Growing up in Marion County, South Carolina in the 1960’s, I could not at the time appreciate the incredible wonders of my Mother. She never thought she would marry in life and in her 30s was living at home with her Father, Armstrong Howard. My Father, James Williams, had been married to Theola Livingston and had four children.

In giving birth to the fourth child, Theola died while in labor. This was January 1957, and my Father desperately needed a wife to raise those four children, and bring stability to the household while he worked the family farm. He knew my mother through her good name and sterling reputation. It was no secret that she was a virgin, and during those days that was something that ladies coveted and cherished.

As customary during the time my Father went to my Grandfather and made it clear to him that he was in a desperate situation and was in need of a wife. Grandpa Howard said to my mother: Thelma, I’m not gonna be with you always and someday you’re gonna get old and regret not having children and a family of your own. Then, having never known each other, dated, kissed or even hugged, they were married one month later in 1957.

My mother, Thelma Williams was thrust into an inherited family of four and eventually had eight children of her own, two of which were stillborn. She loved the first four as if they were her own and struggled mightily to provide a loving, nurturing and stable household for our family.

Stories like these would be unfathomable today, laughable, but those are the things that our mothers were made of. They saw marriage and responsibility to their children as a duty and a calling: a labor of love. My mother made many sacrifices in the early years of that marriage, never being able to afford the nicer things of life, having to do patchwork and makeshift work to assemble something that looked like a home and often sacrificing herself and her own personal desires for commitment to her family as my Father developed and built the Williams farm. My mother’s favorite refrain was, “Lord, just let my last days be my best days.”

Well, according to the calendar, it’s Mother’s Day again. I’ve written about this subject consistently for the last 16 years. Oftentimes at my home, I invite elderly ladies from the church over for Saturday brunch.

The Queen was in our country recently, and we fell in love with her all over again. My connection was that she and my Mother were born in the same year and one week apart. And like the Queen, my Mother has never worn pants, always wears a hat in public and always elevates the dress code wherever she goes. Mom knows how to put those threads together. Continued...