Mendofleur

Two years ago today on summer solstice my mother passed away in our home to the sound of a harp playing quietly beside her. Everyone had a chance to see her, but the only family remaining that day was her oldest granddaughter, myself and my husband. We were keeping a twenty-four hour vigil. She had been under hospice care, her life hanging by a thread. The weather most of that week had been cloudy with intermittent rain and cool temperatures, just the kind of weather that made her feel sad sometimes. On summer solstice the sun rose early without a cloud in the sky. It was mildly warm, a day she would have loved had she been roaming the house and the garden.

A service offered by hospice called music thanatology came in around 11 AM to play a harp, music they described as palliative. My mother loved all kinds of music and before our eyes she peacefully slipped away to the sounds of this harp. It seemed, in some ways, as if she had ordered the day to fit her own needs. It was all very gentle and filled with warmth and sunshine.

My mother had been a twin. She is on the right side holding up her hand. She and her brother were the last of twelve children. The family was often poor, but they all somehow managed. My mother at a very early age learned how to be resourceful and thrifty. She made many of her own clothes, including her own wedding gown that she wore on her fiftieth wedding anniversary. I recall her making her own hats, knitting many sweaters, altering clothes to fit the fashion when something was no longer stylish. She even repaired her own jewelry when something broke. She never threw anything away if it could be fixed or made new again. In the 80′s she became one of the first recyclers in her neighborhood. She was diligent about this to the point, I thought at the time, of being obsessive. Now I have the utmost respect for this discipline. She went through the depression, and she was not going to forget some of the struggles nor the sin of being wasteful.

When my daughters grew to adulthood, we would sometimes sit down with a glass of wine and the subject would turn to my mother, their grandmother. We would always wonder why she would simply not give in to buying a nice dress in her older years. She had always had a slim figure and was such a lady that we could picture her in some lovely knits or finely tailored clothing. She would not have it. I implored her to buy at least one St John Knit dress before she died, but it was unthinkable. When she did pass away, and I was going through her clothing, I found this beautiful dress in her closet. It was one I recall as being a favorite. We all loved how she looked in this dress. Someone, a friend, had given her this dress. What I did not know is that it was a St John Knit. I was astonished. I immediately called my daughters and told them what I had found. It was a nice revelation to all of us. It is a dress I will keep forever in my closet too, just for the delightful memory and her secret.

When this trellis white rose is in full bloom, I know the longest day of the year is nearly here. I know it will also be the day I think of my mother more than other days. When they came to take her away and pulled her through and under the rose, we picked one off and laid it on her heart. She would have loved the day and the way it had fallen into place. For someone as gracious and caring, there could not have been a more perfect ending.

My mother holding her first great grandchild. She lived to have and hold two more. I wrote this post late, but it was a day full of her memories from beginning to end. And now the days will become shorter as we awaken in the morning.