Of care, caretaking and leaving....
My older brother has just turned 50 on January
25th – an anniversary that gives us Morris boys pause. Time has marched to the point we must start looking over the
hill…. Our eyes weaken, knees hurt, gout flares in all of us, and we are no longer the young lions we once were.
But I am happy to report each one of us seem
more comfortable in our singular skins as the progression unfolds. We are adapting. This pleases me. Acceptance and peace.
Ronnie not withstanding, this week –
the end of January - has become one of loss for me. January 30th is the third anniversary of my mother’s
death. The 29th is the date of passing, some years ago, of the husband of a very dear friend.
And now, this past weekend Kim has died.
Kim is one of my chickens. This is not to
put a humorous light on the death of people (or of Kim). She was a member of our little flock here and will be missed. I found
her Sunday morning, outside the coop. She may have been sick and died during the day and I am told chickens don’t freeze
to death easily, but my guilt tells me I closed the little door and she froze to death while she was hiding behind the south
wall (Kim was never outside when the other chickens were not…)
Kim was my skinny Bantam, chain smoking, neurotic
hen. Eyes bulging and flighty.
But she is dead. Erica set up a very strange
sound as I carried Kim away. I was so sad. A member of my household was gone. I had failed one of my charges, and the flock
had lost one of their own. We all felt the loss.
My TN friend taught me a nice honorarium –
and tonight I light a candle in the window for her John, Emma and now, Kim. At first I thought it was to give them light to
guide them home. But they are home, and I think the candles are there to let them know we still love them.
Sometimes after the gasp and the drawing of
the deep breath – there is no answer and the void is still there. This, I think, is what the tears try to wash away.
Following is a picture of Emma and Kim.
Also the eulogy I offered to my mother. She
was a beautiful woman, regardless of those horrible pants in the photo. She was our cheerleader. And she had a great sense
of humor :;-)
Emma: whether she was your friend, mother, sister,
aunt, or grandmother, she was just Emma. Sort of like Cher: but without the outfits.
Emma was a kind, loving, happy woman. I always
joke that I got my brown eyes and nose from her – but also anything good and decent in me comes directly from her.
Emma loved food, loved to laugh, liked to read,
and loved and was loved tremendously. So to honor her everyday:
Enjoy your food
Laugh as often as you can
And love each other tremendously
We always rolled our eyes because she would wave
goodbye when we left the house. When we returned, she was always standing in the door to welcome us home.
Today we wave goodbye and I know she will be standing
in the door to welcome us home one more time.
I love you Mom.