I hadn't planned on putting out Easter decorations. Spring deserves to be ignored this year with four, count'em four Canadian and Rockies storms burying us this March in the white stuff.
In the final year of my mother's life I had packed away her plaster cast of a bunny with pink tulips in its annoying styrofoam packaging, little beads of the stuff all over her floor.
And the thought crept quietly into my tired brain, will this be the last holiday for her, lover of holidays that she is? We've all had these somewhat prophetic thoughts and when they come true it leaves us with a shivery feeling about the mystery of our own psyches. Why can't we understand everything? Why is there so much unexplainable muck still out there?
I cannot stop missing my mother although this is not my goal. But Easter three years ago was the first realization for me that she was leaving. Forever.
The two most beautiful girls in the world will be visiting my household this weekend, granddaughters, what a perfectly incredible invention and for them I will decorate. The bunny with pink tulips is resurrected, hallelujah.
The half moon is high above my oak tree, paled and blurred in the clear winter sky, black craggy clouds swirl about like dirty silks. Marie, are you all right, is your spirit lively, is your pulse still evident somewhere, how do I celebrate you, I cannot believe you are invisible to me. She is in a box upstairs on the upper shelf in the extra bedroom and when I shake her I feel sand and rocks, thou art dust and you have accomplished that.
It is a tired subject this business of mother and me, but I ache for the years of her I have missed. My father travels the path alone and I think about the humor she would have supplied in our lives if her presence was still a real and vibrant thing.
In the final year of my mother's life I had packed away her plaster cast of a bunny with pink tulips in its annoying styrofoam packaging, little beads of the stuff all over her floor.
And the thought crept quietly into my tired brain, will this be the last holiday for her, lover of holidays that she is? We've all had these somewhat prophetic thoughts and when they come true it leaves us with a shivery feeling about the mystery of our own psyches. Why can't we understand everything? Why is there so much unexplainable muck still out there?
I cannot stop missing my mother although this is not my goal. But Easter three years ago was the first realization for me that she was leaving. Forever.
The two most beautiful girls in the world will be visiting my household this weekend, granddaughters, what a perfectly incredible invention and for them I will decorate. The bunny with pink tulips is resurrected, hallelujah.
It is a tired subject this business of mother and me, but I ache for the years of her I have missed. My father travels the path alone and I think about the humor she would have supplied in our lives if her presence was still a real and vibrant thing.
2 comments:
Oh my. That was beautiful. Thank God for grandchildren. I look forward to mine.
I remember when I was little, thinking about if my mother died. I determined that noone else would touch her and I would bury her myself. I wanted her to be all mine. This thought still sends a knife through my heart.
Happy Easter Dawn! I'm sure your Mum is there, woven into the fabric of your life, watching you and loving you.
Aw thanks, arizona.
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