Oak Trees
Mothers’ Day brought a flood of memories. Every store had cards and shelves full of gift displays; they created a deep sadness in my heart. I was tearful most days thinking about mom. I wondered what I would have planned to celebrate her day.
My friend, Lois, gave me a small journal. The cover had an inset of violets like a framed picture or a window frame. As I recorded events and feelings, writing them was helpful in honoring mom’s last days, the good and the hard things.
Months later I loaned it to my friend, Anita, the journal wrapped in purple tissue paper and tied it with a cream ribbon. It was one daughter to another experiencing the similar pain and the lonely grief of losing our moms.
I remembered when mom said “Let’s talk.” So I did. She had told me I was like a hummingbird when I came to visit, the same thing an occupational therapist called me when I was in a mental health facility. I read that hummingbirds have their own charm because you are really honored when one would light and rest awhile as if to say “You are special.”
I want to be like my mom
She trusted Jesus
She quickly let go of her worldly possessions
She trusted her daughters
Through many changes
She was not demanding
She was gentle and quiet.
And finally in heaven’s embrace.
I had some storms in the past with wind, torrential rain and lightning. I was thinking about the cemetery. I wondered what limbs of the oak trees had fallen, what debris and leaves might be over and around dad and mom’s headstones.
On Memorial Day Dave and I visited the graveyard to clean up their headstones and the leaves and twigs from the trees. It brought back memories of the patterns of my life, caring for dad and mom, and in some ways long before.
But I wasn’t ready to stare at the ground where my parents were buried. As it grew dark, sadness filtered in. In some small way I could relate to my friend Lisa after her husband died. She went running to her secret garden that she and her husband Gary had created. She said “He can’t be gone, but I can’t find him.” Irrational but true.
I prayed while Dave was standing beside me “Let me honor my parents’ memory to live vertically by faith reaching up to God." I felt God was saying “Rest my beloved daughter, in my plans for you. As Lisa says, “God is crazy about me.”
A couple months later when my niece Tiffany and I went to the cemetery we found it unkempt. Obviously no grooming had been done since Memorial Day. But only one good sized branch had fallen. We threw it over the fence surrounding the cemetery's big branches that didn’t fit in the metal garbage can and raked around their headstones. It was good to leave it clean and kept. Dad would have liked that. We read Psalm 91, I called mom’s psalm and said a prayer of thanksgiving. It was a tender time and we left in tears.
When my sister, Leslie and her husband came to Roseburg to see my granddaughter Lolo’s play, she brought a soft blue blanket of mom’s and a 10 by 10 inch white pillow with a beaded heart that my sister Sophie had made for mom. They were a gentle reminder of my gentle mom.
David brought a certified copy of mom’s death certificate but I wasn’t ready for it. I hated having it so I put it in a drawer to deal with another day.
Two weeks later Lisa and I had coffee at our favorite place at My Coffee. It was one of those rare afternoons in March when the sun warms the soul. We talked about grief. She listened to my story of mom’s last days and her memorial.
We decided to go to the house where I grew up. I drove up the old driveway to a parking spot. The new owner had an entry garden fenced, but with no gate. There were pots of bamboo, Tibetans prayer flags and a Buddha. I told her “Those things don’t belong there. That’s God’s house. I knocked on the door and asked if we could look around. He said “of course.”
We drove up to the shale pit and talked about the surrounding landmarks that Lisa said she had included in her painting of the valley.
Then we drove to the century old cemetery. It was interesting to walk around and find the oldest gravestone 1848.
She encouraged me to paint the rolling hills surrounding and the stately oak trees. I haven’t done it yet.
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