     A tradition that Mom asked me to continue was to make sure each babe got a Magic Hankie for his/her baptism.
     This is the usual poem that accompanies:

THE MAGIC HANKY

I am just a little hankie, as square as can be;  
but with a stitch or two, they've made a bonnet out of me.  
I'll be worn home from the hospital, and on special days,  and then I'll be carefully pressed and neatly packed away.  
Then on the Wedding, I have been told,  every well dressed bride  must have something old.  
So what would be more fitting than to find Little Old Me,  
a few stitches snipped and a Wedding Handkerchief   I Will Be!  
And if per chance, it is a boy, someday he still will wed.  
So to his bride he can present   the "Magic Handkerchief" once worn upon his head.

There is another poem I found that I like better:
     An Heirloom
A tiny square of linen
And a dainty edge of lace
Designed into a bonnet, 
To frame your baby's face.


After baby's worn it
Fold and tuck away...
And it becomes a hanky 
For your daughter's Wedding Day.


Or if the baby is a boy, 
On the day he marries
This can be the "something old"
His joyful bride will carry. 


So the traditions continue...another second cousin is on the way later this year!!!!
 And here is an Irish proverb that says it all:

Every tide has an ebb save the tide of graces. 

Stella in her Magic Hankie Bonnet

20th Anniversary of Mom's Death

     I suppose this is hard to believe, but I have a terrible time remembering the exact date of Mom's death.  I usually think it is May 10th. That's been hard to remove from my brain for some reason.
     Instead of me writing about Mom, I'm going to cut and paste Maureen's and Theresa's memories of Mom that they posted last year.

Maureen posted this on Facebook:
Marguerite Luella Elizabeth Hogan Burns Sept 2, 1930 - May 11, 1990
- her silent laugh
- Mom and Dad laughing so hard at the Pink Panther that they were wheezing
- 'Mucho Freeo, Reener'
- Her calling Amanda 'Ree'
- warm cookies on the counter after school
- home-made bread
- full, from scratch dinner every night, complete with dessert
-her calling up the stairs: "MaryKayThomasTheresaMaggieTriciaDeniseandMaureeeeeeeen! like it was one word
- hand made Halloween costumes
- How she'd decorate the house for every holiday
- her appreciation for Tom Selleck which shocked me at the time
- her helping me with French, even though I laughed at her pronunciation
- Royal Rummy on hot summer nights
- Watching Dallas or the movie of the week
- Popcorn, especially smelling it after I went to bed
- "birdie my foot!"
- Mom shaking her butt to 'Me and Julio down by the schoolyard"
- And singing Juicy Woman instead of Gypsy Woman
- How scared she was of horses yet she got on one so we could go riding in Estes Park, CO.
- the spaghetti incident on our trip
- Listening to Masterpiece theatre
- Watching the Twins and Vikings
- Facts are facts
- How she pronounced her name: Mar-Guer-rite Lue-Ella...
- Her effective use of my full name at certain times

And here are Theresa's memories:

The first time I realized that my mother was beautiful was when she came home from Mass one Sunday morning wearing a brown dress, fitted at the waist, a pencil skirt and brown high heels. I was in her closet playing with her other high heels even though I wasn’t supposed to be there. I saw her walking toward the house and felt proud that she was so beautiful. I remember that her skin was soft and so covered with freckles that she looked somewhat tan, although it was just her freckles all mashed together.  Her hands were elegant and slim with beautiful fingers. I loved the way her wedding rings looked on her hand. (She probably would have booted me down the block if she knew that I wore them to grade school one day. I don’t know why I did that. Can’t even contemplate the consequences if I had lost them).  I loved holding her hands even as an adult. She always had perfume bottles on her dresser. Wing Song was, not sure if the other was Chanel. She did not seem to wear it much; the levels never budged. Maybe this is why I have enjoyed perfume so much as an adult.

During the summer in the grade school years, I have two favorite memories. The first was weekly treks to the library to get books. One or many of us sprawled out in the living room or on the porch reading.  I thought she did this for our reading skills and vocabulary. She told me once, that she was such a slow reader, she wanted us to be more proficient; but it was also for her sanity during the summer. A way to keep us all quite, even if for awhile. The second was the game of Royal Rummy. Sometimes we played late, that being said, would mean till 11p.m. or so. We played wicked fast, no time for slackers; you had to bring your A game or you would get ‘the look’ from her. A huge bowl of popcorn and Kool-aid, that was living large.

Even though she never went to college, she did speak three languages. Well, at least she would help us with our verb conjugations or spelling. We mocked her for her poor pronunciation, although ours wasn’t much better. Still, she was always willing to help.  When I started nursing school, it was overwhelming. Full time work, full time school a small boy and no money. She made me believe that I could make. I don’t know how, but somewhere along the way, I started to believe I could too. She was one of the few people, other than fellow nurses, who would allow me to tell her detailed events from the hospital. She never stopped me, no matter how gory.

Our house was small, not fancy, but clean and orderly for so many people. I never thought about the organizational skills it took to keep nine people going. I really found out how meticulous she was when I helped her by removing Christmas lights from the tree one year. Each light perfectly attached to the branches so as not to see the wires or cords or perfectly placed tinsel. Who does that?  A lost art for sure.  One time when walking in the back door, I noticed that Mom had wallpapered the back entrance- 12-16 foot ceilings. I asked her how she did this by herself. She was amazed too. She said she never considered the obstacles once she made a decision to do something.  I see this trait in many of her children.

As I got older, I thought of her as a friend at times, not just my mother.  But then I saw her with her true best friend, her cousin Pat, I realized that while we were friendly, I could never be her contemporary. The way she would interact with Pat was not the same as with her children. They were funny, irreverent and happy when they were together. We loved Pat, too, for being there for her.  

My mother did not say that she loved me much during my life. In fact, I rarely ever heard it. But I knew to the core of my marrow that I was loved by her. That she loved all of us.  We all have stories of her, some funny, some sad, some hurtful. Over the years, I have grown to better understand that the critiques were her way of trying to make me a better person, her way of loving. I have accepted that it was her way. I do not dwell on it. But it did not become my way with my son. I have noticed that all of my siblings are much more demonstrative and verbal with their children and families. Every one needs to hear they are loved. As I reflect back over my younger years as a mother, I wish I could have done some things better, I know Mom told me once while she was in the hospital that she had regrets of not giving us kids some things. Some of those were material. She might not have ever known the intangibles were the better gifts. Nativity, the gift of faith, the desire for travel and knowledge, the gift of a large family.  I asked her once why she had so many children. She simply said, “Who would you not want to be here.” – She was right.  I know she would be disappointed that her children have behaved so poorly towards each other over the years and yet. Still, we are our mother’s children. We do love each other, hopefully, we will be whole soon.

As the grandchildren came, she was freer with the love and hugs. As I watched her with my son, I was so happy that he had such a close relationship with her and was so clearly adored. Unconditional love is amazing. Sometimes I wished that she could have been that way with us, too.  I wonder what she would be like with Aidan, especially since he looks so much like Shane or Michael in his independence. I can hear her saying “himself.”  Before she died she had me drive her over to the Sandholms on St Pat’s day to deliver shamrock cookies. She wanted to ensure that her very Swedish looking grandchildren knew they were Irish too.

Every now and then I see someone who looks like her it catches my breathe, still after all these years.  There is a longing and sadness.  I told one of my co-workers that she was my hero. This was at the time when the song, “Wind beneath my Wings” came out. When I left the hospital the night she died, it was the first song that was on the radio on the way home. I had it sung a cappella at her funeral.

This is a hard time for me every year. In the beginning, it would start in April, a sadness, crying more easily. Now, I understand that subconsciously, I am aware of the date long before I acknowledge the anniversary of her passing.  

Happy Mothers Day, Mom.

I miss you sometimes so much it hurts my teeth.

Pray for us.

Mare again:
I always thought it extremely fitting that her wake (okay, visitation) was on Mother's Day.  It would be in her to own it that way.
RIP