August 2001 - Oh so Mortal

She looked very beautiful.  Hair perfect as always.  Her favorite golden earrings and the gold and diamond Parker brand pendant Papa had the goldsmith make for her.  She was radiant in red silk.  I had pondered her clothing carefully.  I knew she wanted to wear her grey chiffon formal.  Somehow red brought out her passionate side, her fun side, her sometimes outspoken side.  I opted for the red and hoped she would forgive me.  In her hands, a small bouquet of pansies.  The favoured flower - one of her best friends in the garden.  On her left hand, her wedding ring of fifty-six years and a gold and diamond ring Papa had given her for their 25th.  She adored jewelry.

I sat close beside her.  My hands on hers.  I sat there for a very long time, saying all the things that were knotted up inside me.  They poured forth like smooth farm cream.  I needed to say the words out loud - all of them.  She needed to hear them.

I wrote a letter on violet paper, the colour of her wedding dress.  I placed it in a violet envelope and tucked it into a crack at the side of the coffin.

She didn't look dead.  That was the whole entire problem.  She looked so very much alive - just peacefully sleeping.  The funeral parlour had done exquisite work.  I simply wanted to wake her up.  I was having a very hard time saying goodbye.

Papa sat patiently waiting for me in the lobby chatting with the funeral home owner.  He wouldn't allow me to come alone.  Very rarely in my entire life did I go to difficult places alone.  I didn't appreciate it then.  Oh how I miss it now.

I stood up - wanting to walk away into the lobby.  My eyes were unable to leave.  My body seemed to have become part of the floor.  I felt Papa's hands on my shoulders.  We stood there for a long time.  No words spoken.  Then I felt a strong warm hand take mine and we moved away, slowly turning as we moved forward.  Walking together, just the two of us, out into the warm August night.

I didn't think about my own mortality then.  Mama was 93.  I was 56.  It had not occurred to me on a soul level my time would come.  This birthday, I will be 68 and my own mortality is staring into my eyes, holding my gaze.  I can no longer look away.  I absolutely understand time is of the essence.  Over the past year or so, I have found such a true part of myself.  The Artist who has been hidden away in some dark corner unable to acknowledge she is there and she is good.  There was a time when my Papa and I were alone in a room of stained glass windows I had made.  He quietly took my hand, looked into my eyes, and said, "Donna, you are going to be famous some day."  That really meant nothing then as I had no self worth.  Now I hold on to those words like precious artifacts.

It's never too late to live my dream I tell myself.  That's what I'm doing at the moment - living my dream.  I'll continue to do so for as long as I am able.  I do not want to leave this life with my music still in me.