For the last time, I made the journey across the water by ferry. It was early in the morning, early for a Saturday, and the fog was rolling in off the Puget Sound. As I sat and looked out across the water, I reflected on my day ahead. Tears welled up in my eyes. For the last time I would step foot inside my mothers home. Memories of Thanksgiving dinners, weekend getaways, cooking dinner and watching musicals with the kids while my mom and I sang loudly out of tune, causing the kids to laugh and roll their eyes. For the last time, I would walk through the home that she had made so peaceful and beautiful. Her art work and interior decorations boxed up and packed away for me to bring back home. I will be surrounded by her things in my own home from now on. Things she made, things she sewed, things she painted…my walls and windows adorned…gorgeous throw pillows and antique foot stools made into art with the attention to detail of a perfectionist.
She was a beautiful woman; talented, cheerful, creative, amazing, artistic…In fact, she lived and breathed art. Everything she did and touched was artful and had meaning. Everything from the clothes she designed, altered or found at the local thrift shop, to her home decor that she either made from scratch, re-upholstered, re-purposed, or re-cycled, to the art she hung on her walls that she either created/painted herself, re-painted an old piece, re-framed, or fashioned out of fabric and Mod Podge, to her beautiful choreography of dance. Or how about the fact that she took an ugly, average re-usable grocery store bag and added colorful fabric panels on either side with a unique button!! I use them all the time for my shopping…always thinking of her and how amazingly creative she was! She made mundane things, artful and beautiful!
It’s been almost a year and a half since mom passed from cancer. She wasn’t ready to go and we were not ready to let her go. But go she must. Her body was taken over by something silent, invisible (at least from the outside), and evil. Definitely evil. She was 62. It was the night after her grand daughters 8th birthday, a week before Mother’s Day, and three weeks before what would have been her 63rd birthday. May is a hard month now. I will always be hard.
It was May Day 2013.
One of my earliest childhood memories is of making May Day baskets out of construction paper, picking blue-bells and dandelions from the yard (yes, the ones people consider weeds) and putting them on my front door-knob, knocking on the door, and running away to hide and wait until she answered the door. Maybe it’s apropos she passed on May Day, the day she answered Heaven’s door. I’m sure God had flowers for her.
I will always remember her. She touched so many people and was filled with Joy. That was her middle name after all, Joy. And that’s just who she was…
R.I.P. mom. I have all the beautiful things you made surrounding me and the kids now.
Your energy, love and light protect us.
We will always miss you…