[Congressional Record Volume 150, Number 63 (Friday, May 7, 2004)]
[Senate]
[Pages S5040-S5041]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                              MOTHER'S DAY

  Mr. BYRD. Mr. President, this coming Sunday is Mother's Day. In 
kindergartens across the Nation, small hands are being pressed against 
pink construction paper hearts, creating a somewhat smudgy record of 
loving hand prints for posterity. Those same small hands will clutch a 
crayon tightly in order to scribe in wobbly letters the heartfelt 
sentiments so beloved by Mothers--the three best words on earth: I love 
you.
  Older children's efforts to honor their mothers may be more 
sophisticated, but the sentiment remains the same: I love you, Mother. 
Or Mom, Mommy, Mama, Ma, or Maw. The name may show some variation 
across the country, but the title remains a cherished one. The flowers, 
too, may show some variation, from the short-stemmed fistful of 
buttercups wilting in a sweaty young palm to the artistry of the floral 
arranger with the world's bounty of blossoms at his or her fingertips. 
And these days, the cards may range from time-honored construction 
paper classics through sweet and witty store-boughts, to animated e-
mail extravaganzas.
  Whatever the display laid at the mother's feet this Sunday, the old 
adage remains true: It is the thought that counts. Mothers, who so 
often put their children and husband first, and themselves always last, 
will surely be touched by the love reflected in the efforts to make her 
day a special one. From a plate of cold toast and runny home-cooked 
eggs to an elaborate Sunday restaurant brunch, the meal will taste the 
same to a mother on Mother's Day. It will taste of love.
  It was just such a love that brought about the first Mother's Day, 
and the depth of the sentiment was and is such that this holiday 
continues to resonate among families today.
  The first Mother's Day proclamation, I am proud to note, was issued 
by the Governor of West Virginia in 1910, but by 1911 every State had 
its own observances. Such is the depth of sentiment for mothers across 
the Nation that fueled the spread of Mother's Day observances like 
wildfires across the parched West.
  The Mother's Day International Association was incorporated on 
December 12, 1912, for the purpose of furthering the observance of 
Mother's Day. By May 1913, the House of Representatives had adopted a 
resolution requesting that the President and other Federal Government 
officials wear a white carnation on Mother's Day. The following year, 
on May 8, 1914, the Congress adopted a joint resolution designating the 
second Sunday in May as Mother's Day and urging the U.S. Flag to be 
flown on Government buildings and private homes on that day ``as a 
public expression of our love and reverence for the mothers of our 
country.'' President Woodrow Wilson issued the first proclamation 
making Mother's Day an official national holiday.

[[Page S5041]]

  What inspired this outpouring of devotion and array of public 
displays of affection? A single West Virginia mother, Mrs. Anna Reese 
Jarvis, is at the heart of this story. Mrs. Jarvis was a minister's 
daughter. She taught Sunday school in the Andrews Methodist Church in 
Grafton, WV, for many years, while raising her children and caring for 
her neighbors in the difficult years following the Civil War.
  Mrs. Jarvis's daughter, born in 1864 and also named Anna, was a 
devoted child. She remained close to her family and especially to her 
mother. Miss Jarvis graduated from the Female Seminary in Wheeling, WV, 
and taught in Grafton before moving with her family to Philadelphia, 
PA. When her mother died in Philadelphia in 1905, Miss Jarvis was 
deeply affected. She felt that children often neglected to appreciate 
their mothers enough while their mothers are still alive.
  With the help of her friends, in 1907 she initiated a letter-writing 
campaign urging influential ministers, businessmen and congressmen to 
declare a national Mother's Day, hoping to increase respect for parents 
and strengthen family bonds. And such was the power of her message that 
her grassroots campaign took off, resulting in the national display of 
familial love that we will see this Sunday.
  At that first Mother's Day observance in Grafton, Miss Jarvis 
supplied carnations to the church because they were her mother's 
favorite flower. White carnations were chosen because they represented 
sweetness, purity, and endurance of a mother's love. Over the years, 
red carnations have become the symbol of a living mother. White 
carnations now signify that, like Miss Jarvis's mother at the time of 
the first Mother's Day, one's mother has died.
  Though not many people wear flowers these days, Mother's Day is a 
bonanza for the floral industry, just as it is for restaurants, the 
phone companies, greeting card companies, and jewelers. It is said that 
more long distance calls are made on Mother's Day than on any other 
single day of the year. Though Miss Jarvis might decry some of the more 
commercial aspects of today's Mother's Day celebrations, I think that 
she, too, would be pleased that through her efforts, so many people do 
make the effort to pay their respects and show their affection for 
their mothers.
  We have so much to thank our mothers for, when we consider the 
enormous expenditure of time and effort that it takes to raise a child 
properly. Aside from the sometimes grueling routine that many mothers 
face every day just to stay abreast of regular family maintenance, 
there are the hours she cheerfully spends ensuring that homework is 
done, that chores are performed, that piano lessons or sports practices 
or dance classes are attended, or that cookies are baked and presents 
wrapped. There are also the loving times that a mother spends with her 
children: washing hair, reading bedtime stories, saying prayers, 
comforting away bad dreams, kissing away hurts, encouraging dreams. It 
is a wonder that mothers find the time to do any of the other creative 
things they do, from sewing to scrap-booking, painting to pottery, 
reading to writing the letters that help to knit families together.

  My own dear mother died when I was just a baby. I cannot recall the 
touch of her hand on my cheek, or the sound of her voice saying ``I 
love you.'' But her angel face still smiles at me from an old 
photograph, and in her smile I can see the love that she still bears 
for me as she waits. No mother ever truly leaves you. Anna Jarvis knew 
that to be true when she conceived the notion of a national Mother's 
Day. She would not have us regret failing to show our love and 
appreciation to our mothers while we can.
  I offer my thanks to all mothers on this Mother's Day. To my own 
mother, I say thank you for giving me life, and for thinking of me and 
my future even as your own short life was coming to a close. And to the 
great love of my life, Erma, the mother of my beautiful daughters, I 
say thank you. Thank you for mothering me even as you mothered our 
children. Your talent at your chosen career, and your devotion to it, 
continue to show themselves in the generations of our lovely and loving 
grandchildren and great grandchildren. If Miss Jarvis had not beaten me 
to it, my wife Erma certainly has provided ample inspiration for a 
national Mother's Day.
  I close with the words of one of my favorite poems, one that I come 
back to each Mother's Day. It is called ``Rock Me To Sleep,'' and it 
was written by Elizabeth Akers Allen (1823-1911).

                            Rock Me To Sleep

     Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight,
     Make me a child again just for to-night!
     Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
     Take me again to your heart as of yore;
     Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
     Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
     Over my slumbers your loving watch keep:
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Backward, flow backward, oh, tide of the years!
     I am so weary of toil and of tears--
     Toil without recompense, tears all in vain--
     Take them, and give me my childhood again!
     I have grown weary of dust and decay--
     Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
     Weary of sowing for others to reap;
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
     Mother, O Mother, my heart calls for you!
     Many a summer the grass has grown green,
     Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
     Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
     Long I to-night for your presence again.
     Come from the silence so long and so deep:
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
     No love like mother-love ever has shone;
     No other worship abides and endures--
     Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
     None like a mother can charm away pain
     From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
     Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
     Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
     Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
     Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
     For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
     Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
     Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Mother, dear Mother, the years have been long
     Since I last listened your lullaby song:
     Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
     Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
     Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
     With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
     Never hereafter to wake or to weep;
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

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