It's not her birthday, it's not Mother's Day and it's not the anniversary of her passing...it's just a day like every day...a day that I miss her. She was everything. She sewed to perfection, she cooked everything, she raised 5 children while moving 18 times in 18 years, traveling around the world with my dad in the army. She was the best Granny and Nana. Her house was a home to everyone. She taught us that we are all the same no matter our race or religion. She loved tulips, iris and the color purple. She loved going to yard sales and thrift stores. She loved teakwood and anything made in Germany or Denmark...her favorite places on earth. My mom lived with us the last three years of her life...she was taken too soon, but is no longer in pain and suffering from the effects of Parkinson's disease. I want to share with you something my sister wrote and read at my mother's funeral. For some reason, writing this out helps me just a little.
Irises and Tulips
I won't tell you now of the sweet memories of our mother...
of irises and tulips...and dad's sweet scented roses.
I won't speak of teakwood and crystal...laughter and giggles...
of knitting needles, Hummels...Denmark...and the color purple.
of her quick-witted humor...her ladylike style...organized lists...
a hot cup of tea...and the word "Honey".
Her intense need to be loved...and to love in return.
I won't speak of baking...and good food...and the detailed perfection
of our beloved family home...
where heartfelt conversation 'round the kitchen table...and all our intimate
stories of joy and pain...were only validated upon her hearing them.
I won't speak of her exquisite prism of love and pride the enveloped
each child...each in-law...each grandchild...
each one reveling in the fact that they were indeed...
the most important being on this good earth.
I won't speak of soft...pale...gentle hands...
hands that we have held a thousand times...or secretly observed.
Hands that epitomized hard work...tender care and worry...
perfect sewing...the very essence of her love...
as a wife...a mother...a sister... a friend.
I won't speak of a keen intellect...the sound of her voice...
her familiar quick footstep...each one unbearably silenced these last few years.
Rather...what I will speak of now...
is the love of one man...
a love so strong and enduring, that it broke through the fog
and ravages of this insidious disease.
a love that daily surfaced up to greet his eager heart...
these last few months...
in tiny and imperceptible ways...
a nod of the head in response to his whispers... a softening of the eyes
when he spoke...a lifting up of her lips when he asked for
the many kissed that they shared.
What I will tell you now, is the enduring love of one man
for his good wife...
a man whose hidden tears and love's lament...
were distilled down into the very purest form...
a man who saw only his sweet Roberta as she was once before.
What I will speak of now...was at the amazing and holy hour of our mother's death...
we were witness to quiet strength...and dignity...elegance...and peace.
Oh, Karen. How beautiful. I'm typing through tears, as you must have been. I can see so much of your mother in you. Not just the in the photo but in your description of her and the poem. What a lovely tribute.
ReplyDeleteOh, how beautiful, what an incredible tribute to your mom! I have tears in my eyes!
ReplyDeleteTht was spoken sooo eloquently and with obvious heart. Your Mother must have been a very special and wonderful person. cherry
ReplyDeleteTears here too..thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteWhat a neat lady!
That was so beautiful. What a wonderful couple. You are so lucky to have had parents that shared a love like this! Simply, beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteHi Karen,
ReplyDeleteIt is my first visit to your blog but I've bookmarked it and shall be back soon. Love your TTT, tutorials and the organizing tips - I am of the not-so-well-organized variety but "envious" and aspiring to change.
Your post about your mother is very moving. I lost mine much too early, quite a while ago and there is not a day that passes that I do not long her to be back so I could talk to her, ask her advice or just giggle together. Actually, I do catch myself often thinking how I am going to share some news with her, or what she'd say about this and that and the other. I usually do not feel like crying though when I think about her - people sometimes find it strange- but I try to think about the good things we had and the moments we shared not those we did not. Works for me ... most of the time.
How beautiful - what a wonderful tribute to not only your incredible mom but also the love that your parents shared which it seems, is so rare nowadays. How lucky they were to have such a special love for each other and how lucky you are to have been a witness to it. From your posts, I can tell that their legacy has touched your own family and will in turn influence your daughters. Bless you all.
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