With Mother’s Day upon us once again, I think of my mother and all of the things she did for me. She was born on June 24, 1908, in Fredonia. Her name was Wilma Louise, but everyone called her Bill. She passed away on July 22, 1963, in Brady in the Sellman Nursing Home, just behind the old Brady Hospital. She was 55 years old and had Parkinson’s Disease. My first remembrance of her was in about 1933. She was picking cotton, and I rode on her cotton sack. She also did ironing for people in Rochelle. She always made each and everyone of my birthdays as if we were celebrating President Washington’s birthday. She loved the Rochelle Baptist Church where she was the loudest singer in the choir. She never missed any church services and had me in the summer Bible School until I was two feet taller than everyone else. Sunday noon meal was a big thing to her. We usually ate about 1:30 p.m. and always had company. The preacher always got the “pulley” bone. Sometimes when we were smaller, we had to wait until the adults had eaten before we could eat. She loved to help people in trouble. She took widow women to Brady to shop, always kept a teacher in our home and fixed meals at night for three or four teachers. One time I came home from school, and she said, “Don’t go into the bathroom. I’m fixing to dress a young baby who has just died.” She got Baird Henderson to build a small coffin and took it to the cemetery for burial. She was the first one to sit up with the sick, loan a few dollars, which we didn’t have, to those in need. She bought anything anyone came to the house selling, such as the Watkins man, the magazine man or for donations. She loved to go to anyting that had B.Y.O.B., which as Brother Ken says meant “Bring Your Own Bible.” She was my pal, my nurse, my buddy, my friend and my mother.