The conversation turned heavy discussing God’s existence, then noticing the time, my husband opened the door to retrieve our dinner, Grub Hub, don’t judge, a Friday convenience! Then a moth slipped in quietly, adroitly, wearing lime green and milky white. It landed on a nearby chair, and my husband spoke, “Is it you, Mom? It’s been 33 years, and we still miss you so much.” The moth lifted from the cloth rising up into the air, gliding out the door from which it came. It was Diane. We believe. Her entrance was timely, so perhaps, a reminder. We gave tears freedom. We know they’ll revisit because the many used up calendars over the years are irrelevant. His world was shattered too soon, but the events of that day are as vivid as yesterday’s sunset. Funny, how a little moth on its own special journey lifted our spirits that evening.
Henry was engrossed in a gripping James Patterson novel when his heart jumped a beat. The second episode this week. It skipped again. He called his daughter in the kitchen, and her fingers found the buttons on her cell for emergency. The sun was setting on this Friday when paramedics arrived. Henry was soon x-rayed. Linda called her older sister, and they learned from Dr. Roberts that their elderly dad’s heart was giving up. They knew their parents would soon be reunited. Monday morning, their loving father took his last breath. He would once again dance with his sweetheart.
Laura folds into the patio rocker, breathing in summer’s fragrance. The sun boldly hangs in the bright sky, but today marks the tenth anniversary of that day. Her heart feels heavy.
“I miss you, Mom, and the kids miss their grandma. I just long for another chat, a hug, even one more piece of unsolicited advice.”
She watches a hummingbird soar to the pink geranium hanging from the gazebo. Her mother loved these delightful creatures.
“Is that you, Mom?”
The little bird glides to Laura, hovering at eye level.
Rocking gently, Laura feels the comfort of her mom’s presence.
The radio belted out “Joy to the World!” You were a teenage boy, but on this Christmas morning in ‘75, excitement buzzed! Your dad watched and listened, relaxed in his corner chair, but your mom played Santa, just as jolly! The first time we met. Do you remember?
You and your dad hiked Half Dome that year, then…the many trips we booked… those rocky inclines had my sleeves shaking! Hiking to Italy Pass, 12,000 feet at the top! We did it! Trekking through the Trinity Alps, Thousand Island Lake in the Sierra. And Mount Shasta! I kept you warm when the air was ice.
What a team we made, and I couldn’t believe how beautiful the world could be…
Then with the years your adolescence faded like my blue dye, but I stayed loyal. Why wouldn’t I? You are my brother, even still, all grown up with a family of your own.
Lucky is what I feel because ages ago, I thought I’d be buried beneath piles of clothes at the bottom of a bag to be given away. But mostly, I feel privileged for my significance. I recall her vividly. She left this world too young, too soon.
You see, when we hang out, your memories transport you to that morning when her laughter was music, her smile was sunlight, her energy as vibrant as “Joy to the World.” You travel to the special place in your mind when your mom was still in your life.
I remember our conversation, effort to calm emotions, phone glued to ear like a natural extension. Her voice, exhausted… “When will this be over?” She asked Dad days later, more like a plea. He could be gentle or travel the path of honesty. I don’t know the words he pulled from his language of a sixty-seven-year love…how he tiptoed through the reply,though tenderly,I imagine, since his heart was shattering into millions of minute fragments. Her time was close. Our awareness vigilant. Each day, another breath held until the hands of timewould pause. Then as quickly as the sun fades behind rolling hills, raindrops splash upon us. She had ascended. Moments of memories to follow. But not one day passes without celebratingher life. Not one day slips by without her knowing how much she is loved and missed.
Lauren Scott (c) Mom would be 101 today, and since she loved her roses, we dedicate this beauty for her. ❤️
Dressed up in satin and lace, Iwalked slowly down the aisleofthe church sanctuary. Strolling arm in arm with my father, I loved hearing the swish from my dress with each graceful step. My eyes focused on my to-be-husband standing in front of the sanctuary. He looked quite dashing in his black tux. Wasn’t this special occasion just yesterday? Yesterday that transported into thirty-one years of marriage.
Well, it was just yesterday when I saw the item sitting on the shelf: a gift from my bridal shower in 1988. I recall opening the box and pulling out a white mini food chopper. A great gift, but did I expect to keep it for three decades? I thought for sure it would’ve been replaced with an updated version sometime between then and now. Yet, over the years, it has stood the test of time, still working, and the only change is its color; instead of a glossy white, it’s now faded into a pale yellow.
The question is: should I replace the little food chopper because it looks weathered? If so, shouldn’t anything old be swapped out for a newer version? Think about cars. They may have all the parts, their engines may roar when the key is turned, but if they’re scraped up and bruised, shouldn’t they be traded in for shiny new models? Let’s expand our thinking even further: Should spouses sprouting gray hair, wearing mazes of facial wrinkles be substituted with younger partners? Is the end-all goal a better-looking copy?
Let’s do the math: if that mini chopper has aged, so have I and I am not going to be traded in. Buying brand-new, shiny, and flawless is exciting and I won’t lie and say that I never have, but sometimes the memories deep within are more valuable than the “item” itself. Regarding life partners, what about the good memories: the laughter, tears, adventures, intimacy, and the love both partners felt in the beginning when that spark ignited? This is why my faded chopper still sits on the shelf, rather content with the cookie sheets and mixing bowls.
I don’t know how long the chopperwill stay in the family, but as longas it does, I’ll remember that Saturday afternoon: women gathered to celebrate my upcoming wedding day. Silly games brought fits of laughter, deep conversations evoked precious memories, words of wisdom were spoken by women who had lived through the cracks and crevices of life. Most importantly, my faded gift reminds me of when my mom and mother-in-law were still in my life. They were two amazing women with more stories to tell and wisdom to share and I miss them more than words convey.
Mom on my right and my mother-in-law on my left.
So, if you’re questioning whether you should toss that old worn-out item even though it functions perfectly, allow yourself to pause in the moment, to reflect upon the wonderful memories.
I watch him Sitting in the sand His quest for Adventure Shines through the look on his face Deep concentration
A slight breeze Blows his light brown hair As he digs For treasures My heart warms from his delight A precious moment
Lauren Scott 2017
(I learned about this poetry form at Ben’s site, https://bennaga.wordpress.com/ and he encouraged
me to try a Shadorma, as well. I couldn’t think
of a new topic, so I revised an old poem from
when my son was little. ❤ I hope you enjoy, and
thanks for the nudge, Ben. It’s always good to
learn something new.)
Baydreamer Writes ~ Lauren Scott, Author 