the road

A sixty-six year old story takes awhile to tell. It is a quiet one. Like the winding path up the knoll, past the musky scent of horse as I turn the corner that brings me back to you. Passing the old board that bears your name and through the thick forest that served as haven. Up to the porch where your crooked grin and the worn brim of a work hat is as intimately a part of this place as are the falling leaves and caw of the crow.

With lingering memory, the seasons continue their shift. And now all moments have been fed back into the wonder as a wave into the sea that made it. I hear you in a beating feather. I smell you in the gasoline and cold metal of a workshop that provided a tinker's bliss. And it is here I begin the journey to sift through lives well led, well loved...saving pages of the book that tell the tale.

Day after day, box after box, my sister and I have wiped the dust away and sorted through my parent's things. Stopping at times to hold a trophy, a drawing, a crumbled macaroni pencil holder with a barely readable 'I love you, Mommy' written on it's metal bottom. My favorite stuffie whose felt crown bore a tiny hole from a finger used to carry it about. Dolls, diplomas, the small, black velvet cape my grade-school grandmother wore through many a snowy, West Virginia winter. It is here I smile, I remember, and sometimes swallow my tears as I sit on an overturned bucket to peruse the tea-colored pages of my dead brother's baby album.

It was on a hot, sticky day three when I found an old box containing my mother's love letters to my dad while he was away at war. I took the treasure home with me that evening and spents hours reading the simple but eloquent words of a young lady asking her beloved to return home safe and that she would be waiting for him....true and brave, her love. And she did. And for the next six decades dedicated every fiber of her being to creating a nest for Papa Bird and her chicks. It was alone that night, within the walls of my dimly lit bedroom, wine and tissues at my side, I sobbed. A wail so deep and nourishing..it heals. Those letters, like a precious jewel..a symbol of the love that made me. I will honor and hold them dear all the days of my life.

And so it continues. Sis and I are slowly closing up shop. With each passing day, the house empties just a little bit more and we flinch at the thought of circling out of the drive for the last time. The mirror's shrinking reflection of the purple glint of the blackberry bushes, the jonquil patch and that sweet, yellow clapboard house. No matter who may claim the ground, this mountain will always be my fathers. He and his lady's ashes will rest here together in the whisper of the trees. And a piece of my heart will be left behind in its company.

then the rains came

My mother is at rest now. In her heart and soul. No more confusion or fear. No more days lost between her and the beloved husband who shared a lifetime. For this I am grateful. Yesterday, we interred her, alongside my father and a Chinese maple whose leaves shine red in the summer sun. Behind a gray piece of stone that bears the name but doesn't even begin to tell the story. These last few months have tore at the deepest part of me, in so many ways, and now I have no choice but to stand up and move forward. The sludge will give way eventually and Life will band-aid, then renew and heal itself. It always does.

Mom was a giver, cackle-laugher, great cook, a heart on her sleeve type of gal. She worried, loved carbs, worked hard and her kids were her life- completely. She had the most loving touch and deepest hug I have ever had the fortune to receive and she believed in me when I wasn't able to. She liked elephants and humming birds. She buried her only son but somehow managed to keep one foot in front of the other and the light within. She cared deeply about the homeless. There was never a sullen face she would lock eyes with on a street corner when she did not give him a bill or two. She believed in second chances, her God, the power of love and she was my mentor. I will never be as protected as I was within her prayer. I have written about her before and the times we shared, so now I will tell you the part of the story that was her finish. Or let's just say...the goodbye to her next hello.

The vicious hand of dementia had really worn my mom down these last three months. We were medically advised not to share the news of my father's March passing with her. The one time I followed someone’s head and not my own heart. To be totally honest with you, because this entry would be lacking if I didn't share this but...I do believe it will go down as my deepest regret and something I will spend my lifetime questioning. It was surely not for cruelty's sake that I wanted to tell her but as a hospice professional once shared with me- there is dignity in truth, truth within dignity...always.

Despite the twisted warp of this disease, I think my honesty regarding this matter would have given her answers. Reassuring answers to some possibly odd scenarios I was afraid that might have been brewing in her sick mind. Silly imaginings to us, I know. But not for a person whose brain is ravaged by plaque. I pray wholeheartedly that this pounding ache within me will lessen as I continue the grieving process and that I will learn to live with the choice I made and trust in the love and Fugi Mountain understanding of my mother that it is all okay. Perhaps somehow she saw behind my eyes and knew this secret..the only one I have ever kept from her. I must say the prayer regarding this will undoubtedly be my deepest dig yet and I hope I can forgive myself. This may seem a Debbie Downer of an entry but I guess what I am trying to share from my heart to yours is...always do it your way, even when you are out of your element...feeling frightened, overwhelmed..confused. Move in steps of confidence, because no one..NO ONE...knows the love you share and the mechanics of it. Trust your heart. Always. I know I will.

I feel it incumbent upon me to spend the rest of this page praising a most remarkable place we have here within our community. It is a temple of a hospice, quite frankly...the Circle of Life. My sister and I were fortunate to bring my mom here to complete her journey after a long struggle in nursing homes that just weren't able to really do the job. From the moment we entered, I can not remember when I was ever treated so kindly...so compassionately. Death and its process are not to be feared here. Within these walls there is solace, for the dying and for the living. Comfort and beneficence surround you. It feels like home. I remember one evening there was song and celebration from musician volunteers. I gripped the back of the sofa to keep from crying as I listened to some inspiring gospel music (something my mom loved) and I prayed wholeheartedly that the waft of its goodness would fill her ears, accompanying her on her way to the mystical beyond.

Within minutes of our arrival there, we were told by a lovely nurse that we could now go from advocate to daughter. Just the place where my sister and I needed to be. And it was there we stayed for eleven days. Some were long and stormy. Many were spent by the fireplace where our tummies were filled with hot, homemade soup and cookies...always a kind greeting from passersby. Each smile, each soft hello was something I grew to hold onto...collect...and used to infuse me when I wanted to scream out from my core. A few were spent in the quiet of an Adirondack, looking out over the water, surrounded by the most beautiful garden whose stones and benches bore the names of loved ones who had transitioned there. The butterfly, their mascot, are peppered throughout the grounds. The metamorphosis of this ethereal creature..a beautiful symbol of rebirth, the fragility of life and the amazing color of it all! I know from now on, each time I see an iridescent wing, I will think of her.

I love you, Mom. My deepest wish is one where I get the honor of walking the path beside you again, in some way or fashion. Learning and growing from your amazing example. Fly, fly, sweet lady. See you in the next tomorrow.