Sunday, September 19, 2010

Finding Momma

Leaving behind the cool air and the low fog might have been the hardest thing that morning. …everything damp was clinging to my skin and my hair, and I nestled into its chilly embrace. I was driving away from what I loved. The temps were low in the 60’s, the hour still early. We were driving south and east, heading home. I was strangely exhilarated for being utterly exhausted. And the road, stretched out before us, held no promise of easing exhaustion; so I concentrated on the unexpected exhilaration. Memories danced, slow and easy, across my mind. I’d seen her dance that way, well… maybe too many times. In those days, I’d sometimes felt like I was seeing an intimacy that was not mine to see.

Himself celebrated 89 years that weekend, and some of us were able to come and celebrate with him, to metaphorically dance on the tables!!  haha!  We would share stories, crosswords, and laughter. We’d ‘see to’ whatever needed to be done around the small manse atop the breezy hill. And for me…to generally hold him in esteem in every possible way  for those few short days. Be amazed by as many things as I could about him. He is my father, he is aging, and 89 is a big number.

We arrived in the cool black of night just before midnight, with a smattering of stars canopied above, ushering us up the familiar drive. We all hugged tight in greeting, shared a few sips of wine, unwound with stories of the road, and kissing each other goodnight, hit the proverbial sack.

I laid back into the covers and snuggled-up the room that had once been mine; and I paged through my memory picking-out all the things I had loved about this space. Mostly the fact that it is the corner room, and it is essentially all window…covered with white, flat, wooden slats reminiscent of a beach cottage. Light streams in all day and when the windows crack open, glorious breezes blow through …it is beyond perfect. The only thing missing is the ocean itself rhythmically moving outside… and I can pull in that image with barely any movement in my mind!

I could hear the stillness of the house settling and I waited to be called by momma... I was sitting in my reading chair, praying a rosary actually. My son was in Honduras and had asked me, elbows to his knees, earnest face and beautiful love pouring from his eyes, "will you pray one rosary for me each day while I’m gone, mom…"  I agreed before he finished asking; there was no hesitation, as I love Mother Mary and I love him.  I would do anything for either. While praying that particular night, I had drifted and traveled in my prayer out to see him in that colorful, lively country.  Before long, momma touched my shoulder and called my name. I opened my eyes to answer expecting to see her face bent into mine, and found that no one was there. It was the first time she visited me, although she had not yet journeyed away from us. I knew in that instant it was prophetic.

Those days are in memory now, but laying there snuggled into the cottage room, it was all too real…and I could not sleep. Whether it was the road, the house, the scented midnight breezes or momma herself, I found sleep was out of reach. 
In the morning walking thru the house, it hit. 
I saw Momma everywhere.

Flashes of memories quick and short presented themselves, then faded. I was totally okay with it. Actually, it felt glorious. While I poured coffee and sat across from our Patriarch answering crossword clues, my eyes grazed his breakfast plate and I remembered picking out those sapphire blue dishes with her. She absolutely loved them. Amazingly, daddy and I solved both the local and the New York crosswords that morning while I saw hundreds of breakfasts in my mind with momma seated together with us.

My sister, daughter and I smuggled in a new birthday bed set, something fresh, new and masculine. Emerald Isle green with accenting blues and browns, and the softest hint of pink. His bedroom jumped alive. Amanda and I made the bed, adjusted the pillow shams and I wondered if she knew momma was there helping.  I saw her eyes twinkle, and remembered every kiss goodnight, every early morning rise. I watched her choose her clothes from the closet…its doors open now as we folded away Dad’s old quilt; and at her dresser, I was fluffing her hair ‘just right’ in front of the big mirror before stepping out-and-into her day...and seated on the vanity stool, I helped her with her shoes. She was gorgeous, and I wondered if she had heard that often enough, or if it had even mattered to her.

Later Amanda and dad sat, heads together, pulling photos from the albums. These old pics would be spread around the room and shared at the party later tonight. I listened as Dad’s stories flowed, so many memories, now shared between grandfather and granddaughter. I took notice of their laughter, loving Amanda’s new-found insights into the life my parents had shared. I stopped moving when I saw the picture.

I looked up at Dad, but he and Amanda were continuing their revelry and I became still as stone and just let the photo in. They were young, maybe twenty. Just. Younger than every one of my children; and it was taken long before my sibs or I were even imagined. I looked carefully at their black and white images. My folks were out somewhere fancy. Dad looked beautiful and Momma was stunning. I didn’t remember having ever seen this one before.  It’s like it lept into my life that day.  I couldn’t stop looking at her.  Amanda and Dad kept up their happy conversation, amazed by those early shots of him, so long ago! and his stories rolled out with Irish finesse and flair. Their energy was bright and light. I stepped away.

I walked to the front windows and looked out for awhile; when I turned she was lying in quiet, final repose against white sheets. She and I were holding hands, fingers woven together. I gently squeezed her hand and she returned the intimacy. I was infused with unspeakable gratitude that my hand was in hers, and hers in mine, as she slipped away.

The lights were low and the Christmas tree’s glow was the only other illumination. My sisters and I stood on each side of her and we performed the age-old tradition of preparing her for the inevitable. In the blink of an eye, I was whooshed thru some unseen space which connected me with every set of hands that had ever tended a loved one -as my sisters and I did now.  I saw hands of every color; these hands were old and young, they were large and small, weathered, gnarled and smooth.  I saw glimpses of fabric at their wrists.  Each pair of hands spoke of ancient times, all moving in symmetry, all competent, all devoted; and each hand moved with every bit as much love, as our hands did now.   I gasped!

I looked up, and my sister’s eyes met mine in question. It was clear immediately she did not see what I did.  I looked again at momma…and all the hands of time continued their loving, dedicated work. I saw in it, tradition, that it is women who do this tending; and on this day, we were phenomenally linked in this most elemental, universal pursuit. I was awed to the marrow of my bones. Without hesitation I tell you, in that amazing moment I knew I was receiving a rare gift from the 'center' of the universe. I call it Divine Love. My hands joined again with all of theirs and together we made my mother ready.  When our task was done, I re-felt the whoosh which this time released me from this vision, this experience, and I found myself standing bed-side with my sisters. I almost sobbed… exhilarated, amazed, humbled and grateful.

I still held the photo and decided, right then and there, I would find another like it, replace and frame it, and exchange it for the one I have of her hanging in my room. I wanted to remember momma like this, in her twenties, or maybe thirties, when she was vital and so alive; when the twinkle that often glittered in her eyes was in full-swing!
God, I loved this woman.

As we prepared for company, setting out the china, silver, and glassware, Dad filled the entertainment center with his music selection for the night; when all was chosen, and music drifted into the house, he put his left arm out, and his right arm swung back toward himself, and in smooth daddy-style, he shuffle danced himself into the middle of the room and did a few turns. He did not see me standing in the kitchen, but I watched as he spun mother around our living room, as he had so many times before…her face tilted up to his, both of them lost in their shared moment.

The party was nice. Irish coffees, cake and friends. Laughter filled our home. Daddy-dear was in his element.  I heard my own voice, as others commented at the photos, at how ‘young’ dad was, “who did you get to pose for you in this one?” cried out a friend, waving a black and white around… I mean my father was a beautiful young man!  But even as I tried to stop myself I heard my voice, like I was sitting in the room as a guest myself, saying to Eloise and Bill…”look at her! Wasn’t she something? …look at her face, her hair…her beautiful eyes…”

I came full circle and realized, perhaps with a nubbin of shame, that this weekend, for me, had become about my mother and I.  Driving Rex and Dottie home later, and helping their old bones out of the car and up the walk-way to their door, we spoke of daddy and we all said his birthday was a success. When Amanda held Rex’s elbow in assistance, he whispered with a cracked voice, “I miss her…”
And a downpour of clarity told me I wasn’t the only one who ached in her absence.

I believe that we Are.
And that we Were before we arrived into this life; and that when we step back out, we continue to Be.  Even as a child I somehow ‘got’ that.  Momma has visited me many times, coming as a soft illumination of light, usually on my left side.  She has called aloud to me, and I answer each time, knowing she is not there, and yet knowing she is right there. I know it's her, just as I know the faces of my own children.

The Bhagavad Gita tells us of OM, the eternal Word. “The eternal Word is All: what was, what is, and what shall be, and what beyond, is in eternity. All is OM.” With that knowledge, doubt does not exist for me; my belief is firm; and again and again my soul feels joy.  Momma is part of what is beyond and certainly a part of eternity, a part of all, a part of om... And in that place, she might be 30, eyes twinklin'…a lovely energy, like a vibrant gown of shimmering color and intimate warmth, she is stunning.

Gracie came to visit and her two sisters and I were a fountain of bubbling excitement. We love being together. We decided to ‘go out’ and let our hair down at a jazz club we know; so we dressed to the 9’s and with animated conversation and laughter, and absolute delight in one another’s company, we headed out. Our friend Ari joined us; she fits our family like a sister.  At our table, surrounded by bluesy jazz notes and that pulsing thrill of a nightclub, someone said, “Mother! Where did you get that ring? It’s so interesting!” I looked at the slender gold band holding a soft pink opal, seated in black onyx. “It’s Momma’s,” I said smiling, and received a foursome of smiles in return… “I thought I’d bring her with us tonight, you know how she loves a girls' night out!” and with that, we grinned at each other and the six of us proceeded to have the time of our lives... dancing, talking and loving our way into the night...
See you later, Momma...

Love-love, Wildflower

3 comments:

  1. You might warn a girl that your beautiful words are likely to cause tears!

    "He did not see me standing in the kitchen, but I watched as he spun mother around our living room, as he had so many times before…her face tilted up to his, both of them lost in their shared moment."

    The imagery you create is amazing. You fit me like family, too.

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  2. momma I love you so much! I love grandma too! I miss her and her "ha!" moment with Mary Grace and I :)

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  3. I agree w/ARI. This Blog should come with a warning: It'll make you laugh, It'll make you cry, I'm just sayn'... !!
    I cried, a good cry. I see her on the “patio” when I smoke and replay the many conversations we had there. I see her when I enter the kitchen, sipping a Chablis and munching on the tiniest of chips left over in the bag. I see her in their loveseat next to Dad watching TV (I can’t sit there yet – I just can’t). And I totally get the blue chair (not mentioned above). I too feel her hug as i sit there and love to have it surround me especially after the long drive (i even slept in it one night, just as she often did).
    I’m glad you have such peace and share your love of the universe. XOXO me

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