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“This blue vase just seems to be symbolic of those things. I’m going to put it on my fireplace mantel to remind me often to seek only the best that life has to offer.”

As he walked out of the store, the shop owner began to analyze his own life…and what could use a few changes for improvement.

Some of the most loving, unforgettable gestures of kindness in my life were simple but fine gifts. A few of these gifts have been given to me by strangers who became like angelic messengers when I needed them the most. This is one experience:

About two years after my mother passed away, I was in a fabric store picking out materials to make outfits as samples for my designer dolls. It had been a rough week, with a lot of decisions needing to be made both personally and professionally. It was still difficult for me to be in a fabric store, because it made me miss my mother more than ever. She simply buzzed with happiness whenever she was meandering around the aisles of fabrics, studying all the new materials and patterns like works of art. There was an older woman who reminded me of my grandmother shopping that day. I struck up a conversation
with her in the checkout line about sewing and crafting, and eventually we began talking about canning fruits and vegetables. The way her eyes lit up when she spoke about each of her projects made me miss my mother deeply.

I told her that one of my great heartaches was that all of my grandmother’s handwritten recipes for pickled beets, mustard relish, and especially the bread ’n’ butter pickles she would make every year had been lost in my house fire before I could get them scanned into my computer. The woman clapped her hands together with joy and then took my arm. She told me that she had most of those recipes and offered to send them to me. It was such a warm moment and kind gesture. I was thrilled to give her my home address since she didn’t have e-mail.

Two days later, I arrived home to a basket on my front porch. It was loaded with pint-size mason jars of vegetables in all varieties. Each was wrapped beautifully in tissue paper with a ribbon around the top. Attached to each ribbon was a recipe card for the type of pickled vegetable or relish in that jar. I couldn’t have been more moved by her thoughtfulness. It was almost as if I had crossed paths with her to be reminded that we are being watched over by those we have loved and who have gone on.

To show her my appreciation, I sent some of my designer dolls to her home. One doll was a porcelain angel, which is what this woman was to me.

I know that my mother would tell me not to waste a minute missing her.

When she could no longer walk or move on her own, she
jotted a note to me one afternoon as I sat next to her bed.
“I can serve you better from the other side now. I will always be near.”
I know she is. I sense her presence with me almost every day.

My mother would have told me: “The key is love…and that means loving the season of life you are in. When you are young, enjoy your youth, your education, and interacting with many different people. When you find a spouse, love your marriage and your children. Capture in your heart the moments your children are young, for they quickly pass by. In the fall of your life, appreciate your wisdom, speak your mind, and give back to the community. And in your winter season, cherish your loved ones, rest in a job well-done, love the simple pleasures of life.” My mother would tell me: “Don’t miss the present moment by living in the past or anticipating the future. Find a way to give and receive love right now, in the current circumstances of your life. Measure your accomplishments in love.”

One night, late after a show, my daughter Rachael, who was twenty at the time, came into my room and sat on my bed to talk to me. She was at a point where she was striving to find purpose in her life that she knew was her own. She has so many talents: singing, dancing, playing instruments, creating visual arts, and designing clothing. She is easily as talented as any Osmond and could have a performing career. However, she had a different point of view to tell me about that night. She took a framed photo from my dresser of my mother and father, her grandma and grandpa, in her hands. She said, “I’m
interested in so many different things. Like you, Mom. I look at your résumé and everything you’ve done, and I know that your talents and versatility have touched millions of people. But you always tell me that your greatest heartbreak is that you couldn’t be a full-time stay-at-home mother, which is what you always wanted to be. Grandma was brilliant. She gave up having an impressive work résumé to be a full-time mother. To me, Grandma chose the higher calling, by raising nine outstanding children. Because of her sacrifice, look at what all of you, her children, have done to bring joy to the world.

“I know if I worked really hard, I could probably do anything I put my heart and soul into professionally, like you have done. I love and respect you so much because you’ve had to provide for our family. But if it’s up to me, when the time comes, I’m not going to choose to work like you. I want my life to be like Grandma’s. I want my job title to be Mother.”

I shed a tear as I hugged my daughter. She has chosen the highest calling on the earth.

A woman’s love nurtures the world. To be a mother takes passion, commitment, energy, sacrifice, intuition, sensitivity, intelligence, focus, and endless amounts of love. Every woman holds the key.

In 2003, as my mother lay ill in her bed, I began to ask her questions about her life, and I wrote down her answers. This is what she said about marriage and family.
“You must work for everything of value in life. If you want a college degree, you’ve got to put in the time, the study, the work. Your degree will not be handed to you the first day you walk into class.
Marriage and children are the same. Family must be fought for, sacrificed for, held up and recognized as the most precious reward given to mankind.”

One afternoon, about six months later, when my mother had lost her ability to speak, my father came into the room and lay down in the bed next to my mother. He looked over at me and asked: “Doesn’t your mother have the most beautiful legs in the world?” My mother scratched out a note to him saying that she wanted to stand up one more time and dance with him on those legs. With the nurses’ help, I moved my mother’s feet to the floor and we brought her to a standing position. My father held her up in his arms and began to sway back and forth. Then he began to sing to her, using that same beautiful voice that gave her a “chill up and down” her spine as a nineteen-year-old girl. Tears flowed down their faces. Her fragile body began to tremble and sink into his arms, but they wouldn’t take their eyes off each other. Nothing was more important than that moment and remembering their first date, the beginning of sixty years of love shared together.

A fresh beginning of a life of love. On our wedding day, May 4, 2011.

M
y love and gratitude go to those who
mothered
this project to maturity. They include:

My literary agent at William Morris Endeavor, Mel Berger, who continuously cheered from the bleachers until I crossed the finish line. I appreciate you so much.

Kara Welsh, publisher, and Tracy Bernstein, executive editor, at New American Library for “adopting” this baby and nurturing its full potential. You have both been a blessing.

Kim Goodwin, who gave his tender loving care to every photo in this book, just like he does for every project we do together. You’re the best, Kimmie, and thank you for keeping me looking current, especially since I’m forever twenty-nine. Right?!?

My executive assistant, Lorraine Wheeler, who took notes and edited and printed and copied and pasted and then did it all again more than any mother with a year’s worth of school projects! Thank you, my dear friend.

My family of business associates who provide the sturdy structure that keeps me functioning, and who “walk me to the bus stop” every day to make sure I arrive at every destination safely—my management team: Greg Sperry, Darla Sperry, and my assistant, Maggie Yahner. Also, my publicists, Alan Nierob and
Allison Garman, who keep a caring eye on the report cards. I couldn’t get through a day without you ALL!

As every mother knows, you have to have at least one of those great girlfriends in your life who understands you to the core, strengthens you through the shaky moments, laughs with you through the long days, loves your children as if they were hers, listens to your thoughts, adds new insights, and helps you make sense of it all. My friend and coauthor, Marcia Wilkie, knew and loved my mother, knows and loves my children and husband, and has been my sister in spirit since the day we met in 1998. This book would have never happened without her. Thank you for the long two-year labor on this baby, my Marsh! I love you with all my heart.

To those I live my life to love more and more every single day, hour, minute, and second: my beautiful children, Stephen (and his wife, Claire), Jessica, Rachael, Michael, Brandon, Brianna, Matthew, and Abigail. I could never have understood the magnitude of joy in the word “motherhood” without each one of you in my life.

And finally, to my husband, Steve, who supports and sustains me through his love and belief in me, even through my unique and sometimes crazy life. The greatest gift you give to me is your undying support of my true and chosen career, to be a mom. Thank you, my angel, for loving and parenting these children, whom I adore, and for helping to mend any and all of the broken pieces along the way. I love you to the height and depths of my heart and soul.

Marcia Wilkie would like to offer her deep appreciation to
Mel Berger of William Morris Endeavor, Tracy Bernstein of New American Library, Patricia Bechdolt and Teresa Fischer, for being there throughout. And a full-hearted thank-you to Marie Osmond. (“She shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.” Proverbs 31: 25–26)