Eight years ago the flowering pear tree we’d planted by the bird feeders when we moved to this house died. My late mother, who loved nothing more than sitting on the deck watching our fine feathered friends, told me we needed to replace that tree because the birds missed it. Sadly, she passed two months later… and because she wanted me to make the decision what to do with her ashes, I laid part of her to rest with a beautiful tulip tree in that very spot.
Unfortunately the tree wasn’t hardy enough for the rugged Maine winters and croaked two years later. As did the flowering dogwood we planted after that and the Rose of Sharon after that. Two years ago when our neighbor gave us a few river birches to plant in front of the man cave/barn, we transplanted a flowering plum to my mother’s spot. It did well, for two years.
But now….
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There it goes.
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Undeterred and very determined to give my mother the tree she wanted… we went to an extremely expensive nursery where I paid an astronomical sum for a flowering crabapple.
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It was a beautiful specimen. Tall and bursting with good health.
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So in it went, with my mother.
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My fingers and toes are crossed this one makes it more than two years.
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Because if this one dies, I’m really going to wonder if my mother is trying to tell me something.
Okay, I know I said my last weird experience post was the finale but after I blogged them all… I realized it actually wasn’t. The following is what I wrote three months after my mother passed. Her wish was to be cremated but she never told me what to do with her ashes. Being an only child I agonized over the decision, but knew that part of her should rest somewhere in New Jersey where she spent some of the happiest years of her life. It was an emotional trip for many reasons, but what happened on this particular day really hit home.
Rivergirl
October 20, 2014
I knew….
The third day of our trip started much like the first. My husband was up before dawn and went downstairs for the free…. but barely edible… hotel breakfast. Think watery eggs and rubber sausage.
I took a shower and as I was getting dressed, realized I should do what I had been putting off.
The purpose of our trip was to bring my mother home and I’d been stalling with walks down memory lane. I knew I wanted to spread half of her ashes at the Jersey shore where we’d spent many happy summers. She always loved the sea.
I stood there in the hotel room, feeling sad… missing my mom…. and set about the gruesome physical task. There’s something surreal about holding the remains of your loved one in your hands. The weight of a lifetime.
Of course I started crying. Wondering if I was doing the right thing, doing what she would have wanted. The grief flooded over me like a wave…
And then, when the task was done and she was evenly divided, I smiled…. because I realized I had double baggied her and she would have loved that.
Remember her fondness for baggies?
After I wiped my tears, I reached for my purse which held my much needed makeup… and saw something on the table. The table that had been perfectly empty a half hour before when I stepped in the shower.
I gasped. And started crying again….
It was my mother’s white bobby pin.
She was such a pill about them. Would never use any other color and they’re harder to find than you might think. She hoarded them… and started fretting when she was running low. They were in every room of her apartment, in every pocket of every coat and every sweater she owned. She was never without them…
But I didn’t carry them. Ever. And I certainly didn’t pack one to take on the trip with us. Why would I? My husband didn’t put it there, he was downstairs eating breakfast. I suppose a random white haired maid could have snuck in and dropped it while touching up her ‘do when I was in the shower…. but I’m guessing the odds of that are pretty high.
There’s no reason on earth why a white Bobby pin should have been on that table… except one.
My husband walked in the room a few minutes later, saw me crying and looked lost.
He didn’t believe me when I told him…
But I knew.
I knew she was there with me.
I knew.
To this day I still can’t wrap my mind around what happened. A physical embodiment of spirit? Get the straight jacket ready and tidy up the rubber room, River is on her way.
It’s been 7 years since that crazy bobby pin appeared out of nowhere, and if I think about it too long I begin to doubt it happened at all. But then I walk into our bedroom and look on my bureau under my passel of Alex and Ani bracelets…
We had an odd sun reflection in our living room last week.
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Strange coincidence … or alien targeting technology?
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Time will tell.
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Martin, I immediately thought of you. But, blech! It’s still a giant no from where I’m sitting.
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A few of my friends might get this for Christmas. You know who you are… but what makes it odd is the label. ‘Nice Stuff For Mom’. I don’t know about you, but I never tipped back half a dozen martinis with my mother.
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And finally, anatomically correct beer glasses. While I can almost see the appeal of the female version…. the hourglass figure makes for a good grip… the male glass is more than a trifle disturbing.
We had a really wet, cool fall last year with a really wet, cool spring this year…. and it was rough on the landscaping. The blueberry bushes look punky, the rhododendrons are spindly and we had 2 deaths.
While garden deaths usually don’t make me cry, these did.
For those of you who don’t know, my mother died July of 2014 from Non Hodgkins Lymphoma, and it was rough. I’m an only child and lost my dad when I was 15. I never knew my grandparents.
She was my family. Pretty much all of it.
Mom hated the fuss of funerals and wanted to be cremated. Said it was up to me to decide what to do with her ashes. Since she loved spending time at our home and enjoyed our gardens, I planted a tulip tree with part of her nourishing the soil.
The tree had been growing well since then, but didn’t survive the winter and spring. We had to remove it…. and I cried.
Cried.
Silly, I know. And yes, I can always plant another one, but somehow it just feels…. wrong.
Then there was the beautiful red rose our neighbor gave me to mark her passing.
It was stunning, and always filled with riotous blooms.
I would walk by, think of my mother and smile.
I mean damn…
The crazy thing would even bloom in the snow.
I figured nothing would kill it… and then we had a really cool, wet fall and a really cool, wet spring.
Yeah.
The beauty that I’d been enjoying for years…. gone. Just like my mom.
And I cried.. again. I couldn’t help it.
But I decided to replace the rose.
With this flashy lady.
The blooms looked almost painted….
Which made sense when I removed the tag.
I’ve always loved impressionist paintings, so that felt right.
Fingers are crossed this one does well.
I think my mother would have approved.
❤
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 