Friday, May 20, 2005
NOVEMBER 1991....MORE ABOUT MAMA
Most of the family left the night of the funeral. Big flakes of snow had been falling during the evening and as our family left for their motels we opened the door to a white world. It seemed Nature held off long enough for us to pay our last respects to mama and then it covered her with a blanket of white. It was silent….and still.
Mama always had a “sayin’ for everything. One of which came to mind as the snow fell that night….. “Blessed are the dead the rain falls on, but doomed is the bride,” was only one of the hundreds that she lived her life by….all of which she heard growing up from her mother and grandmother. Folks lived by sayin’s back in those olden times and they come to mind as I go about my days. It somehow makes any situation better as I take those words from my memory basket and speak them into existence. It makes me feel close to my elders when I do that……yes, the chain goes unbroken from one generation to the next. Mama would have liked the snow falling on her grave…….a sweet benediction.
George and John had stayed on with us after everyone else left. Becky had to leave the day before to be with Jennifer for Parent’s Weekend, at Canton. Today, the boys were packing to go back to Shawnee. John had flown to Kansas City where George picked him up and brought him here……..and would need to take him back to the airport. I took money from mom’s bank account to give each of the three children to help with their travel expenses…..I know she would have wanted that. I was very happy that all three of her grandchildren were able to come for her burial.
The boys left about noon. The house was quiet and the past few days seemed like a dream. Bear went outside to work off some of his emotions and I did the same, inside. I organized the foods that were left and cleaned the dishes to take back to church for people to pickup later. The bedding was washed and put back on the beds…….when there was nothing left to keep my hands busy, I gave in to my grief. The long ordeal was over……for mom and me, both. Seeing her die by inches for the past several years had been a struggle for both of us. She lived to make me happy and I couldn’t let her go………finally I knew it was inevitable and the long journey was near it’s end. I was given the privilege I had prayed for…that I would “be there” when mama died….but I was given a bonus….I literally saw her spirit leave her body….a last burst of freedom from the old shell that held her captive. Now she was forever free…..the gentle spirit was safely home.
My mother had a gift. People loved receiving her letters. After we moved to Missouri, in May 1945, she wrote to her mother, her sisters, and to dad’s side of the family. Her letters contained detailed descriptions of what she was seeing and feeling on this new adventure. The people, the culture, the pristine beauty of the surrounding area at that time were all topics that she sent back. Her writing was mostly on a Stuart’s Linen Tablet…….with her beautiful handwriting neatly cast on both sides. Her letters literally read as a novel and the family would write back wanting more……at times there would be so many pages she would have to press hard to get them in the envelopes.
She certainly had a bevy of subjects to write about. Going to auctions to buy a milk cow or two, a couple of pigs…….sending off an order for baby chicks which would be delivered by the mailman, buying an old Ford Tractor, a horse…….the list went on and on, each being described through the eyes of my mother. She had loved Missouri and through her writing, made everyone else love it too.
And so, the week was back to Sunday. John flew out of KC at 10:55am and was to arrive in New Orleans by 2:30pm. George went home alone after driving him to the airport. Becky was coming home from Canton where she had spent the weekend with Jennifer.
The notation I made in my diary that Sunday read like this: “I sure thought about mama today….especially at 12:40pm when she passed away just after church let out. My thoughts will never be far from her. The thing that makes it bearable is knowing she’s beyond pain and separation from her other loved ones….and I know I’ll see her again, one day.” I return to the cemetery and see the headstones for mom and dad and Louis…….impossible. There they are together and I feel so alone…..it is a feeling that never really leaves. They are “there” and I am “here”…for the first time in my life I am beginning to think of death as only a door which has been referred to many times by others…..but now I’m feeling there is only that door between us.
I devised a little game to survive my sorrow. It goes like this: I go to the door and open it and I see all three of them. They are young and vital….and happy. I stay as long as I can keep the door open. Reality usually shuts the door…..but for those few moments that I can fool myself, it is a wonderfully healing reunion. I come away happy and inspired, determined to make my life count for eternal things………
Until we meet again,
Essentially Esther
Mama always had a “sayin’ for everything. One of which came to mind as the snow fell that night….. “Blessed are the dead the rain falls on, but doomed is the bride,” was only one of the hundreds that she lived her life by….all of which she heard growing up from her mother and grandmother. Folks lived by sayin’s back in those olden times and they come to mind as I go about my days. It somehow makes any situation better as I take those words from my memory basket and speak them into existence. It makes me feel close to my elders when I do that……yes, the chain goes unbroken from one generation to the next. Mama would have liked the snow falling on her grave…….a sweet benediction.
George and John had stayed on with us after everyone else left. Becky had to leave the day before to be with Jennifer for Parent’s Weekend, at Canton. Today, the boys were packing to go back to Shawnee. John had flown to Kansas City where George picked him up and brought him here……..and would need to take him back to the airport. I took money from mom’s bank account to give each of the three children to help with their travel expenses…..I know she would have wanted that. I was very happy that all three of her grandchildren were able to come for her burial.
The boys left about noon. The house was quiet and the past few days seemed like a dream. Bear went outside to work off some of his emotions and I did the same, inside. I organized the foods that were left and cleaned the dishes to take back to church for people to pickup later. The bedding was washed and put back on the beds…….when there was nothing left to keep my hands busy, I gave in to my grief. The long ordeal was over……for mom and me, both. Seeing her die by inches for the past several years had been a struggle for both of us. She lived to make me happy and I couldn’t let her go………finally I knew it was inevitable and the long journey was near it’s end. I was given the privilege I had prayed for…that I would “be there” when mama died….but I was given a bonus….I literally saw her spirit leave her body….a last burst of freedom from the old shell that held her captive. Now she was forever free…..the gentle spirit was safely home.
My mother had a gift. People loved receiving her letters. After we moved to Missouri, in May 1945, she wrote to her mother, her sisters, and to dad’s side of the family. Her letters contained detailed descriptions of what she was seeing and feeling on this new adventure. The people, the culture, the pristine beauty of the surrounding area at that time were all topics that she sent back. Her writing was mostly on a Stuart’s Linen Tablet…….with her beautiful handwriting neatly cast on both sides. Her letters literally read as a novel and the family would write back wanting more……at times there would be so many pages she would have to press hard to get them in the envelopes.
She certainly had a bevy of subjects to write about. Going to auctions to buy a milk cow or two, a couple of pigs…….sending off an order for baby chicks which would be delivered by the mailman, buying an old Ford Tractor, a horse…….the list went on and on, each being described through the eyes of my mother. She had loved Missouri and through her writing, made everyone else love it too.
And so, the week was back to Sunday. John flew out of KC at 10:55am and was to arrive in New Orleans by 2:30pm. George went home alone after driving him to the airport. Becky was coming home from Canton where she had spent the weekend with Jennifer.
The notation I made in my diary that Sunday read like this: “I sure thought about mama today….especially at 12:40pm when she passed away just after church let out. My thoughts will never be far from her. The thing that makes it bearable is knowing she’s beyond pain and separation from her other loved ones….and I know I’ll see her again, one day.” I return to the cemetery and see the headstones for mom and dad and Louis…….impossible. There they are together and I feel so alone…..it is a feeling that never really leaves. They are “there” and I am “here”…for the first time in my life I am beginning to think of death as only a door which has been referred to many times by others…..but now I’m feeling there is only that door between us.
I devised a little game to survive my sorrow. It goes like this: I go to the door and open it and I see all three of them. They are young and vital….and happy. I stay as long as I can keep the door open. Reality usually shuts the door…..but for those few moments that I can fool myself, it is a wonderfully healing reunion. I come away happy and inspired, determined to make my life count for eternal things………
Until we meet again,
Essentially Esther
