Lifelines

The day before my mother died was my sixty-fifth birthday. The assisted living home where she lived called me to say that she was passing. I drove the half hour drive up to see her, knowing that I would have only a couple of hours to be with her before I was to join my friends and family at a birthday party. She had been dying for nearly a year and I had been to see her many times thinking that I was saying good-bye for the last time, but I knew that this time was for real.

She was no longer talking. She would take three shallow breaths and one deep breath and then pause and repeat. She had no energy to take my hand so I put my hand gently on top of hers. I told her I loved her and that it was my birthday. I thanked her for having me.

She had had no visions, no dreams, no visits from family or friends who had departed before her. There seemed to be no comfort for her, or for me. This was all a great surprise because she had been a Unity Minister and had at one time taught Transcendental Meditation, and had a strong sense of God and Reincarnation. I kept asking if she had seen anything interesting or unusual, and she said, “Nope, everything’s blank.”

As I sat beside her bed, I slipped into a reverie. I found myself walking up a gentle incline with a little girl with a big smile, sparkling blue eyes and ringlets in her brown hair. I recognized her immediately as my mother, having seen lots of pictures of her all my life. We were having a wonderful time on a bright sunny day with blue sky above us and flowers in full bloom all around us. There were hummingbirds and butterflies visiting the flowers and I saw a creek flowing beside the path.

My Mom had suffered from an unquenchable thirst for weeks, so I thought she  still might be thirsty. We stopped at the creek,  splashed our faces and drank the cool clear water. When I was a child my mother took me camping in the mountains where the water was pristine. I still remember the feel and taste of that water, and that’s what the creek was like where we stopped. As I straightened up after drinking, I wondered what the little Emily would be wearing, and I saw that she didn’t have a stitch on! She was laughing and dancing with her arms up in the air, wiggling her little butt, and then she broke away from me and ran away laughing.

At that point, my reverie was interrupted by a phone call, and there I was sitting at the bedside of an ancient woman who could no longer talk or laugh, or breathe easily. I knew that she was already on her way. Soon after, I took my leave and drove to my birthday party. On the way I stopped to get helium balloons. I picked one very special white one with glitter stars for my Mom.

After the party, I took a card that said, “You Make a Difference” and on the opposite  side wrote, “God Speed Emily.” Then I tied the note to the balloon outside and let it go. We watched it go until we couldn’t see it anymore. It was the best that I could do.

My Mom died at 7:00 the next morning. She had the good grace to wait to pass until after my birthday. Bless her.

Dear Mom:

Yesterday was the 4th of July. We went to the parade in Mendocino, as we have every year since the early seventies. It was packed in town, and the day was unusually hot. Peter played drums on a float and swing dancers danced along behind them.

It was a far cry from those earlier years when the parade was sort of a joke and Cat Mother played on a flat bed truck with the kids playing and dancing on the truck with them, and the rest of us dancing along behind. Remember how they used to play and then go out to the Headlands so they could keep on going? The parade was so short then it would go around two or three times so that people would know it was actually a parade.

I couldn’t go to Friendship Park this year, but I heard it was packed as usual. I went back to Albion right after the parade, where the farmers market was in full swing and I opened the tea house in case anyone wanted to come by and taste tea.

I had gone to the Reunion at Big River Beach on Saturday and seen a bunch of former students from my days teaching high school and invited them to come by. Sure enough, about eight of them showed up which was wonderful. I’m so glad I didn’t stay in Mendo.

After the tea house, we went to a pot luck at our neighbors. I think they asked us at least in part because they are taking care of a little dog who loves our little dog. Anyway, the dogs played and had a swell time with a great meal and good company. We left in time to put the chickens in before dark.

At the party someone told us that a friend would be setting off fireworks from a boat around dark, so we drove down to the Ledford House to watch them. It was a beautiful clear night and there was a sweetness to the display, like it must have been in days gone past when neighbors entertained neighbors in the best way they could. It filled my heart to be there on the deck with my friends and neighbors cheering for the goodness of the night.

Today was foggy for the first time since last weekend. We had a good long hot spell, which was great because it rained well into June this year. We needed it. All of the gardens are behind this year, but doing quite well because of all the water.

This year is different for my garden because our chickens are in it. They eat everything in sight, right after they trample it. I have a little greenhouse that they aren’t allow into, and every time I go in they sneak in right behind me. They are so quiet they tip me off. All the rest of the time they cluck and talk, but when they come into the greenhouse they don’t make a sound. Today the cat followed me in as well. Once they were all in, they had trouble deciding who should leave first. Finally it was two chickens, then the cat, then the other four chickens, reluctantly.

I hope things are good for you, wherever you are. I love you and I think about you often.

My Mom died the last day of May, 2010. She was ninety three years old. We didn’t get along well for most of my life, but the last fifteen years of her life, we patched up our relationship and built a friendship that was precious. We spoke on the phone almost every day until she became too ill and deaf to talk on the phone anymore. Those phone calls were her greatest gift to me because I was able to share my life with her.

We spoke for anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour. I saved up stories that I knew she would love about the birds that came in to our feeders, the gardens, our cats and dogs, my husband and my various creative endeavors and any funny stories that I could come up with.

After she died, it was that sharing that I missed the most, so I started a journal writing letters to her. Every journal I have written in the past has been filled with negativity, but this one was so positive that I told some folks about it and it was suggested that I put it into a blog. While the letters to Mom will not directly pertain to tea, they may be entertaining for anyone who likes to drink tea and read about an interesting life.

If you find this entertaining or interesting, please send me comments and feedback.