In the silent expectation of dawn, just before the first slice of silver reveals the horizon of a new day, a slight breeze moves through the pine trees in my yard. The brief rustle of branches releases a faint smell of long-past adventures in summer mountains and stirs the chimes that hang in the arbor. I look upward and smile at the memory of my mother.
Her morning ritual remained the same for twenty years. She woke early, and slowly walked down the lane to retrieve the newspaper. Her breath came in puffs as she tugged her sweater closer against the chill and gazed at the stars before they faded behind the emerging sunlight. Back inside, she turned on her radio, sometimes she listened to the farm report or else to gentle sounds from the 1940s. She fixed some toast, sipped coffee, read the paper. She did this every morning by herself.
Widowed for two decades, she forgot how it sounded to be greeted every day, to feel the touch of someone else in the house, to hear her husband ask for more coffee. Even though her schedule was full of volunteer activities and various appointments, she never got used to the loneliness. Her regular companions were the ticking clock over the mantel, the cooing mourning doves outside the window, and the pleasant voice on the radio telling her to have a nice day.
I finally convinced her to move into an assisted living facility 100 miles away from her home but closer to my grown children and me. She had endured too many serious falls, too many minor car accidents, and a growing number of health issues. On the last morning before the move, she lingered outside on her morning walk and noticed a warm breeze meandering through the trees, as if to say farewell. She nodded and went inside.
Years later, after enjoying the company of others in the facility and regularly seeing her grandchildren, her mind and body began to fail. Confined to a wheelchair and lost in dementia, she preferred to stay in her tiny room and listen to her spiritual music. Finally, she knew it was time to go and she stopped eating. Not even congenial staff or patient family members could convince her to swallow a single bite of applesauce. She died in her bed on a quiet autumn morning as Tennessee Ernie Ford promised there would be peace in the valley. Outside her window, a sudden wind tossed the tree limbs, and the leaves floated to the ground.
A week later, I woke earlier than usual, dressed, and stepped outside. The stars were still bright as I walked to get the newspaper. I turned to go back and a fresh gust of wind tickled the chimes. “Good morning, Mom,” I said, beginning my own ritual of greeting her in the morning. “Let’s have a nice day.”
Bonnie Dodge says
beautiful, well said
Ruth Knox says
Exquisite.
Susan Bonifant says
Just, so lovely. I felt like I was waiting for you on the porch. Thank you, here’s a hug: ( )
Anne says
That was so well written. I could hear the chimes and watch her pull her sweater closer from the cold.
Yes…our Hi Mom! changes when they leave…
I really believe are so close still, just on the other side. It’s not so far away.
I still hear my mom laugh.
Tomorrow is a big day for your family. I’ll say prayers she has a great send off.
Xoxo
Ruth Curran says
Perfect ritual, Elaine, just perfect…. Tomorrow morning as I go through my own morning routine (that also includes my mom’s memory) I will think of you… wishing your mom a good day.
Michelle says
This is so touching…you’ve written beautifully about your mom..
Cathy Chester says
Beautifully written with great feeling, Elaine.
Mary Lanzavecchia says
So beautiful. Though my mother has been gone for years now, I still talk to her, and she to me.
Crystal says
Simply beautiful!
Carl White says
I stand amazed, the precious memories of our Mothers & Fathers; they never grow stale. Always accept them as a gift from GOD! Cherished–Profound–Everlasting/Eternal!
Carl White says
Great!
Liv says
Lovely.
Sheila says
Beautiful ❤️????
Elaine Ambrose says
Thank you, Sheila.