I always loved my mother, felt loved, but she was judgmental. Her father in Ireland didn't approve of women generally, and she took on his values. She believed her own mother was foolish.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
My mother married my father in 1956. She was twenty-eight, and he was thirty-one. She loved him with a fierce steadiness borne of loyalty, determination, and an unyielding dignity.
I had a very strong-willed mother, who I totally adored. She was always in control of her life.
I adored my mother. I absolutely adored her and admired her.
My mother was a passionate, complicated, sometimes fierce woman.
The one thing I never questioned about my mother was whether she loved me.
My mother was the love of my life.
I love my mother. My mother made sure, her stubbornness - she made sure we was going to eat. She made sure we had Christmases. That was my mother. My father wasn't there for that.
I can't think I've ever loved anybody quite as much... My mother was my life, really; she was my entire world.
My mother was gentle and warm. She was the sort of person you could really open up to. I was the eldest and her only boy, so I guess I was treated differently. She did bring me up as a Catholic, and at one time I was an altar boy, but I lost my faith, as did my father, when my mother died at 45.
I can't say I ever loved my mother; I admired her.