I remember clearly being fearful of death from a very early age.
My mom walking the giant rolling cemetery with her best friend, pushing my brother in a carriage and me in tow. I’m thinking I was five when they were talking about their final wishes. Cremation? What a terrible, awful thing…
Fast forward 40 or so years.
I have always stopped in for a quick cup of tea with my grandparents. I cozy up with my warm beverage on the stiff couch and let the stained-glass wash over me. I miss them, thought I made it clear that I was not ready for them to go. But they each said they were. Had their names up on the crypt. Bought and paid for neat and tidy.
There they are, uplit by the whir of fluorescents. The chronic fruit flies and cold comfort of the mausoleum have never been inviting but why stop my visits because they are here?
Their daughter is not like them. Iconoclast. Free spirit.
I will confide in you that before she digested her swift ending, my mother needed to know the party would continue. Her urn was to be “dressed according to occasion.” Bruins are going to the Stanley Cup finals, you say? Full blood moon? Stones are in town? Make sure that somebody signs her datebook and checks her out like she is a periodical. I had a sinking feeling. See what she did there? My mother was planning to give me a run for my money even in the afterlife.
Knowing what she wanted and what we did not, I sent out into the universe my desire to make us all content. There must be some way she can still be relevant, positive and everlasting.
Life Forest.
There it was. I received, thank you very much.
Forests handled properly can be eternal. Mother Nature and my mother are a perfect compliment. The children hung an ornament on their way to the river to scan the pools that hide fish. The dog and I start the day poking a nose in on the first of turning leaves. It’s no Rolling Stones concert but at least opportunity is ripe for the picking here.
When you’re in Hillsborough stop and say hello. My mom’s Sourwood is often wearing a scarf; she would love to hear your footsteps.
Written by Chanti Labrecque
