Sunday, April 10, 2011
Not Just Another Sunday
On this day I would have called my mom and talked about her mother being gone 45 years. My grandmother died on Easter Sunday, April 10, 1966; a day etched in my memory. My mom’s not departed even a year yet. Sometimes it’s like she’s been gone so long but then there’s moments I feel she’s only a phone call away. What a rude awakening in that snap of an instant to realize I’m dreaming. Again. These are times we all go through, who have lost loved ones.
There are birds nesting outside my living room window. Their young ones have arrived and no one would have delighted in this more than my parents, whose property on the island had birdhouses staked and hung, along with hummingbird feeders dripping sugar water. Dad would refill these every morning and when Mom moved to the mainland years after his death, she brought as many of these bird abodes and feeders as she had room for.
Springtime was my mother’s time. She was born in May, as were her sister and a brother and up until last year, Mom delivered flower baskets on May Day. How she ever found time to get everything done will always amaze me. Both Mom and Grandma were brave, beautiful women, took pride in their appearance, brilliant cooks, sharp dressers, willing adventuresses, green thumbs, pioneers, adept seamstresses, clever wordsmiths and lovers of music. I’m so pleased to be their descendent and have wonderful, loving memories.