In the early morning hours just days ago—8 weeks to the day of my Mother’s passing—wisps of thoughts pass through my consciousness as I return to the earth plane and my third-dimensional reality. I imagine it is like the space shuttle’s re-entry into the atmosphere of earth; sometimes a little rough as the turbulence rumbles and shakes the vessel throwing off tiles you awaken, startled—other times it is smooth sailing all the way home, as eyes open to familiar surroundings. I feel, for me, it is the place which our true multi-dimensional natures go—where we all go—at night—during sound slumber. From time to time we are given glimpses where our consciousness can’t enter. There we connect. Many have speculated and studied this dream world; theories abound. Family constellations refers to “the knowing field”, where everything is known and we have access to all; somehow we rend the veil of knowledge where even time is a mystery. This space between the space where we cannot see and yet we do and know so clearly. She was there. And I begin . . . the final chapter review.
Relationships, like most things never travel down a straight path, do they? Close intimate relationships seem to create big bangs; quantum membranes folding upon each other to create new realities above and below which in turn create smaller cascades of catalysts, forever changing everything they touch around them; a plan well hidden, beyond sight, made even more confusing by our human egos, filters and the outside observer. But, the heart is the true measure of what we feel—divine intelligence, and the measure of Truth far beyond intellect and words. It is felt. I know you recognize this now.
I reflect on the memorable Sunday afternoon, September 4th, before you took your departure home. I know you remember. You, Caryl (sister) and I all spent your last hours on earth together. You reside now as the observer. I believe this was the plan—the potential all along; a salute in resolution and the power of the heart. After all I had stayed in Seattle this year much longer than necessary—or so I initially thought. In retrospect, I understood for the energy which transpired between us—the last time we would be together as Mother—and daughter was rich, meaningful and loving; spirit, heart, mind and body working together in perfect balance. The dance was complete.
I observed you. I listened. I watched as you looked over scrap books in the living room pointing and reading and talking— sitting in the dark antique arm-chair with the woven cane seat—separated from where Caryl and I worked; your choice. Some memory books were of us growing up, but the one that particularly caught your attention was one you had put together for your own Mother. You seem to wander into and out of memories, as you turned the pages, observing your careful placement of cards, notes, pictures and stories, that only you knew. That point grabbed my attention— I silently noted it to myself.
At your request, we went to lunch. I drove. This had meaning too, although I was yet to know. We dined at your favorite restaurant—ironically named, “The Big Fish”. Ironic, because you hated fish. And yet, that particular locale was special and it drew you there often over the years. As always, the staff was warm, courteous, and attentive. I was concerned when we parted for the day, because during our lunch we had talked about my sons, your great grandson, David’s upcoming wedding and pictures I shared from my phone; you viewed them all. Minutes passed. You stopped, and looking straight at me, you asked, “You have boys, right?” I politely answered, but wondered how long you would be able to stay in your house. Dessert was a must, especially topped with ice cream; Vanilla was your favorite. We split an order of Marion berry cobbler à la mode; the hostess bringing three spoons. Coffee ordered and we continued our visit and leisurely lunch. You talked about your late brother Carl, the Olympics in Helsinki and other historical moments that were familiar to you. Caryl and I listened.
Sliding out across the booth’s bench seat, as we were leaving, you started to grab a creamer for your coffee—like a child, I saw the delight in your eyes, and encouraged you to take another—even more delight—and to the horror of Caryl—I suggested you grab the remaining three; I witnessed your simple joy. We took advantage of a Kodak moment, snapping photos before climbing back into the car. Historical moment indeed—how little did I realize in the moment. But, we were living in the now. We had been all afternoon.
Back at home, and sitting at the dining room table, the conversation shifted to the small collection of miscellaneous crystal glasses of various shapes, sizes and colors nestled into the partial box-lid. When Caryl and I had arrived, they had been sitting in a cardboard box-top in your bathroom. I had noticed them sitting on the counter. So did Caryl. An odd place for such items, Caryl had suggested hours before bringing them into the dining room. There they sat on the table, waiting.
Somewhere in a conversation, about the crystal glasses and saying good-bye, Caryl announced she had no interest. Years before the family china sets had been divided between her and my youngest sister, Chris. For some reason over the years, I had been left out; no explanation was necessary. However, in a split second, I felt my Mothers forgiveness, compassion and love. You acquiesced silently and offered them to me. I gladly accepted your gift. I don’t know if you knew, but my eyes filled with tears.
I paused, silently before you. Asking myself, take them now, or wait until Thursday? These questions are processed in nanoseconds. I needed to take them now, and I knew that. I was not sure you would remember when I came to pick you up for my birthday lunch four days later. I was nudged.
Now, I feel, that our relationship had come full circle. Did you feel the love for me that you perhaps felt the day I was born? Life had gotten in the way much of the time—so had some of your beliefs about who I was—your prejudices—and your way of being; I rebelled in my own way. We had come to stretch each other and we did. But in that moment, something changed, time melted; there indeed was the sacred cord of love. The heart had found it’s home. The circle was complete.
In Loving Memory,