I treasure this picture of my mom. I think I’ve posted it before. She is about 19 or 20 years of age. It was taken before she and my dad were married. Her brown hair long, in a smart wave. Her smile sweet. Those soft, blue folds of her coat quite stylish. My mom looks so young and carefree and reminds me so much of my own daughters, each bearing resemblances to her in different ways, not to mention myself.
It is the tilt of her head that has captivated me today. I have a few pictures of Jennifer and I at the Jackie Kennedy Tea we attended a few weeks ago. We are both tilting our heads in the same way in our photos; it is exactly the same way Ma is tilting hers here. Amazing, isn’t it, the way such family traits appear? I like to think of them as little gifts in life that arrive unawares.
My mom passed away 25 years ago. She died on the Ides of March. I miss her in the ways we all miss those we love and no longer have with us on this earth, though I always feel her near. When she died, I was right next to her. She took in her last breath, her head turned toward me, and I felt as if I caught her spirit.
I’ve been having dreams lately of family members, all now “gone home”/ In each of them, so real, my mother never appears. They are a comfort, these dreams; I never fear them as some might. My sister’s surgery is in part what is bringing them on, I’m sure. My sister, you see, was spared the very same thing my mom died from 25 years ago. Gifts. I tell you, dear reader, they keep coming in life if we just take the time to receive them.
Since Ma was appearing in my dreams and her anniversary was nigh, I took a ride to the cemetery to say hello on Thursday, the 14th. I didn’t stay long. It was bitterly cold, the cemetery was empty, and I was deep into its interior. I did say a prayer and smiled at the memories that are good of my life, and home I came, knowing some of our dreams happen while our eyes are open.
Would you mind if I shared a portion of a poem I wrote for a writing class I took some years after Ma died? It is called “On the Wings of Her Angel”
I watched her warm essence wax
and wane until it flew on
the wings of her angel –
I breathed in her spirit and caught it
on it’s upward flight.
In my mother’s room:
threads of death in her veins,
I felt the gossamer web of her presence
and gathered her strength. It freed me
to love and mourn her –
sewing and darning and mending,
a time-worn pattern of love,
to hold for my daughters-
a blanket of all that is good and fair.
I look to her soul as I wander
this dark hall of grief,
down the corridors
of my longing and loss,
remembering her breath
as it fluttered home to me
from the wings of her angel.
Oh, sweetie, thank you fro sharing your poem. What a beautiful tribute to your mom and what a lovely person she was/is. This was very moving. I am in tears. Thank you for reminding me of my own dear mom…
Yes, “some of our dreams happen while our eyes are open.” I love that phrase.
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You are so very welcome, Teresa. It is nice to know that this reminded you of your own mom. These feelings and remembrances we all have stretch time and miles, don’t they. Thank you.
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You caught a wonderful emotion here with your prose and your poem. These memories and feelings come unbidden yet so welcome when they do.
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Indeed, they do “come unbidden yet so welcome when they do”. Thank you, Friko, for your kind comment.
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Penny, I wish I could tell you how this poem and post went straight to my heart. I look at my mother’s picture across from me as she was, a little 6 year old girl in a posed picture at the photographer in 1914 and see my reflection. You always say the perfect thing to capture a moment in time. I will dream of my mother tonight and enjoy the days we had together. We were best friends and nothing can ever take that away. Thank you for this most poignant remembrance.
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Oh, dear Marilyn, you are so sweet to say this. Thank you. I hope this finds you having dreamed of your dear mother and warmed from the memories again. Isn’t it amazing to be able to look at that picture of your mom as a child and see yourself in it? You are welcome.
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What a lovely poem, Penny. I see a young Penny in this picture too. I will remember this poem as I think about my Mom. As usual, Penny, your life and mine intertwine. I always think of my Mom more at this time of year because her birthday was on the Ides of March. My dear Mother also had a way of tilting her head that I would see in Grandmother and my Aunt Wanda. Now the three are together in Heaven. Sometimes I see that tilt in my daughter’s and granddaughter’s heads. Thank you for sharing the photo of your beautiful Mom and your beautiful words of remembrance.
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Thank you, Janet. I see a bit of me as well. I was about this age when you and I first met, and here we are, intertwining again, with the Ides of March. I just met your mom that one time and thought her kind and sweet. It’s comforting to think of your Mother, Grandmother, and Aunt Wanda together again, isn’t it? And all these little mannerisms that we see now in our own children and grandchildren is fascinating. Your welcome, Janet. It’s good to share here.
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Penny, this is so beautiful and moving, and I can relate to it all the way. I still miss my mother, but in a comforting way now. I feel her with me. And oddly enough, I’ve just found a photo of her as a young married women, and had it redone and put it in a frame. She has a similar look to your mother: beautiful, young and full of hope that she will have a wonderful life. I love the way you describe catching her spirit as she died. What a blessing that your sister has been spared.
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I thank you, Juliet. If memory serves me well this morning, your mom’s middle name was Violet, wasn’t it? I think we shared that as some point when I mentioned my mom’s name was Violet. The sorrow does ease into a comforting remembrance over time. How lovely that you found the photo and took the time to bring it back to its original state. It was such a sad moment, yet, so special in that I’ve always known I caught her spirit at the moment she passed on. I find peace in it, and a blessing, indeed, that my sister was spared.
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What a good memory you have, Penny. Violet was indeed my mother’s middle name, and I named my first doll after her.
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It’s a wonder, Juliet; I can’t find the grocery list I just made, yet I can remember your mom’s middle name is Violet. It’s fun to share our mom this way across the vast span of the continents.
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Penny, I’m so very distinctly moved by every word of what you’ve shared. Twenty-five years is a long time ago, leaving me with impressions of what life was probably like for you with your young family, thus a very difficult time to lose your own mother. Yet as you’re sharing, in some ways, especially as an anniversary is approached, it is like yesterday. I can really see how your sister’s illness has stirred even more emotion, and I’m also so very thankful that she has done so well! Your mother was a very beautiful woman, Penny, and I love that you feel her presence in probably many, many ways, but in the tilt of the heads and small mannerisms you must feel such a rush of love come at you from time to time. I think your poem is simply wonderful, Penny. It’s a lovely poem, and expresses so well the sense of her “going home” and you were there to experience that miracle of transition. Your “catching her spirit” is absolutely wondrous. oxo
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It was a difficult time, Debra, with some other major troubles at the time as well, but, we plowed through it all and are stronger for it. I”m so grateful my sister is healing well and will be fine and I thank you for your kind thoughts and words. In spite of losing my mom early on in life, I know I am so fortunate to have experienced her passing in the way that I did.
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SO beautiful, Penny – your memories, your poem and your lovely mother herself. I feel privileged that you shared them with us like this. These anniversaries are important and anchor us to our past and our present. I too hardly ever dream about my dear mother, but recently did so and it was so comforting and enriching.
Your mention of your sister reminds me how fortunate we are to live in an age of such medical advances.
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That is so thoughtful of you to say, Perpetua. Thank you. I agree. We need to acknowledge anniversaries as we all need these anchors in so many ways. I hadn’t thought of it this way and appreciate hearing it from you.
Aren’t we? Medical advances have come about in really such a short period of time. I may have told you that my grandmother was told at the age of 66 that she was too old to have cataract surgery in the early 1960’s. It was still a very dangerous procedure at the time with laying in bed, sandbagged for days and day and the risk of clots and infections so prominent. Here we are, not that many years later, me already gone through both eyes and you just awaiting the time – and how quickly and efficiently it is done. Amazing.
I hope this is a better week for you, Perpetua. You are in my prayers.
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This is incredibly beautiful. …no more words from me, just thank you for sharing your thoughts and words. Jx
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Thank you, Janice, and you are most welcome.
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I read this yesterday and couldn’t find the words. I came back today and Janice has said them for me. Beautiful. Thank you. Axxx
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You are so welcome, Annie. I’m so glad you came back to comment. Thank you.
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Such a beautiful poem for a beautiful lady,thank you for sharing.
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How kind of you to comment. Thank you so much.
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Penny, this is lovely. I send prayers your way in this time of year that will never be not empty.
You write of the way your tilt your head, like your mom’s in the photo. Every time I look in the mirror, I see my Mamaw. She had an uneven lower lip, and I have it, too, along with her smile. I sometimes pretend she is smiling back at me there, through that feature alone.
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Andra, thank you for your prayers and your thoughts.
I can imagine you pretending your Mamaw is smiling at you in the mirror. In a way, she really is. You have such a lovely smile. I sometimes look in the mirror and just say “hi, Ma”.
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So beautiful…made me cry! What a lovely reminder of Yia Yia, and what a great poem. You and I were talking about her recently, and you recalled how she sang “when you wish upon a star” to me, for some unknown reason, just before she died. Ever since then, if I see a star, I’ve been wishing upon it. Another gift. Love-
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Thank you, Jennifer. She loved her grandchildren so very much. We’ll never know why she sang “when you wish upon a star” to you at that moment, but, you are right, it was another gift and it was given just to you, my dear. Keep wishing on those stars.
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Beautiful, Penny. This post, and this poem, are filled with celebration at who your mother was; a tangible glow, like that just after sunset. Your view of life – and what happens after it -is inspirational.
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Thank you very much, Kate. That is such a sweet sentiment – and so true of my mom.
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Penny — I am so happy that you shared your poem. Rather than being sad, it seems to me a celebration of the continuing love and of the family traits that you “caught” and have passed down to your daughters (and granddaughter I’m sure). A beautiful post altogether. Thank you for it.
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What a wonderful thing to say, Sallie. Life should be a continuation of love even as loved ones past. I could not think of a better way to put it. Thank you.
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Beautiful picture of your mum. Beautiful post.
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So nice to hear from you, Nicola, and I appreciate your kind words. Thank you.
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Holy mackeral, Penny, this beautiful post and your lovely, heartfelt poem has me in tears. Thank you for sharing it. That photo of your mother is wonderful because you can see so much personality coming through, and I do see the resemblance! She’s adorable.
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Oh, thank you, Janet. It felt good to share this. I see so much of myself and our girls in the photo. It is nice to see our mothers at such young ages, I think. I love the coat. It was not something I ever saw my mom in, but, as a young girl, she loved to dress. It felt good to remember her here.
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