My mother has no tombstone, no cemetery plot. There is no monument to her, no tree, no bench. Nothing dedicated to her memory. Nowhere to go sit, to leave flowers, to visit on anniversaries or her birthday. I could write her letters, I have. I have written to her in journals. It has always felt silly. I have thought about writing her letters and dropping them in the mailbox down the street, addressed simply to "Mom". Like letters to Santa. Imagining someone at the post office collecting them and reading them. Maybe pulling them out at a dinner party to pass around. "How sad," they might say. I could write about her and burn it. I've tried talking to her out loud. That is even worse. I have told pieces of the story of her death to a few people. It has left me sad. In the end, I am still left carrying these thoughts and memories.
This virtual place is the first place I've found that I could bring myself, to unload some of the things I carry. And they are safe here. They will stay right here where I leave them. And you can read them so they don't belong just to me anymore, now they are not so heavy. You carry some of the weight. Isn't that remarkable?
Strange.... as I write tonight, for the first time, my words keep jumping to the box below this one for no reason. And letters keep highlighting in yellow for no reason..... which makes me think of the story of little yellow things.
The page just shut off completely and it jumped to another blog entry....
Well, here is the story before I head off to bed.
My mother collected feathers and heads up coins. She said they were God's calling cards to let her know she was on the right path. She had a lace ribbon strung across the back of her bed where she strung the feathers and a bowl on her dresser full of her heads up coins.
I wished I had something like that. I was in the city, at school, walking on the sidewalk, thinking about this when I walked over a sprinkling of little yellow leaves that fallen from a tree. I thought, little yellow things will be my sign. I saw little yellow things everywhere, they are not uncommon apparently but I held to it anyway.
I told my mom about it and when we went to Texas the first time we looked for signs. I said that a yellow feather would be the ultimate sign for us that we were in the right place. When we walked into the waiting room, there was a poster of a drawing of an indian chief on a horse with a headdress full of yellow feathers. When we met Dr. Burziniski for the first time, he wore a navy blue tie with tiny yellow polka dots.
The last time we were in Texas, I had gone to put some laundry in the machines in a separate building from where our room was. My mom was taking a bath. I was walking back and it was warm, sunny and spring like. A small yellow butterfly shot out of a tree and crossed right in front of my path and landed right near me. I stopped and stooped to look at it. It stayed for a few minutes and I felt like it was my mother somehow. I was worried about leaving my mom in the bathtub for too long because she was weak so I said, "I have to go now," and it flew off to a nearby tree and waited. I took a few steps and it flew a little further off and waited. I went back to the room and told my mom. She liked the story.
After she died I felt like when I saw a yellow butterfly it was from her. My dad did not know this story and he shared with me that soon after she died he was sitting outside and two monarch butterflies came and landed on his knee and stayed a while.
My computer has stopped spazzing out on me as soon as I started to type that story. Okay, I told the story about the yellow butterfly. Maybe someone wanted it told.
This virtual place is the first place I've found that I could bring myself, to unload some of the things I carry. And they are safe here. They will stay right here where I leave them. And you can read them so they don't belong just to me anymore, now they are not so heavy. You carry some of the weight. Isn't that remarkable?
Strange.... as I write tonight, for the first time, my words keep jumping to the box below this one for no reason. And letters keep highlighting in yellow for no reason..... which makes me think of the story of little yellow things.
The page just shut off completely and it jumped to another blog entry....
Well, here is the story before I head off to bed.
My mother collected feathers and heads up coins. She said they were God's calling cards to let her know she was on the right path. She had a lace ribbon strung across the back of her bed where she strung the feathers and a bowl on her dresser full of her heads up coins.
I wished I had something like that. I was in the city, at school, walking on the sidewalk, thinking about this when I walked over a sprinkling of little yellow leaves that fallen from a tree. I thought, little yellow things will be my sign. I saw little yellow things everywhere, they are not uncommon apparently but I held to it anyway.
I told my mom about it and when we went to Texas the first time we looked for signs. I said that a yellow feather would be the ultimate sign for us that we were in the right place. When we walked into the waiting room, there was a poster of a drawing of an indian chief on a horse with a headdress full of yellow feathers. When we met Dr. Burziniski for the first time, he wore a navy blue tie with tiny yellow polka dots.
The last time we were in Texas, I had gone to put some laundry in the machines in a separate building from where our room was. My mom was taking a bath. I was walking back and it was warm, sunny and spring like. A small yellow butterfly shot out of a tree and crossed right in front of my path and landed right near me. I stopped and stooped to look at it. It stayed for a few minutes and I felt like it was my mother somehow. I was worried about leaving my mom in the bathtub for too long because she was weak so I said, "I have to go now," and it flew off to a nearby tree and waited. I took a few steps and it flew a little further off and waited. I went back to the room and told my mom. She liked the story.
After she died I felt like when I saw a yellow butterfly it was from her. My dad did not know this story and he shared with me that soon after she died he was sitting outside and two monarch butterflies came and landed on his knee and stayed a while.
My computer has stopped spazzing out on me as soon as I started to type that story. Okay, I told the story about the yellow butterfly. Maybe someone wanted it told.
I was totally thinking the other day, before you posted the one about her being cremated, where she was burried because I couldn't remember. I thought maybe you could have a gathering with family and friends. I think there is something about visiting a grave that helps years later...at least that's what I've seen from others. But then you mentioned and I remembered she was cremated. That must have been hard to know what she wanted but felt differently about what you knew you would need. I think it was totally ok, understandable and good that you kept some. Hey, could you burry those remains or are their rules against that? I think a place to visit is so good. So even if you couldn't burry what's left (since I love that her Grandma wish necklace is draped on whats left) and I'm sorry if this is silly or a dumb suggestion but maybe you could find a place that's near where you live that you love to go to. Or maybe it's not near you and it's where you both visited (that's not too painful) and donated some kind of something that could be enjoyed by everyone but was dedicated in her memory. I never understood why people would donate wood/stone benches to parks or library grounds...but I get it now. It provides ritual. An act of doing something instead of being left stagnant with your thoughts. I don't know. But it wouldn't have to be a bench...but it could. And it could have a permanent butterfly affixed to it. Or it could be a bench at a butterfly garden. It could also be a really cool sculpture, painting, etc. I imagine somewhere to go is important for times like this. Whatever it is it could be yellow or whatever you wanted for us to all know...for every person to know and remember.
ReplyDeleteEither way..we have this blog to read. And that's been a privilege.
Thank you Sarah...keep going.
We love you.
Sarah, I'm convinced that the butterflies of yellow that you will encounter for the rest of your life are messages of hope and love from your mother. My mother sends me owls and mourning doves. I remember one day when I was feeling very sad and alone and I was driving toward my house in Connecticut. A great snowy owl flew up from the side of the road, over the hood of my car, over my windshield and literally disappeared. I stopped the car and looked out the back window. During that extremely brief moment I knew it was her. I said "mom" aloud the second I saw the owl. I felt lighter and happier and actually laughed out loud with joy. A mothers love is a remarkable thing, and even though they might not be with us in this plane anymore, they are always part of us. My mother has been gone from this earth for 23 years and I still miss her more than I can express in words, but believe me when I tell you it gets easier. You will find that memories become filled with joy, although bittersweet, the sweet will usually outweigh the bitter. I hope your experiment is helping you. I know that reading it has been a pleasure for me. You are very brave. Thank you for sharing.
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