May Her Memory Be Blessing

Answering a friend who sent sympathy

She was all that and so much more—a benediction to be sure, but also a walking contradiction, a talking composition about impositions on repetition. But the intermissions were gold. The stories she told never got old. Though we all know them by heart. Her laugh was as easy as her tears. Don’t get her started on the past or you may end up being a part—alas she was the matriarch wherein our family begins. What she was is what your Mother is or was or whatever—we were together and that’s the way it is or was and will be as sure as the rivers run to the sea—we can now see our journey’s end, my friend. The horizon that emerges from their departing. 

I am grateful for your sympathy, for that is what makes us human, the ability to extend our empathy over time and space—from the time our mother’s face smiles, nods and talks sweetly to us about this senselessly beautiful and awful world we are now living in, we find a way to make space for each other’s grief, even if it is just a word of simple kindness and grace, such a thing takes our tears down to see the grin—reminds us our woe rhymes somehow with amends 

Indeed her memory is a blessing, nothing less than the sun in a sky of blue and the moon in June waning, raining in my heart but soon it will be time to chase my rainbows again. The way she taught me to way back when the stars were just a twinkle in my daddy’s eyes— 
Amen 

I think this may be the first time I sang and played for Judy on my Great Grandmother’s piano. She doesn’t seem too impressed! LOL