Flowering Fridays: The Last Flowering
Friday, November 20, 2009 at 12:01AM 
One of the last flowers, a calendula, blooming at our old house, 11/18/09
After Her Death
I am trying to find the lesson
For tomorrow. Matthew something.
Which lectionary? I have not
forgotten the Way, but, a little,
the way to the Way. The trees keep whispering
peace, peace, and the birds
in the shallows are full of the
bodies of small fish and are
content. They open their wings
so easily, and fly. So. It is still
possible.I open the book
which the strange, difficult, beautiful church
has given me. To Matthew. Anywhere.by Mary Oliver, from Thirst, Beacon Press, 2007
I am writing this late Wednesday evening. I am heading to Ohio on Thursday to visit my mom for what will likely be the last time on this earthly plane.
After four months of her having ARDS, her lungs are shutting down and her complications have gotten to the point that taking her off the ventilator seems the most merciful thing to do.
This is one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make in my life.
I am very sad and feeling raw, my heart aching all day today.
I am thankful that it is November. The season matches my mood.
The last of the autumn flowers are fading, and I feel the sparse-ness and letting go of this season in my bones.
I have been watching the leaves fall in our new home over the past two weeks, and now almost all the trees are bare.
On Wednesday, I walked around our "old" home to say good-bye one more time before we close.
(Long story, but the close has been temporarily held up. No big worries. I trust we will be closing very soon.)
I walked out to the garden and around the beds. Almost all the flowers were shriveled up.
And I thought about...
Saying good-bye to this house where I've lived and learned (and wrote my book).
Saying good-bye to my mom.
And saying good-bye to the last of the flowers before the long icy blanket of a Wisconsin winter.
It was too much in the moment to hold in, and I started crying.
It felt like everything was dying away.
But there was this just-blooming calendula — all vibrant and full of possibility, hopeful even in the face of the coming frost.
Even in the midst of grief, good-byes and letting go, there was still blooming going on.
I am holding on to the image of this flower.
To remind me, that love, joy, hope and grace are always blooming, no matter the season.
To remind me that the blooming goes on, even in the face of death.
Reader Comments (2)
My thoughts and prayers are with you, and I hope you continue to see those tiny sprouts of growth everywhere you look on this part of your journey. You are brave and wise.
Winter ALWAYS gives way to spring and new life.