TERRE HAUTE — It’s merely one word, yet the conjunction of those six letters conjures up so many meanings and feelings. While teaching us both the simple and profound lessons in life, mothers somehow can instill morals and memories. They can guide us on our journey, pick us up when we fall, and let go when we must find our own strength.

In recognizing their example of faith, bravery and dedication to family and hard work, today we honor the memories of selfless devotion and unconditional love recalled in the following stories that elicit sadness, anger, fondness, and most of all pride. In reflections submitted to the Tribune-Star, readers look back at the women who filled the roles of devoted wives, doting grandmothers, treasured friends, and mothers.

In this collection of stories, our readers explain the influence of motherhood on their own lives. On this Mother’s Day, share in their memories.

— Alicia Morgan, Features Editor



Their stories

• What a privilege to be able to share pictures that will reflect my love for my wonderful Mother and describe how much being a mother to two amazing daughters means to me!

The best way to demonstrate this is with a picture that we took last summer. The picture includes my mom, Margaret Stanton, who is holding her seventh great grandchild surrounded by several of our family members.

Thank you Mom. You are amazing! I have been blessed with two amazing daughters, Emily and Mallory Bell, and always strive to be the parent that you raised me to be.

— Leah Allman

w/pic of daughters



• All of us have so many wonderful — and remarkable — stories about our mothers that choosing one was difficult. However, here’s mine.  

Favorite memories of my mother, Shirley Bennett, tend to involve laughter. She loved to laugh, which may be one of the reasons why she lived to be 92 “and a half,” she would say with a smile. However, when on my 30th birthday I was lamenting the fact that I was so old, she responded very seriously. “Oh,” she said. “If only we could appreciate the age we are for the opportunities it affords us.”  

I was impressed -- so impressed, in fact, that throughout the years I reminded myself of her observation whenever I started to groan, “Oh, I’m getting so old.”

Decades later, I thanked for her helping me to appreciate the aging process and quoted her words back to her. Mother was stunned and responded, “Did I really say that?”

I was even more stunned that she didn’t remember saying something so profound. “Well, yes, you did,” I stuttered.

“Really?” she said with a laugh. “Well, it was only because I couldn’t manage to appreciate them myself!”

But at 92 (and a half) she’d learned to appreciate the age she was for the opportunities it afforded her — most of the time.

— Sherry Dailey



• In the middle of Nebraska in the 1940s, on a small farm, in a tiny kitchen with a small table in the middle, my two brothers and I enjoyed the ride of our life. We were 3 to 5 years old, and our red-headed Mom, Helen, placed us on a large wide wet mop, and we hung on for a ride around and around the kitchen table, while my Mom cleaned the floor.

My Mom is now 88 years old, and she still laughs when we share this experience. It was, and still is hilarious. I love my Mom because she truly loved us; and any semblance of caring and love that I exhibit I owe to my dear Mom. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

— Ron Martin



• My Mom will be 93 this year. She is the most loving, kind women in the world. She has always been there for us and her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Her love is unconditional, and she shares it with everyone she meets. Her name is Ruth. We love you and thank God for choosing you to be our Mom and Grandma.

— Sally Grindle



• The Scent of my Mother

I leaned forward, near to my Mother’s shoulder as I began to spread warm massage oil down the smooth soft sides of her back as I prepared her for a Swedish massage. I lingered for just a moment to take in her scent, so reminiscent of my childhood, my Mother’s fragrance.

It was the smell of summer sunshine and good, warm, garden earth. My Mother was a goddess of summer sun and gardening. I’ve been told that wine takes its distinct flavor from the elements in its earthy environment — various species of herbs and flowers. Similarly, my Mother’s skin emitted the mingled aromas from summer days — of freshly mown grass, sweet potting soil, garden seeds, musky flower bulbs, freshly snapped green beans, onions simmering in butter, polished piano keys, clean clothes hung to dry on the line, and, gardenias.

Even writing about it evokes that fragrant aura of all that was my Mother. Now, years after the massage, I am able to recall that whiff of sunshine and good warm earth. At the time, I wanted to trap it in a bottle. I wanted to be able to open that bottle and get a rush of her fragrance when I needed comfort or to be transported to a time in my distant past. I wanted to have it handy for that time when I could no longer burrow my face in her neck in an embrace and breathe deeply of her sweet, warm essence that nourished me and made me feel safe.

I had not known the power of scent could be so forceful between parent and child once we had outgrown our infancy. But years after my father died I happened to open a box which contained his wristwatch. My father’s scent, which had clung to the wristband and had been trapped, like a genie inside the little box for years, burst forth and overwhelmed me with surprise, joy and sadness. It was a wonderful, wistful feeling to have that momentary physical essence of him. But, just as suddenly it was gone. Had I not opened the box, I would still have that essence of him captured within. However, if I hadn’t opened it, I would not have discovered and received that magical, fragile, momentary gift.

I touched my aging mother’s fragile skin and breathed deeply of her presence, capturing it in that chimerical bottle, which is my sensory memory, for all my time.

— Emily Runion



• Falling

My brothers, sister and I were raised on farm tucked away in Illinois. For what we lacked in space in our tiny farmhouse, we had plenty in animals and the wide-open prairie. Cows, pigs, horses and even a goat that rode a pony made up our life — and caused us to be entertained by the simple things.

Chic for her time with a sweetness and streak of bravery, my Mom cared about the things that make a girl feel alive. She begged my Dad to buy me a horse, a girl’s dream she helped come true. One warm day in the spring, I tried out my spotted horse, only to learn that the saddle was too loose for my 10-year-old arms to tighten. As I fell off and became frightened, hitting my head on the rough pasture, my mom realized something: If I didn’t get back on that spotted mare soon, I would not have the courage to try again. So she climbed up to show me how it was done.  

She showed me not to give up. She showed me that even with the things we love, life is not always easy. Giving up is not an option … we have to climb back up after falling.

— Ashley Littlejohn



• My stepmom is a true blessing. Whenever we get together we always go to the Goodwill store. I treasure these times because we get a chance to connect. I hope that I can be just like her someday.

— Brenda McCullough



• Being a mother is the biggest blessing any woman could ever receive. It is such an amazing responsibility that the Lord has entrusted me with. The feeling I have when my daughter looks up at me and says “Mommy, we’re best friends” is just priceless.

I love every moment that I am blessed to spend with her. She makes me laugh so hard I cry. Each day is a new adventure, and you never know what she is going to say! Children are like a blank canvas and how they behave and perceive things are a direct reflection on what they have seen and heard from us as parents. I actually love that responsibility; I am the one that my daughter will look to for advice and counsel. Because of this, I have to seek the Lord for wisdom and guidance each day.

I love my daughter with everything in me! She is the gift I prayed for and the gift God gave me! I feel blessed beyond measure — there isn’t a greater feeling than that of being a mother.

— Crystal Hunter



• When I was a child, my Mom always went out of her way for my sister and I. All of our birthdays and every holiday were a huge production at our house. We were blessed that she loved to cook! We had homemade meals every night, and they were delicious!

She was (and still is) a great model of what a mother and wife should be. I remember her packing my Dad’s lunch for work, keeping the house clean and always making it to all our field trips and school activities.

As a mother and wife myself, I want to model that same example for my children. The most important thing my Mother has taught me has not always been with words — it is being a Godly Christian woman in a world where consistency is hard to find. I love my Mom with all my heart, and am very blessed to have her in my life.

— Crystal Hunter



• My Mother, though graduated from this earth, gave me and my siblings a “drug problem.” When any church in our Fontanet community had their doors open, Mom drug us to church; we didn’t have a choice. That spiritual training has stuck with me my entire life, which has been fairly successful. Thanks, Mom.

— Van W. Cottom



• Mother raised my brother and I by herself, not an uncommon story, just ours. The one thing I remember most is that Mom always found a way to treat us to the little things. Once a month, when she was able, we would go out to eat. What a treat! We felt like we were the kings’ very own children. Little did we know how long our mother had to save up just to get a night off, without dishes. Love you Mom!

— Jerry Bennett



• I’m writing this dedication to my Mother, Valente R Turner. I love this woman to death. She’s always there for our family when we need her, and that’s what makes her so special.

She’s a role model to me and a hard worker, working 20-plus years at DADC to provide a better life for me. Valente is a wife, mother and grandmother, but not only that, she’s my best friend. Her motherly instinct makes her aware of exactly when I need her, and she’s always on time. I love you Valente. Happy Mothers Day!

— Tiara Vaughn



• My Mother was a remarkable woman. She gave of herself so unselfishly. She was the mother of five, four girls and one boy. I am the youngest of the five, and I would like to share just a piece of what made my Mother so wonderful.

In 1995 I was in a near-fatal car accident. I had three children at home. I spent about 2 1/2 months in the hospital as a result of the car accident. My mother took a leave of absence from her job, without pay, and took on the responsibility of my children, then ages 10, 8 and 6.

She cared for them, getting them back and forth to school, while also managing to spend an enormous time at the hospital with me. When I came home from the hospital, my children and I lived with her. I had a long road to recovery, and my Mom was there with me, caring for me and my children the whole time.

The song “Because You Loved Me” has always been my song to her. She was my voice when I couldn’t speak, my eyes when I couldn’t see, and she lifted me up when I couldn’t reach. She gave me strength to continue on, and made me see that I could overcome any obstacle.

One may say this is just what mothers do, but I don’t think that is necessarily true. Perhaps it is what they should do, but it isn’t something they are required to do. She has always been there for each of us children anytime we needed her.

After my Dad and her divorced, her job moved her to the state of Georgia. She was about 500 miles away, but one would never tell.

She came home to visit often, and we would visit there. She managed to have an awesome relationship with each of her nine grandchildren, and was even able to meet and leave an impression on her first great granddaughter.

She was there for us in a way that it would seem she was just across town. Just talking to her on the phone could brighten our day, comfort our heart, and make everything okay again.

She was no doubt a spectacular woman. Our Mom is not with us anymore, as she unexpectedly left us and went to heaven nearly four years ago. But her love and our memories live on in us every day. We are her legend, and of that we are proud.

— Rhonda Knight



• I write to honor my Mother, but I also need to reflect on memories of my maternal Grandmother. During some hard times, my parents and I lived with my Mother’s parents, William and Sarah Ellen Criss. They were farmers who lived on the “Old” Riley Road. They raised crops and nine children!

Grandmother was close to being a saint. No matter how hard she worked during the day, in the evening she sat in a rocking chair reading her Bible. My brother and I sat on the floor near her, eager to hear her read and tell us stories from the Bible. Grandmother Criss was one of the first graduates from what is now Indiana State University, and she taught at the school in Riley, Indiana. Her mode of transportation was on the back of a horse.

She also started a “Sunday” School for the children at Mt. Pleasant Methodist Church, where we attended until I was in high school.

My Mother was Mary Elizabeth (Criss) Creasey. I was blessed, for my Mother continued her love of what her Mother had taught her about the Bible and heaven. My parents insisted that I, and my only sibling, Floyd Eugene, attend church, church camps and church activities throughout our years at home. My Mother was sweet, kind and faithful to her religious upbringing.

At mother’s funeral, the folks at Memorial United Methodist Church told me they considered my mother a saint because of her faithfulness and her eagerness to serve others. My parents were members at Memorial for more than 40 years.

Mother was a perfect wife to my Dad, Floyd. They were married more than 60 years, and I never heard them argue. They discussed situations, but Mother let Dad make the final decision. To my parents’ dismay, I married very young. I now realize Mother never criticized how I was living my married life or raising my children. She did not interfere, condemn or offer advice about my marital life, even though I could have benefited from some counseling.

 So, for Mother’s Day, if my Mother is listening — somewhere out there, I want to say, “Thank you, Mother, for being a perfect mom, the wonderful memories I have of your caring, your love and your patience make me especially grateful. I hope my children will be able to say the same thing about me when they look back.”

My Mother and Grandmother were wonderful role models, and I treasure my memories.   

— Patricia Creasey



• My most memorable moments with my Mother were when she taught me to bake cakes. I was 10 years old, and I finally got so good at it she left me alone in the kitchen unattended. One day, I was walking over to the oven and tripped, spilling all the cake mix onto the oven burners, destroying them. She heard the noise and came running to the kitchen. I thought she would be very upset, but she smiled and said “good excuse to buy a new oven.”

Later on as the years past Mom became very ill. While waiting with her, her breathing became more labored, and I leaned over and told her softly not to worry, we could all take care of ourselves.

She taught the five of her children very well. If she felt the need to go and be with her departed family, I wanted her to go knowing we would all be OK. Through all the day her faced looked strained, and upon that moment of telling her it was OK to go, her face seemed to relax. She took one last breath and left this world to join her departed husband and parents. My mother was not perfect, but she was a good, loving mother and we shall always miss her. Love you, Mom.

— Becky Smith Becky Smith



• It’s not easy to be, or have, a mother-in-law. However, having Nancy Rubey as a mother-in-law is not only easy, but a blessing. My sister-in-law, Sally, and I married into the Rubey family and share a mother-in-law who is extraordinary.

According to Sally: “Almost 30 years ago, I married into one of the most exceptional families. I was not from Terre Haute and was blessed with a mother-in-law who not only treated me as one of her own daughters, but introduced me to her friends, organizations and made sure I was familiar to a community I only knew of as a student. My family moved to Florida shortly after Charles and I married, so the Rubey family truly became my family support. Nancy plans family vacations that everyone looks forward to, hosts holiday dinners and shopping trips that are fun and tasty, and is always ready to chip in on the not so pleasant clean up afterwards.”

Nancy Rubey gives 110 percent of her heart, soul, and love to our families, and she has modeled for me how to be a mother, wife, sister and friend. She is blessed with the gift of hospitality, endless patience, and tireless commitment to her family.

She is fearless and a softy (at the same time), and has shown me unconditional love, kindness, support and understanding as if I were one of her own children. She is the heart and soul of our family, and I know Sally joins me in saying that we are both better mothers, wives, sisters and friends because of her. Having lost both of our own mothers to illness, Sally and I appreciate and value her time, advice, jokes and love.

Sally and I are proud, happy, and so very blessed to call Nancy Rubey our mother-in-law. Happy Mother’s Day!

— Sally, wife of Charles Rubey; and Cathy, wife of Andy Rubey



• I would have to describe my Mother as a cross between Lucy Arnez and the comic strip character Blondie. She was a very funny lady, but didn’t know it. She never really tried to be humorous. Things just came out that way, and we loved her for it.

There is not enough room in this paper to tell you half the stories about my Mom. One of my favorites is about her cooking. I always tell people I was 12 years old before I found out “burnt” wasn’t a flavor. Dad always told her she could cook if she really tried, but sometimes other things became more important — like watching her stories, peeping out the windows to see what the neighbors were doing or playing with us kids. She always made sure she took time to listen to what we had to say.

But there was one thing she could really cook, and that was chicken and noodles. Chicken was fresh and cooked so that the meat just fell off the bone. And the noodles? They were all made from scratch the day before: Dough was laid out to rise overnight, then cut by hand into noodles, dried over the back of a kitchen chair, and then cooked in the fresh chicken stock before a Thanksgiving or Christmas meal. They were just a little piece of heaven.

The funny thing was: she hated noodles. She couldn’t stand the smell or the taste. When cooking them, she would never taste them, but they always came out the best. Dad would tell her that she ought to hate a few more things in the kitchen. All us kids would laugh, but Mom never did get it.

Mom’s been gone now for a little over 11 years. My daughters, Autumn and Amelia, miss their Nanny almost as much as I do. My holidays have never been the same without her and Dad. No more chicken and noodles poured over fresh mashed potatoes that have been smothered in sweet peas. And no more smoke alarms to remind us that Mom left the biscuits in the oven too long again. No more big holiday gatherings. It just wasn’t ever the same without Mom and Dad.

Dad once said that he hoped there was a Denny’s in heaven so Mom wouldn’t have to cook anymore. You just don’t know how much I miss and need you. Love you, Happy Mother’s Day.

— Doc (Melvin) Long



• Memories of my mother, Priscilla Wadhams (1911-1996)

Priscilla Wadhams was born in New York City. She was the youngest of four children. This photo, taken in 1912, shows her as a baby in her grandmother’s lap. Her mother Caroline (center) looks on, and her older sister Dorothy (right) admires her young sibling. Although the photo evokes a sense of stability and hope, my Mother’s family — like so many others — was on the verge of experiencing World War I. As it turned out, Priscilla was raised almost entirely by her mother and her brother and sisters. Her father left for France toward the end of the war.

The family story was that he fell in love with a Parisian woman and decided not to return to America. My grandmother and the four children struggled financially, but they survived — with a love of art, music and literature as a guiding force.

When my Mother reached college age, she paid for her expenses at Barnard by playing the piano in The Russian Tea Room during lunchtime hours. My Father, a young engineer from North Carolina, stopped in one day, saw my Mother at the piano and asked her for a date. They married after she graduated and began making plans for a family.

Memories of my Mother are consistently positive. She taught music and she played the piano throughout her life. Even in her final years, when she was in a cloud of confusion brought on by Alzheimer’s disease, she still could perform the opening bars of a Chopin etude-beautifully. She truly enjoyed motherhood. After we were grown and no longer quibbling with each other, my brother and I agreed that we were lucky to have been her children. She hardly ever lectured; instead, she showed by her own example how to live graciously.

Priscilla was a champion of good manners, good grammar and good food. She appreciated having a door opened for her; she flinched if a subject and verb did not agree; and she preferred home cooking to the empty calories of fast food. Even now, years after her death, I am reminded of her high standards. I can imagine her distress if I witness one person’s impoliteness toward another. I give a little flinch on her behalf if a cell phone conversation that I cannot help overhearing contains a jarring collection of grammatical errors. And I will confess that only a few weeks ago I found myself reaching for a large bag of potato chips at the grocery store. The moment that I had it in my hand, I could hear her voice: “Do you really need that, dear? How about some nice fresh bread instead?”  

— Nan McEntire



• My Mother’s name is Diana Toney, and let’s just say she has totally devoted herself as well as her life to raising me. She was a single parent and worked very hard to make sure I had everything I needed and everything that I wanted. Birthday parties were held at the Holiday Inn; I went to concerts; I had slumber parties; and I even participated in talent shows (one of which she dressed me as Madonna!). Of course I was 1st place in my category.

It didnt matter what the challenge was, she held my hand through it. The decisions I have made in my lifetime have not always been right, but she has stood by my side loving me unconditionally every step of the way.

I myself have three children now, and I dont think there is a better grandma in the entire world or one that makes better sweet potatoes. So, Mom, I want to thank you for all that you have done and for all that you still do for me and your grandchildren. Happy Mother’s Day, I love you.

— Ciara Toney-Boutwell



• In honor of my mother, Mary Steppe:

One hundred and five years ago, Joseph and Maria Vanzetta Steppe boarded the ship, Kaizer-Wilhelm, bravely heading toward a new world. Both 21, newly married on May 21, 1907, they planned to meet with Joseph’s brother in Terre Haute. Joseph was a cabinet maker, and helped build the communion railes in Terre Haute’s Catholic churches, and worked for Giffels Planing Mill, and Rheem Brothers, and many other places in Terre Haute.

Mom was from Matrei, Austria, and Dad from Munich, Germany. They met when Mom was in a group of four and went around the neighborhoods singing. They wore beautiful Austrian dresses and hats.  

Mom was in the States for 44 years before she got to go back to Austria to visit her two sisters. They would write to her in German and she would tell me what they said in English. Mom got her naturalization papers when I was in high school.  

Mom had five children in Terre Haute, the oldest, Mary Helen, was baptized in May 1908, in St. Benedict Church. Mary said when she was small, Mom and Dad would take her to the Wabash River, where Dad would fish, and Mom would read a German book. Mary said you could see the bottom of the river, it was so clear.

Imagine the patience my Mom had  — having five children two years apart, then having several miscarriages, then five more children two years apart. She washed all our clothes on the washboard. It wasn’t till we got electricity that she got a used Maytag washer. Clothes were always hung on the line outside, and in the winter, in our basement. The four boys wore bib overalls and Mom used to wait till my brother, John, went to bed to take his as he didn’t want them washed.

When my sister Bertha (now 96) was 2 months old, Joseph bought a farm west of St. Mary-of-the-Woods, and five more children were born. Mary worked in the very large garden all summer, and canned many quarts of vegetables and fruit. Most of the time she was bare-footed, and always wore an apron. On their 40 acres (still in the Steppe family) I remember one of the chores I was assigned was to pick a very large onion field — that sun was very hot. We went bare-footed all summer, getting shoes when school started in September.

I remember starting out with my Mom in the dark and walking three miles on a gravel road to St. Mary’s Village Church — rain or shine, in snow a foot deep, even cars didn’t go. I remember walking all that way once with a painful stone bruise on my foot. I was always one “holler” behind my Mother, and in the dark, I would be looking for bears and Indians in the deep dark woods at the sides of the road. I walked with my Mother for 21 years till I got married. (Maybe that’s why I had my 87th birthday last Sunday — all that exercise).

In all her life, my Mother never said a bad world about anyone. She would always say: “It takes all kinds of people to make a world.” There was a time when she and my Dad weren’t speaking, and they would have us kids to tell each of them what little each of them wanted to say. My Dad would walk the three miles (or ride a bicycle — and leave it at a neighbors) — to the Interurban line, and ride into Terre Haute, and work all day and do the same in the evening.

Going blackberry picking with my Mom was such an ordeal, she would charge right in the middle of the briars where the blackberries were the thickest, and even though we wore long stockings (cotton) our arms would be all scratched, up. And the chiggers — terrible.

Mom used to walk down to St. Mary’s to roll bandages for the missions.

When we came home from Concannon School, Mom would have yeast bread out of the oven, my what a good smell. She would bake bread several times a week, and made such good German foods. I can still remember our kitchen always smelled like yeast bread, baked on a wood stove.

My Mom was nice to everybody. I remember once, our neighbor, Frank Lucas, walked from St. Mary’s, and he was so tired he sat down under our big oak tree by the road, at the edge of our yard. And Mom took him out a cold drink, and Dad got jealous. That happened more than 80 years ago, but I can still see Mr. Lucas sitting there.

— Lena Steppe Bird