The other day I read an anecdotal account about a mother encouraging her young daughter over something the child thought was quite serious.  As she cried her mother consoled her with loving and encouraging words.   It evoked a memory I have of my mother; the last time she rocked me in the rocking chair.
I was five years old and helping mama in the basement as she did the laundry.  My older sister was in school and my younger brother was probably upstairs taking a nap.
 Mama was standing a few feet away from me hanging up clothes as I fed the laundry through the Maytag washing machine clothes wringer.  Suddenly it caught my fingers and I was pulled off my feet as my arm was pulled through all the way to my armpit.  I screamed.  Mama rushed over hitting the release with all her strength.   Catching me in her arms, she carried me upstairs to the rocking chair in the breakfast room.  She rocked me in that chair for a long time while she sang and spoke comforting words.
It is a sweet memory.
Jane Owens