Jack Carlson stood at the west end of Our Savior cemetery with his hands in his pockets. Looking down at the headstone, his eyes began to fill with tears.
“She was a remarkable woman. I never understood how she could do so many things so well. She was always in the right place at the right time and always had just the right words to say.”
“We had some lean years as a family and somehow she always made things work. We never went hungry and we never went without. But I know for a fact that she did.”
Pushing his hands deeper into his pockets, Jack Carlson wept tears of remorse.
“I never told her I loved her…not one time.”
“Once when I was just a little boy, I remember sitting on her lap and she was singing songs to me–about cowboys and campfires and sleeping under the stars. I wanted to tell her then, but I never did. Since that time, I had thousands of opportunities to let her know that I truly did love her–that I was proud to be her son–but I kept putting it off. And now it’s too late.”
Jack Carlson still mourns the passing of his mother. Having experienced perhaps the hardest of all of life’s lessons, he hopes that, one day, his pain will pass.
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