Momma's been gone for 18 years today...And I'm okay. This is usually not a good day...but this year, I'm okay. I figure she's up there, or out there, somewhere, two-stepping across the stars with Dad. They look down on us all with pride and love, forgiveness and happiness in their shining eyes.
I was chatting with a friend of mine, who was a very dear friend of my mom, and reminded her of today's importance. And all this started from this friend sending me a somewhat lewd cartoon. It reminded me of Mom because she'd have had a great belly laugh over it...No shrinking violet, my mother.
But I digress a bit...My friend asked me about where Momma's grave is. I remember pretty well, though I've only been there three times. It's not that I can't deal with it; it's just that I don't feel she's there, just a casket and bones. How could she be there? Her soul is busy two-stepping in the ethereal.
Anyway, I couldn't remember the name of the cemetery. I knew it was out in the country, north of that little town where we lived. I knew the highway that led to it. I knew the landmarks around it. I even remember what part of the cemetery the grave is in. I just couldn't remember the name. Fortunately, my friend still lives in that area and could decipher my description.
She didn't say for sure whether she planned to take a trip up that dusty, winding road, where up at the top is a small quiet cemetery in the trees. It's a peaceful little place at the top of a hill with a view made to set one's mind and heart at ease. For lots of folks, there isn't a thing comforting or peaceful about a cemetery, no matter how beautiful and serene its location. I'd say those folks are lacking in equal parts, faith and imagination.
The thought that my friend might make the trek got me thinking. Maybe she could take a flower up there for me. (yeah, I know I said I don't picture Mom and Dad there, but what harm would it do?) So I sat thinking of what she could take...Roses? No, too fancy. Carnations? No. Too common. If you're gonna buy flowers, at least get some really nice ones that mean something. Daisies? Maybe...yeah, maybe daisies...
Then I remembered. When I was a little girl, I did typical little girl things, typical little kid things. I played house under the huge willow tree in the front yard; I made mud pies. And, like all little kids, I liked to do special little things for Mom and Dad, that to me, at the time, were more big than little...you know, coloring and drawing pictures, picking dandelions, typical loving, innocent kid things.
But, for really special people and really special occasions, I had color-coded kisses, the finest of which was lella (yellow), and I gave heartloves. Now, Daddy loved getting lella kisses, and that was always what I gave him. Other folks might get red or blue or whatever, but Dad always got lella. As for Momma, I always gave her heartloves. Those were better than flowers. We had a redbud tree in the front yard. Every Spring it would bloom with its little purple-red flowers and its wide, heartshaped leaves. So early on, I stopped picking dandelions and other weed flowers and began picking redbud leaves instead. When I first gave one to Momma, she asked me what it was..."It's a heartlove," I told her. Well the name stuck. I gave her leaves from that tree for a good few years, until we moved from that house to a place where we didn't have a redbud tree.
So that's it. I asked my friend to take a few redbud leaves up with her if she goes. Expensive flowers are not necessary... just a few long awaited heartloves and lella kisses. Can't say it any better than that.
