The sun shines brightly in the cold pale skies and yet, her soul is filled with greyness? The day will move slowly as she shuffles through her clutter. That old overcoat that should have been thrown in the trash, swings gently from side to side. What is she doing still holding on to those tan boots that cramp her toes? They remind her of better days and happy times, strutting with a sense of purpose. As she moves further into the greyness she finds her mother’s old raincoat she has yet to wear. As she slips it on, she feels her presence…still.
This is a time of year a virus peaks its ugly head around mid-November. It spreads a virus to those most vulnerable. You may not “catch” it at the same time; you may not catch it every year and yet, there does not seem to be guaranteed antibiotic to cure its infective powers.
September days start waning as the sun sets sooner; October days rob you of nature’s dinner’s sweetest and most potent “digestif”. November drops its veil of hoary matter and thickens day after day, week after week hiding nature’s Monet, slowly slipping into Picasso’s Blue period. Nights are longer than days and symptoms of this virus multiply
Humans are deprived of nature’s nutrient feeding brains with hope and cheer. Life, death, separation and loss blend. Waiting, as it stings open wounds and those who’ve barely healed are reminded of life’s demises.
Children as well as adults struggle through these muddy paths sucked into the windstorm of grief and loss adjusting to season’s changes in the depths of their heart and soul.
Staring out her window, faithful cat by her side, cloves comes to mind. That dark bud stares at her, hard and bitter scents bleed into her soul, remembering Grandmaman in the kitchen adding spices to the turkey dressing. A portion of sage, pepper, salt and savory, are measured in the palm of her hand. She smiles when asked the portions as she adds just a pinch of cloves. Only she had the antidote that lifts the greyness of the soul and makes the heart beat anew.
Mother’s spice of life unopened flower buds cloves of promise
It is interesting that this prompt is posted the exact day I was reminiscing of times past with my mother. I was speaking with someone yesterday who mentioned that he felt sad that he no longer remembered the voice of his long deceased mother. That made me think about people I love who have passed especially my mother who recently passed this past December. I remember her voice, her off-key voice when singing, her laugh…oh her laugh!! and her cough that was unique to her. She always tried to be a lady even when coughing and would clear her throat a bit like her mother (GrandMaman) but still unique to her. I remember her ankles making that snapping sound when she entered the church when I was little and clearing her throat, I felt so much better knowing she was joining me in the pew closer to the front of the church very soon for the priest in the pulpit high up was quite ominous!
Even when she was sick and her memory was muddled, her voice never changed. I remember sitting in the front seat of the car when I was very little because I was always car sick and leaning my big fat head on her breast always worried my heavy head would crush her tiny breasts.
I remember her singing pop songs of the 50`s missing a few words here and there but her voice would make any hit parade. And of course her signature pinch. She loved with such affection she had to control herself from pinching our cheeks too hard.
I remember her telling me so often, “Dont worry, darling. Dont forget to say your three Hail Mary`s and your Act of Contrition before going to sleep.” And the latter not that long ago.
I close my eyes off and on today and I seem to be in a wabi-sabi mood if that makes any sense. If I let myself float to places of nothingness I feel nano seconds of peace, sometimes sadness but not a hurting sadness. A feeling of when your heart swells and forces you to take a deeper breath, a louder exhalation…a sigh of melancholy. That is my day today…pure, simple and free. I close my eyes and remember those moments nursing my children…those precious moments in the middle of the night…no distractions in those days…no cell phones, no television…no dvd’s either. Just that opportunity to look into their eyes as they look up with wonder, with loving adoration, depending so much on me for love, sustenance and nurturing…those liquid blue eyes gaze at me.
such sweetness/so long ago, I close my eyes/back in time.
Too often the powers of depression or long dreaded visits of melancholy can bring a person down. Not everyone has to be diagnosed with clinical, situational or other forms of depression to relate to these feelings of despair and I thought this poem describes the tormenting visits of this Melan C Holy baby.