mom — Page 11

A Year of Firsts

July 31, 2014 at 8:00 am by Claudia

view from the porch

(I have two posts up today. Scroll down if you’re interested in downloading the latest Christmas Critter patterns.)

It’s July 31st. My mom’s birthday. And so we come up against another first in what will be a year of firsts. She would have been 87 today.

What can I say? I miss her terribly, of course. I wish I could talk to her. I still think of things I want to tell her – that happens to everyone who loses a loved one – but the fact remains that I was unable to talk to her except for brief moments during the last year she was in the nursing home. I’d reconciled myself to that loss long before she died.

By the time we moved to the cottage, my parents were no longer traveling. They saw our home in San Diego. They never saw the rental cottage we lived in when we first moved to New York. My mom never really wanted to fly again after September 11th and Dad wouldn’t come without her. But I would have loved it so much if they could have come here. I would have loved to share our little cottage with them, flaws and all. Mom knew I loved to garden, though I wasn’t at all interested in that during my youth. I think she would have liked this view. She would have liked sitting on our porch. (I come from a porch-sitting family.)

view from the porch funky patio

She would have liked sitting on the funky patio.

I think she might have been impressed by my gardens. And I can guarantee you she would have said something like, “Who is this girl?” Because it was a skill I didn’t have when I was still living in Michigan. I had lots of indoor plants, but gardening? Digging in the dirt? No.

That came later.

I think she would have liked the cottage. When she used to visit us in San Diego, she loved to do crossword puzzles and read books in our downtime. Don was amazed at how many books she got through during a visit.

The apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree, does it?

She would have showered Scoutie and Riley with attention.

It makes me sad that she never spent any time here, in this place we have made into a home.

big garden bed in July

However, I’ve certainly felt her presence here, as you know. So I guess she has visited the cottage.

In her own way.

Happy Birthday, Mom. You are loved and adored.

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What Lies Beneath

May 18, 2014 at 8:09 am by Claudia

vistafromthemountaintop

Yesterday we took another 5 mile long trail walk. Only this time, the parking lot was full and we had to park elsewhere (read ‘far away’) and to access the trail we had to climb up the mountain via a set of stone steps that was endless and exhausting and scary for this girl who is afraid of heights.

Not doing that again.

I had to rest a few times on the way up and, to be perfectly honest with you, I wanted to sit down and cry. I cannot tell you how steep those steps were. They seemed to go forever and I was absolutely sure we were never going to get to the top. And I was afraid I would fall.

After that, the hike was a piece of cake.

Even though I will never use those steps again, I felt a real victory in simply meeting that challenge and making it up the mountain.

Hey, at least I can say I’ve done it.

canyouseethehawks?

Can you see the hawks? Whenever I see hawks in the sky, I think of the lyrics from Oklahoma: “…and watch a hawk makin’ lazy circles in the sky.”

Now onto the real meat of my story.

When we got back home, I went upstairs (Don was in his studio/office/the spare room) and popped in to ask Don a question. As I turned to leave the room, I noticed that the framed photo of Mom I have on the wall in my studio was empty.

The frame and the glass were there, but no photo.

Considering the recent loss of my mother, it was a bit unsettling.

As I bent over to search for the photo, which had fallen behind a basket I keep next to the cupboard in the studio, I saw two photos there. At first, before I could see it more clearly, I thought the second photo was of some strangers. And I wondered if Grandma (who gave me the framed photo of Mom) had kept another photo behind the one of Mom.

It turns out she did, but on closer examination, I saw it was a studio portrait, not of strangers, but of my grandmother and mother, taken when Mom was a little girl. I was dumbfounded. I’ve had this framed portrait of Mom for over 30 years. Grandma used to spend hours with us looking through every photo she had of the family. I thought I had seen everything.

But no, I hadn’t. I’d never seen this photo in my life.

I literally gasped when I saw it.

grandma&momrevealed

Here it is.

It’s a hand-tinted, absolutely gorgeous 8 x 10 of my grandmother and my mom.

The young version of Mom looks exactly like the older version of Mom that I knew, minus the tow head. Same expression. Same tilt of the head. Such an ‘old soul’ look on her face.

Grandma is young and stylish and serene.

I immediately took a picture of the photo and emailed it to Meredith, who had also never seen it and was shocked and amazed by this discovery. (I’m going to have a copy made for her.)

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that these photos fell out of the frame. I think it was a message. I was guided to see this new-to-me photo, to know that Mom is with Grandma, that she is okay. Meredith feels the same way.

Their relationship was somewhat rocky as Mom, an only child, asserted her independence from Grandma, who could be controlling, and they had their ups and downs. But they loved each other and this portrait of Mom sitting in her mother’s lap, relaxed and happy and content, tells me they are together again with none of the rancor or tension that was often a part of their relationship. Only with love.

What a gift this is!

Another little miracle. Another message from beyond.

Happy Sunday.

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A Tough One

May 11, 2014 at 8:34 am by Claudia

Obviously, this is a tough day for me.

It’s only been 17 days since my mother passed away.

This is the first Mother’s Day in my 61 years of living on this planet without my mother. The first Mother’s Day that I can’t pick up the phone and thank her and wish her a happy Mother’s Day.

I know I can talk to her anytime, and do. But it’s not the same as her being here on this plane of existence.

Many of you have lost your mothers and know all too well the ache that never entirely goes away. Many of you still have the impulse, after so many years without your mom, to pick up the phone and call her. You think, “Oh, I have to tell Mom this…”

Or, in my case, you look at the clock and still have the thought: “Dad must be visiting Mom at the Nursing Home right about now.” And then you remember. She’s no longer there.

How can my mother no longer be here?

My parents, captured on film when they visited me in San Diego in 1994, just a month or two before I met Don.

A while back, I shared something very personal with you: that over the past 2 or 3 years, there have been times when I was alone in the house and I smelled the scent of Oil of Olay. My mom used Oil of Olay every night and that scent is forever Mom’s scent. I became convinced, as did my sister, that Mom was visiting me in those moments. So I would talk to her and tell her I loved her and missed her. Always when I was alone. Usually the visits lasted 3 or 4 minutes.

The day after my mother died, I was sitting at the kitchen table working on some miniatures – doing something to keep me busy, to fill the time. Don was sitting in his chair in the living room.

“What’s that smell?” – this from Don.

I couldn’t smell anything, so I responded, “What smell?”

Don: “Something flowery.”

Me: “I’m painting something, could it be that?”

Don: “No, it smells like flowers.”

I shrugged and continued working for about 5 minutes. Then, as I got up to move to another part of the room, I caught a whiff of the scent. Even then, I didn’t get it for a minute or two. Finally, it hit me.

“You know, I don’t know why I didn’t catch on, but I think that might be Mom.”

Don: “That thought occurred to me, too.”

I guess I didn’t expect anything so soon. That’s why I didn’t get it at first. But it was Mom. She stayed around for a long time.

Don said, “Welcome, Shirley.”

I said, “We always wanted you to see our cottage. We’re so glad you’re here.”

And then I calmly continued work, occasionally talking to her, telling her I loved her, thanking her for being my mom.

She stayed for at least an hour.

And this time, she appeared to both of us.

I’m so grateful for that. On hard days, and there are many, I have to remind myself of that visit.

I really miss her.

For all of you who are mothers, a happy day to you. For those of us who never had children, but who mother students or neighbors or pets or those in need – we also need to be celebrated on this Mother’s Day. To those who are estranged from daughters or sons or mothers, I wish for you the healing and repair of your relationships.

To all of you who have lost your mother, I know how you feel and I’m wrapping my arms around you. It’s a club I never wanted to join. Nevertheless, I’m now a member.

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A Year of Firsts

What Lies Beneath

A Tough One

Lambs Like to Party

A Note

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