I’m lucky, I have a reasonably well adjusted family, no ongoing dramas, so coming away from a reunion I feel refreshed; happy meeting new members, talking to kids who’ve grown, couples who’ve changed, gotten wiser, and the rest of us who’ve aged. Speaking of which, we celebrated my eldest brother’s and his wife’s 50th wedding anniversary, no small thing. But as much as reunions are for catching up, celebrating, they’re also for remembering those who are missing. We mourned the recent passing of a nephew, honoured his life through ritual, song and story. And we again shared memories of grandparents, parents who have passed on; looked at those old pictures with a sadness that stays, and over the years deepens and sweetens:
“She learned to let mercy enter
the shattered spaces of her heart
and so drew near the mystery of divinity,” *
is what her friend said as you sat under arched windows
looking above the coffin to the podium.
“It’s something I read in a book,” said her friend,
“but it fits here.”
You never thought of her having those kinds of spaces.
You only knew her as someone who stood at the stove stirring porridge,
someone who made potato pancakes for supper,
someone who was always letting people in ahead of her,
who made owls out of cotton twine and laughed at herself,
especially when you made fun of her for missing the point of a story,
which never bothered her.
Then your brother spoke and said,
“She was not highly educated, had no grand ambitions,
didn’t move in important circles…”
When you were still at home, you remember thinking
how dull her life was,
most of it lived in a radius of 20 grassland miles.
Lived behind a kitchen sink, chopping board, washtub,
bent over weeds and rows of peas bordered by gardenias;
her weeks punctuated by Wednesday night prayer meetings,
Ladies-Aid, and Sundays, sitting toward the back of the sanctuary,
in a pew off to the side.
“…but all of us knew her voice was in her eyes,
and through those eyes she spoke with grace.
It was as if she had learned the trick of self-tenderness.”
She was wearing her house dress,
the green in it long washed out,
standing with her back to you scrubbing carrots,
and you were looking at her and thinking,
I’m going to be more than you.
Just then she moved to the stove and caught you looking at her.
A moment later she turned and said,
“Sweetheart, one day you will need to find a quiet place,
sit down and apologize to yourself
for believing you are valuable only if you are noticeable.”
Then it was your sister’s turn and she was trembling
and her voice was breaking
and because of that the only thing you remember her saying,
just at the end,
“She lived the way a flower lives for the berry.”
* The first three lines in this poem are a paraphrase of a sentence in the book, “Wild Mercy,” by Mirabai Starr.
Beautiful. I love the lines ‘apologize…for believing you are valuable only if you are noticeable’. ‘The way a flower lives for the berry’ is so perfect.
Thanks
Thank you so much Joanne!
Well. This is beautiful.
Thank you Susan!
Missing the point of a story never bothered her – what admirable self confidence!
I think so too. Thanks Raymond.
May I be like her.
Me too. Thanks so much Joyce!
Are you speaking of your mother Stephen?
I would like to imagine myself saying to my children “…one day you will need to find a quiet place, sit down and apologize to yourself for believing you are valuable only if you are noticeable.” If I were only wise enough to find the words at the right time.
This is wisdom for life…
Yes Ana Lisa, this was the way of my mother. And I’m with you, as a parent, right words at the right time is wisdom, but so elusive. Thank you for this!
Beautifully expressed, Stephen. The simplicity of verse is key to truth in meaning.
The texture of your words conveys a world where integrity matters, self-confidence is passed thru generations and compassion, is a way of life. BravO & ….
HuzzaH!…. to you.
Thank you John for those generous and meaningful words.
“The way a flower lives for the berry.” May we all know the beauty and joy of living as such.
Yes. Thank you for this Denise!
Lovely
Thank you Marcia!
Steve, what a wonderful tribute to an obviously amazing mother. How to find joy and meaning in the everyday simple things in life like she did is true wisdom. Gonna think on this for awhile ?
Thanks so much Sue!
Stephen…. such powerful, unearthly words from a women who turned earthly days into rainbow gems….I’m glad to glimpse her through your words and hers
Many prayers of love and remembering
Thank you so much Pat!
Thank you, Steve – reflecting on our reunion, I said to our other brother, “Mom and Dad must have done something right that we could have so much fun.” You have caught an essence of her that I wish I had recognized and valued much earlier. She truly was a beautiful woman all her life!
(Are we the berries??)
Thanks for this Sam.