There are now two graves on the cemetery hillside.
My mother joined my father in their resting place they picked out long ago.
It’s a cemetery filled with my ancestors. Within a few steps of each other lie’s my maternal great grandmother, maternal grandmother, many aunts, uncles and cousins. Some of my father’s family is there also, including an empty grave of his brother killed in WWII,
but really buried in Germany.
It was a place to visit, read the stones and connect with our past; our heritage, our ancestors and remembering who we are and keeping the family history alive.
But when my mother joined that group of family on that hillside, part of my heart went with her. That invisible cord that kept me connected to her and my family in that cemetery has been severed. I have never seemed to be able to let go of the life we experienced as children.
Life on the farm, rambling old farmhouses, the smell of cooking and the rattling of pots and pans in the kitchen, family coming and going, big Sunday dinners, the laughter of family sitting on the porch telling stories of the past, my grandmother’s with their aprons, Dad in his overalls, Mom always wore dresses she made, fingers silently moving over a quilt or afghan in the still of evening, Dad sitting in his rocker by the heater, beds covered with handmade quilts, my Mom’s iced tea in large goblet glasses, tractors and trucks coming and going, men sitting with Dad in the yard or at the barn discussing the weather, the crops or whatever men talk about, one bathroom where someone was always waiting for their turn, the large claw foot tub that was such a pleasure to soak in, Mom’s biscuits, gravy and cooked apples for breakfast, Dad always wanting you to sit on the porch with him, the smell of fresh mown hay and the flowers blooming in the garden. The list goes on and on. It was a simple life filled with the purpose of surviving with what you had and making the most out of it.
I miss it all but especially I miss my Mom.
Her blues eyes looking at you with love and understanding even when you had disappointed her, phones calls home to tell her what you had been working on and hear about what she was doing or the latest news from the rest of the family, her hurrying to meet you at the door when you came home to visit, going to antique stores and her finding a dollar treasure, fixing your favorite foods or dessert. Her unconditional love of each of her four children and our father.
She was always busy and always feeding everyone. That was how she took care of you. After being raised in the depression, food was important. Food nourished and gave you comfort. It meant you could survive. When she found out that she would not live her first question was “You mean I can’t cook anymore?” We cried together. Losing my mother broke my heart.
Each of us loses a piece of our hearts when we lose our mother. Life is never the same but life does go on but in our hearts and mind will stay our mother’s love.
Happy Mother’s day Mom.
I love you.
|Mom and Dad|
|Mom and Dad on his 90th. birthday.|