If you’re around them as much as I am, you’d be praying for the chance to just be and enjoy them so you can write about them. Sometimes, they aren’t “still” enough to let that happen. WalkerJojones, if I were you, I would read this to my Mother. I read two things to my mother; one when I was 9, the other when I was 32. One about her oldest sister who died from a drug overdose. The other about her God-daughter who sort of “lost her way.”
I am here to tell you that each poem, each piece stirred up something in her I had not seen and it was definitely the “smile in the eyes” that you pointed out regarding your Mom, followed by overflowing tears. I do not read things to my Mom anymore, I cannot without crying because I take one look at her and what is she doing? CRYING! “Happy tears,” she calls them. What an oxymoron! “Happy tears.”
That’s my four cents that you did not ask for, but this was THAT amazing and your Mom and those beautiful old southern women should know it.