. The Ladies' home journal. 40 My Mother is a Valiant Woman Most to be honored on Her MPug: the mother who manages topush her ehild out of the nest with gentle firmness, but doesntforget to gire him the passport of her love. « BY G. M. WHITE rHEN I was seven years old my father died. I still hear those impersonalmetallic clicks as his casket was closed. Seated stiffly in a shiny auto-mobile that moved silently toward the cemetery, I watched the flecks ofdust that floated in a ray of the waning autumn sun. Just before the coffinwas lowered a man dropped into the grave to chase a gopher out. Not
. The Ladies' home journal. 40 My Mother is a Valiant Woman Most to be honored on Her MPug: the mother who manages topush her ehild out of the nest with gentle firmness, but doesntforget to gire him the passport of her love. « BY G. M. WHITE rHEN I was seven years old my father died. I still hear those impersonalmetallic clicks as his casket was closed. Seated stiffly in a shiny auto-mobile that moved silently toward the cemetery, I watched the flecks ofdust that floated in a ray of the waning autumn sun. Just before the coffinwas lowered a man dropped into the grave to chase a gopher out. Nothingseemed quite real. When the service was over the crowd dissolved. I was small and hollow ar 1alone. I wanted to rest and the ground was close. I could feel the darkness ofthe earth closing over my head too. But my mother held my hand with an al-most crushing force; her knuckles stood out white and strong and the tips ofher fingers were pink where the blood was held back. She was real. Those who tell of overstuffed, mod
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