4/24/20

The world suffers.
The patio is

our shield.
Wine fills

crystal
we’re careful
not to shatter

like human lives
across the globe.

The dog snores
without a care.
Hummingbirds

fly like
the Blue Angels.

A warm breeze
winds its way
in between us
and the roses
.

Silence –
a soothing
melody.

And yet,
we know
what lies
on the

other side
of silence.

The world aches
where peace
is far removed
from day-to-day.

Lauren Scott (c) 2020

A Silver Spoon and So Much More…

Matt and I pull into the parking stall of our camp sight, and our first task is to unload the car and dump our gear onto the picnic table. A slight breeze floats through the pine trees cooling us from the sun’s burning touch and the blue lake water invites us in for a swim. The invitation is tempting, but first the labor of setting up camp. I dig into the big green tub looking for kitchen stuff and my breath catches when my eyes focus on the old set of silverware. When I was a little girl, we had a cabin in Big Bear, California, which is where Mom used the silverware. After both of my parents had passed, the set came to me. It’s black and silver, service for six, a little faded, but I couldn’t believe how sturdy it was to have lasted over fifty years. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought, so I added it to our camping paraphernalia.

As Matt and I enjoy the stir fry dinner he prepares on the first night, the old silverware evokes fond memories. An image of our cabin on the corner lot enfolded by sugar pines comes to mind. I remind Matt of the time when our little brave dog, Duffy, climbed up the snow bank, standing on the roof as if to say, “I am King!” That cozy mountain retreat also held many kitchen-table conversations full of laughter. Although Matt never had the chance to see the cabin, he remembers Mom’s delicious cooking. We especially savored her lasagna that was contest-winner-worthy. I recall the aroma swirling around, enticing Dad, my sisters, and me as we were eager to capture it and dig into the mouth-watering dish. I line up evenly in my mind each nuance of those childhood memories with my parents – days of playing badminton under a cloudless sky and a blazing sun, and then tobogganing when the ground was blanketed in snow and the temperature was bitter cold.

I am wrapped in a sentimental blanket on this trip, thinking of Mom and Dad, wishing I could feel their hugs, hear their laughter, and listen to their advice one more time. But would one more time still be enough? I don’t wallow in sadness; instead, I revel in the good times letting the memories advance like pictures on a camera roll. Before Matt and I realize, the campfires, swimming, hiking, and reminiscing have catapulted time into lightning speed. Our trip has ended and in the blink of an eye, we’re home doing clean-up. It dawns on me that I don’t want this set stashed away again, hidden beneath pots and pans and forgotten until the next trip. These forks, knives, and spoons have their own stories to tell. I combine them with our sets and I’m not bothered that they don’t match our decor. Years ago, the difference would’ve mattered. Now, life is a far cry from when mom and dad were still with us, so as we sit at our table using this shiny silverware, the family tales continue. We smile, we laugh, and now and then, tears that we thought had dried up, slowly find their way down our cheeks again.

Maybe I didn’t see the true value when this set was given to me. Perhaps I was blinded by tears, existing in my world of grief where a dark cloud was parked above my head. It could be that I hadn’t processed the finality of their death. I would see them again, wouldn’t I? The phone will ring and I’ll listen to Mom’s, “I just wanted to hear your voice.” Or, they’ll be over for lunch next week. When enough time had passed, reality sank in: I acknowledged their passing for what it was and accepted the truth. So, the timing and how I stumbled upon this treasure was relevant. My grieving had ended, widening the gap for remembering all the good things that keep us moving forward when we lose a loved one. Even in this set’s simplicity, its silver clean lines prove to be a nostalgic gem never to be buried again.

The painting of our cabin was done by a friend in Big Bear and my sister has it in her house – a treasure to keep forever.

Lauren Scott (c) 2020


Their Year

Dear Grandma,

Before my life
began, your light
was growing 
dim.
You were going to

Heaven. I wish you
didn’t 
have to leave
because I never got
to 
meet you. I miss
you so 
much. I wish
we could’ve 
read and
played together. I wish
I could’ve held your

hand while we took
a walk together…
I can’t see your bright
smile 
that daddy told
me about or 
your pretty
brown eyes. I 
can’t hear
your voice, either, 
but I
know you’re my Angel in

the skies.
Sometimes, I want to visit
Heaven just to tell you,
“I Love You.”

(These thoughts are in memory of my
mother-in-law, Diane, who passed away

in January 1991 – written from my young
daughter’s perspective, who was born

later that same year.
Of course, Diane never met our son,
either, who was born four years later.
And even though that was a long time
ago, it still breaks our hearts that she
never knew her grandchildren.) ❤

Lauren Scott ©

The Right Time

Within the four walls
memories stir, the smell
of cologne remains
poignant, the sound of
laughter echoes a favorite
tune, tears struggle to
be set free.

The closet’s belly stays 
nearly full after six months’
worth 
of grieving. Clothes
hang 
proudly as if he’ll
search 
for the right shirt
and matching 
pants for the
day’s 
activities, all hoping
to be 
chosen for the outing.
Shoes sit tightly for their
next walk like dogs eagerly
awaiting their master’s call.

Some belongings have
warmed 
the backs of those
in need. But 
emotion’s pull is
firm, so to surrender
 all
feels like a balloon slipping
through fingers, escaping
into the big blue, slowly
fading away…

Lauren Scott © 2018

 

Dear Dad,

family

daughters

Your beloved wife has been with the angels
Your time has now come, our hearts ever faithful

For you wear your wings now, as you soar beside Mom
Two more angels in Heaven, as we play your song

Swaying to the oldies, you both loved to dance
The timing is now for your second chance

Lauren Scott 2017
(Today is the two-month anniversary of my Dad’s death. The
grieving process shifts from one stage to another. It’s still with us –
we miss our parents, but knowing they’re together again grants us
comfort and peace. These are just two photos of many more that
will be cherished forever.) 💕

The Simplest of Treasures

my parents' black silverware

It’s not uncommon to find sentimental possessions after parents move on to their eternal life. When my husband and I camped earlier this month, and while preparing for our first dinner, I found the box of silverware that we always use. This set came from my parents, who used it at our cabin in Big Bear, CA back in the sixties and seventies. How funny that I can vividly remember using it in our rustic mountain get-away, even though I was very young. It’s amazing how some memories stay in our minds over the years.

Anyway, after arriving home, then in the midst of doing camping clean-up, it dawned on me that I didn’t want this set stashed away in the camping tub anymore – not to be seen or used until the next trip, which currently is unplanned. This set of black silverware suddenly held an abundance of sentimentality and tugged at my heart. I even broke down during that first night of camping after coming across this treasure, crying hard for several minutes. Oh, how my heart was hurting…Yes, I’m still grieving, but I’m also appreciating those vivid, loving memories.

Then I thought even deeper and had a good talk with my husband about how sturdy this set is to have lasted through about five decades! No, it’s not fancy, and black doesn’t match the interior of our home; however, it is neutral, versatile, and durable (as we now know). So, as much as I love to coordinate decorations, themes, and colors, I’m bending my own rules because this black silverware has become a vital component in our kitchen. Whenever we use it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, we think of my parents, Mom’s excellent cooking, the conversations that flowed around the table, and family love and contentment that followed those delicious meals. It just goes to show that the simplest of treasures can hold the most significance.

Do you have a similar story to share about a simple treasure that means a lot to you? If so, I’d love to read it…

Lauren Scott 9.28.17

 

The Roses

Easter rose

Their colors brought infinite joy as they were cared for with pride
The thorns did not lesson their beauty; not one delicate petal was denied

Red velvet symbolized eternal love forever nested in their hearts
Carrying them on a cloud of nine so they could almost touch the stars

Their presence, bending towards the sun, bestowed radiance to the hours
The fragility of their petals revealed true beauty in these flowers

The elegance of their appeal interlaced in the fabric of their love
Now pure white roses hold true an enduring devotion in Heaven above

 

Lauren Scott August 2017 –
In honor of my parents
who are together again 💕
(Photo: Google)

What About Us Now?

How do we move forward?
What can possibly replace
your phone calls each night?

With both of you gone now,
our family circle is broken

When I opened your closet
door and saw your clothes
hanging with no purpose,
and your shoes wondering
where they’ll walk next,
the floodgates unlatched
mournful tears

What about us now?
We’re orphaned adults
watching our faces and
bodies change as we age

What about us now?
We have no choice
but to fuse the circle
back together with
the love we have
for each other…

Three girls who
now live
in a changed world

Lauren Scott August 2017
(To Dad, who passed away 8/7/17,
and in memory of both my parents
who are now together again)