My mother's favorite time of year was late spring. She was an avid gardner, the kind that breathed life into anything she touched. She chose to have the gardens of organized chaos, much like the old country English gardens. She didn't have formal, stiff and polite gardens...that didn't fit her at all. Mum was a free-spirit, a gypsy at heart, always seeking and learning. Her life had her feeling pegged and tethered and you could feel her straining against the conventions that she had to live within, everyday.
But in her gardens...well, that's where you could really see her heart. Huge daisies, calendula, irises all planted in and amongst each other, ground covered with lobelia, marigolds, petunias and then carrots, tomatoes, herbs. All growing together in such a lovely harmony. She knew the right plants to put next to each other, the ones who could be sociable and friendly together. Her gardens were anywhere there was space. She filled every place in her life, in her home, with something lovely and surprising.
Since she died, these mornings have a touch of sad emptiness for me. This is when I miss her the most. She would be out in her gardens, her yard, as the sun came up. Coffee brewing, the stale scent of her cigarettes lingering wherever she had been. These smells may turn others off and around, but they are always reminders to me of my mother and her wild and beautiful spirit.
I drink coffee, and I love the stuff, but it's partly emotional in that I do feel a piece of her with me with that first cup of the day. I used to take mine outside with me on the island while i cared for the little farm and tended the gardens. I miss those gardens and the early mornings with them.
I have a tiny space to work in now, and I feel a bit trapped. Alot of the joy is diminished still for me, but it gets better as I get used to and accept the differences. I can hear her voice talking to me about the little plants I have...i planted many of her favorites, the big Shasta daisies, the berry plants that grow so wild and are so lovely. I hear her tell me how to care for the little pots of clearance plants i buy, the ones that are dying and just being thrown away. I can sense her guidance as I take them out of their constricting containers and give them the individual attention that seems to be the correct thing to do. They always live, and often stay year after year even though they aren't supposed to. I decided long ago that this is mum's gift to me.
Tomorrow is mom's day. I don't celebrate it, really. All i ever want is to just spend time with my girls, visit mom's grave and appreciate the day for what it happens to be. Tomorrow will be sunny and I am so glad. The girls and I, and Sarina's fella Shane, are heading to Westport. After a trip to the cemetery to put all the flowers I can find on her grave, and to say "thanks, mom".
I miss her. My beautiful mom, the plains born gypsy, the roving heart, my queen of courage. I know she's around me. I just want to feel her arms around me again. Just once. To hold me close, brush my hair away from my eyes the way she did, kiss my mouth and spank my butt...her way of telling me how much she loved me and now to get busy and make it happen.
Anyway.
Love your mom. Whoever that mom is. Your mother, your friend, your auntie, your child...your father, even. Just let them know that you love them and never let them wonder.
Dido
Thank You
for you, Mom. We never had much, and you taught me that whatever we had didn't matter...it was what we were that said it all.
♥
No comments:
Post a Comment