Gratitude * Sunday
Sunday’s heartfelt tradition.
A time to slow down,
to be grateful.
A list of gratitudes.
Our gratefulness feeds one another.
Quoted from Taryn Wilson
Joining the Gratitude Sunday Tradition at Wooly Moss Roots.
Summer is the worst
time for death as sun and light
interfere with grief.
Sunday Musings – Ode to My Mother
The world lost a beautiful woman and caring mother this week. I have been working on a series of essays to put positive ideas out about the Queen’s clean green revolution. Progress has been slow because I have not been feeling well. The green revolution is temporarily in dry dock as I present a short series on grief and grieving I am going to call For Crying Out Loud. Yes, I am going to work through my grief in public.
As I’ve said before progress is not always good. Our American society has grown far away from the reality of death in our lives. When a person dies these days, the coroner pronounces the death and the body is whisked away from the scene in a matter of a few short hours, sometimes as few as one. In the past the family washed the body of the loved one, dressed her in proper clothing, presented her to the public in the drawing room, and the community came to visit and pay their last respects before the burial.
Few people today have a drawing room or are willing to have a dead body in their home for more than a few minutes. We don’t even touch the body of the person we have been touching and hugging all our lives. Now, if any ritual takes place, it occurs in a generic funeral home or at a stale church memorial where the pastor who speaks of the deceased never even knew the person. Death has become an unreality and a shock stressor rather than an honored part of life, with a support system in place for coping.
The change has become a societal norm, and it has distanced us from the sacred moment of death, of honoring the physical body and sharing that time and the time after the soul or the spirit of the person leaves the body. SOMETHING leaves or changes when the breath stops; it even has a physical weight measurement to it; for lack of other names I will use the words soul and spirit. Mom would have been fascinated by the information presented in this video about The Weight of a Human Soul and it would have sparked hours of intellectual discourse between us.
Nor do we grieve out loud. It embarrasses others when you are crying in public, or sometimes even at home, about death. People only want to say sorry for your loss, and move on to the next topic as quickly as possible to lighten your mood, by not talking about it as if grief is something to be hidden away, an inappropriate subject for conversation. We might comfort our children and give them words to deal now they will never see grandma again. Rarely do we talk together about how we process loss through death as adults. So I’m going to talk about grief and grieving and coping. Out loud. Because it feels loud right now and I have to get it out.
And so today’s musing is relatively short as I ask you to please share with me these next few weeks while I explore feelings of grief over the death of my mother in a tribute to her memory. Feel free to share these thoughts with your friends and family as sooner or later it happens to each of us.
Flower Watch – blooming attractions in my neighborhoods this week – lilies; lilies; lilies. Roses, roses, roses. Lilies, lilies, lilies.
Currently Reading – He’s a Stud, She’s a Slut and 49 Other Double Standards Every Woman Should Know (humorous feminist politics) by Jessica Valenti; Gut and Psychology Syndrome (healing science) by Natasha Campbell-McBride; Paradise Lot (experimental gardening) by Eric Toensmeier; Pines (a thriller novel) by Blake Crouch. Yes, concurrently. And all of which feel trite and insignificant today.
This week I have been grateful for:
- My mother, the one person who knew me longer than anybody.
- My mother, who gave me siblings.
- My mother, who taught me how to read while she read to me as I sat in her lap surrounded by her strong and loving arms.
- My mother, who sang to me and drew pictures for me.
- My mother, who allowed me to make cardboard dollhouses and furniture with sharp knives and scissors.
- My mother, who gave me swim lessons, piano lessons, guitar lessons, and Sunday School.
- My mother, who though she was shy and didn’t know how to do it, always stepped up to be the Camp Fire Girls group leader when other mothers wouldn’t, so her girls and girls in the neighborhood would always have a group to be in.
- My mother, who let me go to summer camp, berry picking, and babysitting.
- My mother, who encouraged my scholarship, beginning at age twelve when I began questioning everything. She took me to the local library to get a library card.
- My mother, who was always willing to learn something new.
- My mother, who learned how to drive when I was twelve and taught me to drive four years later when I was sixteen, and didn’t say anything when she knew I was lying about going to the library.
- My mother, who opened her home and heart to everybody I brought home.
- My mother, who was always thinking about other people.
- My mother, who did everything in her power to make sure I had what I needed and most of what I wanted.
- My mother, who let me go but never stopped taking care of me her whole life.
- My mother, brave and gracious lady, first teacher, seamstress and tailor, master quilter, master gardener and food preserver, master recycler, life-long learner, loyal defender, critical thinker, who retained her wit to the end.
- My mother, who had been ill for so long and is no longer in pain.
- My mother, who I will have much more to say about in the coming weeks.
Namaste. Peace. Blessings.