December 19, 2008

Christmas Supplement

Mother’s sacrifice was wonderful gift of love

By William Taylor (Special to The Criterion)

The snowflakes glistened under the streetlights at the corner of 9th Street and Rural Street as my mother and I walked to the 5:15 a.m. Mass at St. Philip Neri Church in Indianapolis on Christmas morning in 1935.

As a fifth-grade choir boy, I was honored to be singing during the Mass. Only seven more blocks to go in the snow.

My father and six sisters were snug in their beds at home.

At the time, I did not realize what a sacrifice this early morning winter walk was for my mother.

She was a large woman who waddled from side to side as she walked because one of her legs was larger than the other.

After Mass, we walked back home again, where she began to prepare Christmas dinner and I played with my one present, a Sir Malcolm Campbell Blue Bird Racer.

Many years later, a blood clot traveled from my mother’s bad leg to her heart and killed her.

Only since then have I realized what pain she must have been in and what a loving sacrifice it was for her to walk to church with me before sunrise on that cold Christmas morning.

(William Taylor is a member of St. Ann Parish in Indianapolis.)†

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