This is the first Mother’s Day since my mom passed away.
I debated staying at my desk this morning: work tasks were piling up, my hiking partner was away, I was feeling a bit sluggish. But my heart knew I had to go out into the bright early morning. I found myself at the closet putting on shorts and a T-shirt. My body tricked me before my mind could catch up, and so out the door I went.
As I left the property, I gazed at the Paulownia tree now ripe with its large lavender
blossoms. I had hoped that this favorite mother-color tree would be abloom when she
first visited me here several years ago. It had been, and my mom had exclaimed at the beauty
of it.
Climbing up the dirt road, I was considering how often it is that I think of things to share
with my mom - usually about beauty, creativity, nature – and then I remember that she is
not going to be on the other side of the phone. I used to make lists of the things I wanted
to tell her when we spoke, probably a habit she had taught me. I have continued to make
the lists over the past six and a half months since her death, despite the fact that her
phone is now disconnected.
I made the abrupt left-hand swerve onto the forest trail and immediately began to receive
the gifts of nature:
the scent of the stew of heated up soil, fragrant flowers, firesmoke, pine sap
a Stellar’s jay feather, bright blue and downy
the still-cool air in the trees and the much warmer sunshine on the road
a dark blue sky so clear I could see the soul of God
the caterpillar in one step and the millipede coiled in the shade in the next
stinging nettles that crowded the narrow hiking path and the movements to avoid
letting them touch my bare legs
a single whistle, crisp and loud, from some unknown bird overhead
the crossing of a steep ditch so I could see if that lilac smelled stronger than the
lilacs on the bush near my deck at home (yes, it did!)
the goats I found at the midpoint of my walk, eager to climb, reach, and nibble my
fingers
Every one of these offerings from the Earth today represented an experience with or an expression of my mom:
a mountain retreat in the pines where we went as a family; the way my mom
created a special occasion by having a fire in the fireplace growing up
a dirty crow’s feather that I showed her when I was four
my mother’s intolerance of heat but love of rain and brisk air
appreciation for colors, hues, and skies lit with colors
all the crawly creatures I presented to my mom as a young child – each one felt
to me like the very best gift I could give to her
my mom’s patient attention with bandaids and TLC when I stepped on a bee,
skinned my knees, got rashes from plants
my mom’s ability to whistle clear tunes and entire songs, including imitations of
bird trills
the names of flowers that I learned from her
our shared love of animal encounters, including the pony in the Shetland islands
who nibbled her hair and tried to climb inside our rental car
I had a few moments during the walk in which the shining miracle of nature filled my heart to breaking. But it was not a painful heartache, or even a longing one. It felt much more like peace. Crystalline fulfillment. Simple, everyday glory that could bring me to my knees in reverence.
When I returned from the walk, I found a voicemail from the hospice chaplain who was checking in on my “grief and bereavement.”
And what I didn’t figure out until much later in the day is that my mom came with me on my walk this morning.
I sign off today’s blog with hands folded together at my heart, fingertips to firmament, with an overflowing gratefulness for a world of nature that sustains us and brings us ever closer to that which – and to those whom – we love.
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2019 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
