We laid my mother to rest a few days ago.
It was a simple celebration of her remarkable life on a beautiful, sunny day. There were fragrant flowers, beautiful music offered by my cousins, yummy food and lots of laughter and tears as we remembered her fiercely independent spirit, her generosity, her desire to serve, and her steely strength. She’s buried next to my Dad under the shade of dozens of hundred year old live oak trees in Clearwater, Florida. It’s a stunningly gorgeous and tranquil resting spot.
This week, I thought I would share a poem that we read during her memorial service. It’s given to all families who enter hospice care and it’s in their “Little Blue Book” which talks about what to expect when your loved one is about to make their transition.
Gone from My Sight by Henry Van Dyke
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”
Gone where?
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me — not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,”
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”
What I love about this simple poem is that it helps to make tangible the magic and mystery of death. We don’t really know what happens when we die, do we? I know that I have my beliefs and I’m sure you have yours. But this image of the sailboat is just perfect, I think. It’s a great representation of the great mystery that we are born from and that we return to. And as we grieve a loss on this earthly plane, there are others in the heavenly realm celebrating their gain.
My mother’s death has changed me forever. It’s difficult to articulate but I can feel the cellular, emotional and spiritual restructuring taking place already. If you’ve ever lost a loved one, I suspect you know what I’m talking about. It will take me years to understand the depth and complexity of it all. But for now…
I’m hugging my daughter tighter and can feel the love for her oozing out of my pores.
My heart is overflowing with gratitude for my strong and steady husband.
I thank God every day for my supportive family and circle of friends.
The leaves are greener on the trees and the birds are singing more sweetly.
The big things matter more and the pesky things matter less.
Through the lens of grief, the world seems different. More fragile. More precious. More tenuous. And as I commit to honor my Mom, I am going to make sure that I embrace the mystery and the magic and live my life in the present moment and enjoy every day to the fullest. Will you join me?
Blessings to you today and always,
Elizabeth