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<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="1" width="100%" class="forumline"> <tr> <th class="thCornerL" width="22%" height="26">Autor</th> <th class="thCornerR">Wiadomość</th> </tr> <tr> <td width="22%" align="left" valign="top" class="row1"><span class="name"><a name=""></a><b>salesakhus</b></span></td> <td class="row1" height="28" valign="top"><table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> <tr> <td width="100%"><img src="http://picsrv.fora.pl/xeon/images/icon_minipost.gif" width="12" height="9" alt="Post" title="Post" border="0" /><span class="postdetails">Wysłany: Nie 11:10, 26 Gru 2010<span class="gen"> </span> Temat postu: Mother's Day (on the second Sunday in May)</span></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><hr /></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><span class="postbody">,<a href="http://www.cheapnewportcigarettes.com" target="_blank" class="postlink">marlboro king size</a> <br />Now, my own children are grown and gone. Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions,<a href="http://www.cheapnewportcigarettes.com" target="_blank" class="postlink">marlboro gold pack cigarettes</a>, I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her. So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth,<a href="http://www.cheapnewportcigarettes.com" target="_blank" class="postlink">marlboro lights</a>, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss,<a href="http://circadianbase.com/pg/blog/usabcfjep/read/96008/the-cheapest-newport-cigarettes-in-the-world004" target="_blank" class="postlink">the cheapest newport cigarettes in the world004</a>, ever so gently, touched my brow. <br />Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead. <br />Mother's Day (on the second Sunday in May) <br />I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin. Finally,<a href="http://www.cheapnewportcigarettes.com" target="_blank" class="postlink">marlboro cigarettes</a>, one night, I shouted out at her, "Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love. <br />Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore. Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family. She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee. She cooks the best fried chicken in the world... gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could... <br />In my memory, for the thousandth time,<a href="http://www.cheapnewportcigarettes.com" target="_blank" class="postlink">newport cigarettes</a>, I recalled the night my young voice complained,<a href="http://www.freebieforum.co.uk/viewtopic.php?p=32247#32247" target="_blank" class="postlink">Mid-Autumn Festival</a>, "Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough!" Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night. I thought she'd remember, as I did. But Mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago. <br />That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands. And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found <br />Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead. Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away. But always it lurked, in the back of my mind.</span></td> </tr> </table></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2" height="1" class="spaceRow"><img src="http://picsrv.fora.pl/xeon/images/spacer.gif" alt="" width="1" height="1" /></td> </tr> </table>
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