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MAMA, MY STAR IN HEAVEN (REPOSTED)

"Life has meaning, life has purpose . . ."
A long time ago, a little girl was born. Her Daddy called her his
"little white angel."
Her Daddy is gone. He died many years ago.
Her Mama thought the little girl was beautiful and bright. She
watched from the window every day when the little girl went to school.
"My lovely daughter," she called her. "My daughter is a genius,"
she told her friends. "You should see her report cards!"
And the little girl grew up, married, had children . . . and
grandchildren.
She was no longer Mama's little girl . . . until . . . she left her
husband. Then Mama came back to take care of her "poor child."
Mama worried - - called her every day: "Mein kind, mein shayna maidela"
(My child, my pretty little girl"). Mama told her friends about her "poor,
beautiful, talented daughter" every day.
Three, four, five, six, or seven times every day, the daughter's phone
rang. . .
A pause . . .
"Hello. How are you, Mama? I love you Mama."
One evening the phone rang, and Mama asked, "What are you doing
tonight, Mamela?"
"I have an assignment, Mama. I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"Be careful driving, Mamela."
Several hours later the phone rang again.
It wasn't Mama.
It was Mama's other daughter.
"Hello . . .
"What's wrong?"
"Mama . . .
"Mama's dead."
"NO!"

Mama, I thank you.
I thank you for my courage
I thank you for my talent
I thank you for caring
For being with me always
For your love of life
That became my love of life.
I always knew
I had you,
My strong, staunch supporter.
My heartaches were yours
My dreams were yours.
You lived for me
You loved me so much.

And now
You're gone.
Never again
Will the telephone ring,
Your voice on the other end asking,
"How are you Mamela?"

I have no more mother,
She's DEAD
Forever and ever.
Memories may come later . . .
The pain is NOW.

May God bless her
Forever and ever.
There were pains in her chest
And she died.
Now I have pains in my chest
Aching for my Mama
Whom I will never see,
Ever, ever again . . .

The Lord is my Shepherd . . .
Now I lay me down to sleep . . .
I can't call her back.

"M is for the million things she gave me . . ."

May, 1982







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