Tag: Family

A Bitter Autumn

My friend died this fall. I bought a new coat.

To be clear I didn’t buy a new coat because my friend had died. The purchase was a coincidental purchase prior to the passing of this dear friend.

We had first met as freshman in college. But it wasn’t until I found myself on a double date two years later that a friendship was born.

Our boyfriends were good friends and co-workers as RAs in a campus residence hall. Later, my boyfriend and I would marry, she and her date that night would soon follow suit. Graduation and weddings followed, then travels together, and visiting each other.

They had begun their careers in Milwaukee we had traveled to Michigan where my husband entered grad school. Two years later we returned to Dairyland, and the friendship continued, grew and flourished. Homes were bought, children born and adopted, grew up and were married. She said to me at her son’s wedding “We danced at each other’s weddings, now we dance at our children’s.”

One of the last times we would be together was at the wedding of our own daughter. By then our friend was already experiencing the symptoms of the disease that would take her life. FTD, frontal temporal dementia was a cruel thief to her, her husband and their three, now adult children.

And that brings me back to that new coat.

I was trying on winter coats. I had selected one and was getting ready to purchase it when I heard an oh so familiar voice in my head. “If you size up in this coat, you will have room to grow into it.” A mantra from the distant past of my childhood . And then when I stopped growing (as children do) the message was fine tuned to “If you size up one size, you can wear a sweater under that coat on really cold days.”

That voice of course was my mother’s. And I am sure many of you reading this may remember similar sentiments from your own mother.

My mother died over 30 years ago. I was a mother myself by then. And her death separated her from me and my need to talk to her about my children. It separated me from asking her how she made those pumpkin cookies and the cole slaw that she brought to every cook out. It separated us when I still had a lot to ask her about, and oh so much more to learn about her own childhood, life during the war, time spent living abroad. Just everything.

And I of course still had so much to tell her.

So as the year slowed into autumn, my friend died. And as the holidays began I thought often of this girlfriend who shared my own zeal for Christmas and all the merriment and sparkle that the holidays can bring.

And with those memories I thought about her children. For they like me, and like everyone who has lost their mother, will now miss talking to their mother.

But perhaps (and I hope) they will still hear her.

They will hear her when they talk to their siblings and reminisce about her. They will hear her when they themselves repeat one of her favorite truths or sayings. And one day, they will be going about their day when clear as a bell their mother’s voice will be in their ear. Telling them what to do, why to do it, or how to do it better.

It may be a small detail or a big decision. But she will be there to guide them with a nudge wrapped in a whisper that they alone will hear.

And that whisper will be as warm as any winter coat.

I’m just say’n.

All that Glitters

“Autumn, the years last,loveliest smile”—William Cullen Bryant

After my mother died (what a dire way to begin a post) my father did what many fathers do. He gave me my mother‘s jewelry. It wasn’t a lot of jewelry and much of it was costume jewelry. But there were a few pieces that were real gold, real gems. And one of them was her wedding ring. I had always loved my mother’s wedding ring. It was a gold band, but deeply engraved all the way around. I loved it so much that when I chose my engagement ring, it was because it reminded me of my mother‘s wedding band. So when my father gave it to me, I slipped it on almost immediately onto my finger right above my wedding band and engagement ring. I wore it there for 30 years until the man who gave me my engagement ring upped the ante. And on our 40th anniversary he gave me an entire new wedding set. I then put the ring into my jewelry box where it remained just a few years. And then one day, my daughter, by now, engaged and ready to be married herself, asked if she could have my mother‘s wedding band as her wedding band. I of course said yes, immediately so happy that this beloved daughter would be wearing the wedding band that first my mother had worn for over 50 years, and then then I had worn for 30 years. A talisman of the grandmother she had never met.

A few days ago, while out on an early morning walk, I saw a familiar site on the damp sidewalk in front of my home. Gold. When we moved into this house almost 40 years ago, there was a new tree planted in front. It was just a sapling. I couldn’t tell you what kind of tree it was, it was just new. Now all these years later, it is taller than the roof of my house, And every year it drops its leaves ,of course, in fall. Small always, yellow golden leaves scattered there on the sidewalk creating a golden path in front of my home. I’ve taken a lot of photos of this tree, usually through an upstairs window that peeks out at the top of the tree that fills with gold on sun lit mornings. For a tree that was ignored in its infancy, I’ve become obsessed with it in its middle age. And more recently I started taking pictures of our golden retriever on the same golden path.

Murphy, was the fourth golden retriever that has belonged in my house,in our family, and in my heart. He arrived here somewhere around five years old, a rescue after the hurricane that hit Puerto Rico. He followed, Bella, Yankee, and Kalahan into our lives. He died in February this year. And as fall begins its colorful entrance I realize that this the longest period of time that we have not had a golden in our home since 1985. And I don’t like it.

Now I know there are people who are not that interested in jewelry, costume jewelry, or fine jewelry. They’re just not that interested. They may even think it’s silly or foolish or too expensive no matter what the cost. They don’t/won’t wear it they may say. Well, that’s a whole other discussion which will also involve “good” china. But I digress.

So my perspective is a little different. You see, I believe that wedding ring connects the women who have worn it, to each other in a meaningful way. It tells the story of weddings and marriages. It connected me to my mother every time someone said to me, “ What a beautiful ring.” because I could say “Thank you, it was my mother’s.” And in that moment I could think of her. And yes of course, she often told me her favorite season was fall. And yes, fall is my favorite season too.

So when I ventured out on a sunny not quite fall morning and I saw that golden pathway, I thought of my beautiful golden escorts who are no longer with me. And the sun and the leaves reminded me of those fluffy lovable creatures. And that’s a good memory and a good thing too.

And when I wear my mother’s gold locket (in which she had placed a two photos one each of my husband and me) I think of her, and that’s a good memory and a good thing too.

Both of these two formulas prove, to me at least, the rule.

It seems that all that glitters is truly gold.

I’m just say’n.

Murphy on a fall morning

What We Keep, Chapter Two

High above my kitchen sink, on a decorative shelf is an old metal toy train car. It was a gift. It’s not very pretty. It was found abandoned in an old sand box. But the little girl who gave it to me was so proud to present it to me so I put it up on the shelf. Years passed and whenever she would enter my kitchen she would always point it out. Almost always saying “I can’t believe you still have it.”

This past summer we hosted a Fourth of July brunch in our back yard. As I have at numerous other summer gatherings, I used three old table cloths on the picnic tables. I guess you would call them vintage. They were the simple cotton cloths that my mother used. White squares with colorful designs printed on them. Blue, banners and red flowers, and one with a sunny map of Arizona. They are of course showing their age. But I think they look so cheerful that I always bring them to our outside parties.

And now it is winter time and I have been thinking of my mother’s tablecloths and that little toy train. My mother died 30 years ago, in December a few days before her Christmastime birthday.

The little girl with the train, all grown up and married, did not see this past Christmas either. She died in the fall several weeks before her fortieth birthday.

So I am thinking again about those things we keep. The things that inextricably find themselves connected to memories sometimes good, sometimes sad, but our memories non the less.

Recently, I asked some friends if they had any keepsakes without obvious financial value, and if so, what were they? I found that their treasures had much in common with my tablecloths.

I was interested to find that there were overlaps in some of the keepsakes. I’m not the only one who has kept the final drivers license of a late parent. And there were birth certificates, love letters, and even the hunting license of a 15 year old boy who would grow up to be the father of six daughters.

As we make our way through life there are those things we cannot avoid. The old adage about death and taxes as inevitable misses the mark on what truly matters. Memories, and the things inexplicably tied to them, those are the truly unavoidable things in life. And if we are very lucky, the old tablecloths, toys, and licenses will become talismans to sweet memories. Perhaps these things will prompt a smile albeit with a tear or a tightening in our throat.

I’ll continue to use the old cotton tablecloths on summer tables. The old metal train car will remain on display in my kitchen. They connect me to those I have loved who are lost to me now…..but not forgotten.

I’m just say’n.