Many of you know that my mom died 5 weeks ago, on March 14th.  I spent 18 days in Indianapolis with Dad, being there for support and transacting boatloads of burial, memorial, and financial business.  About 24 hours after I came home to Ohio, my younger son Andrew came down with the worst looking throat our doctor has seen all year--he had to have an immediate shot of cortisone and one of penicillin to keep his airway open.  It turned out to be strep.  The Thursday before Easter I went back to Dad's and ending up staying another 9 days.  The day I came home from the second trip (Friday, April 17th), my wonderful hubby Steve took Andrew back to the doctor because he was so tired and run down.  The doctor said he has mono, his spleen is enlarged, and no more volleyball for a while (including a huge weekend tournament this Friday & Saturday).  I'm still hoping that life will return to a calmer pace and that I'll be able to catch up on my e-mail and once again read your posts on OS (after I get groceries, make phone calls, and clean the house).  Writing and photography are ways I make sense of events in my life, so please bear with me as various aspects of my mother's death are my subject matter for the next few posts.  I'll eventually put up more photos of the amazing Weasel, and I'm keen to write about the phenomenal new Decemberists CD The Hazards of Love, a birthday gift from my older son (the guitarist) James.

My thoughts and prayers are with you as you ford the rough waters of your own life, and I hope you'll find a peaceful green shore where you can rest and enjoy the beauty and wonder of Spring.

Before Mom's graveside service, I asked Dad if he would think it odd if I took my camera.  "I'm taking mine," he replied.  As friends have observed, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

My 86-year-old Dad and our 15-year-old son Andrew carry Mom's casket to the lovely spot she selected at Indianapolis' Crown Hill cemetery.

Behind Dad on the far side are Jim (the son of my sister Sylvia, The Wood Elf here on OS), and Charlie (son of my brother Alan).  Behind Andrew on the near side are Keith (husband of my brother's daughter Esther) and my brother Alan.

Our older son James was in New York City for the first time ever during his Spring Break from college with his girlfriend, whose cousin lives in NYC.  I told James that Grammie would have wanted him to enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime trip and that he shouldn't cut his trip short to come home for the mid-week graveside service.  James was able to attend the Memorial Service and spend the weekend with my family.

Dr. Richard Hamilton, retired senior minister at North United Methodist Church and our family's pastor for 23 years, presided at the graveside service.  Dick Hamilton is the brother of retired Indiana Congressman Lee Hamilton; both are renowned for their intelligence, compassion, integrity, work ethic, and tireless efforts to make the world a better place.  Dick spoke to us quietly and casually, as though we were a group of friends gathering for conversation and fellowship.  He spoke of the places Mom had lived and traveled, and wondered, for the first time he said, whether after death we will be able to revisit places dear to us during life.  Dick lost his lifetime companion, Anna Lee, four years ago, and must have been thinking of her too.

My brother suggested that we purchase a casket made by the Monks of St. Meinrad's in southern Indiana.  Dad & I selected a simple poplar casket, stained an attractive cherry color.  The funeral home that Dad chose to work with, Flanner & Buchanan, carried it.

Dad has grown roses for 50 years and brought a single pink rose (store bought as too early for his) to the service.  My sister Sylvia is behind Dad on the right and her youngest daughter Emily is behind him on the left.

My brother Alan's youngest girl, Elizabeth, sang Grammie to sleep with the haunting and comforting song "Into the West" from The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King.  Elizabeth is studying history at Hanover College, where she receives a scholarship for her vocal talent.  She is wearing a necklace that belonged to her grandmother.

Here are the lyrics:

Lay down
Your sweet and weary head
Night is falling
You have come to journey’s end

Sleep now

Dream--of the ones who came before
They are calling
From across a distant shore

Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
All of your fears will pass away

Safe in my arms
You’re only sleeping

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come
To carry you home

And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water
All souls pass

Hope fades
Into the world of night
Through shadows falling
Out of memory and time

Don’t say
We have come now to the end
White shores are calling
You and I will meet again

And you’ll be here in my arms
Just sleeping

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come
To carry you home

And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water
Grey ships pass
Into the West

My brother's son Charlie hands his son Benjamin crocus, scilla, and snowdrops from my dad's yard to place on the casket.  While the family scattered flowers, I played Irish Tenor John McDermott's unbearably tender "Danny Boy," a love song sung by a mother to her son,  on Andrew's CD player.

Here are the lyrics:

Charlie gives Ben a handful of earth to scatter on the casket also.  My sister Sylvia is Catholic and I asked her at the end of the service if she said an Ave for Mom.  "Yes, in three languages," she replied.  She teaches French, so I knew two were English & French, but I had to ask whether the third language was Spanish or German, which she can speak passably, or Latin, from ancient masses.  It was Latin.  Near the end of this heartbreaking yet comforting tune, I bent and said, "I love you, Mom."

 My brother Alan asked if we could end the service by singing the hymn "Blest Be the Ties that Bind," a traditional closing for United Methodist Women's Circle Meetings.  Benjamin holds hands with his Grandpa (out of frame), as Charlie and his wife Samantha join hands with Dr. Hamilton.

My brother's wife Joy and her older daughter Esther, named after my mother and my father's mother.

My sister Sylvia's oldest daughter Katie, who flew out from Oregon, and her youngest daughter Emily with husband Michael (far right).

Sylvia (in brocade) is flanked by all her living children--Jim, Katie, and Emily with Michael.  Emily is expecting their first baby at the end of May and looked absolutely radiant.  "There'll be one child born in this world to carry on, to carry on . . . "  Dad took this photo.

My cousin Paula (daughter of Dad's brother Jerry) and her husband Ed.

Dad taking photos with his impressive Nikon D-300 (we only have a Nikon D-200; as usual the ol' man is ahead of us in the photographic latest-and-greatest department).  Dad loves blue and bright colors and was glad that spring flowers were coming up when Mom died.

Another one of Dad's photos.  Dad's rose and crocus, scilla & snowdrops from his and his neighbors' yards.

The day before Mom died, she slept almost all day.  Sylvia sat near her, held her hand, and sang to her.  One of the songs she sang is "Too-ra Loo-ra Loo-ra, an Irish Lullaby."  Sylvia requested that the family sing it at the end of the service.  Here's a version sung by John McDermott, Anthony Kearns, and Ronan Tynan, The Irish Tenors.

Over in Killarney, many years ago
My mother sang a song to me in tones so sweet and low
Just a simple little ditty in her good old Irish way
And I'd give the world if she would sing that song to me this day

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra
Hush now, don't you cry

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra
It's an Irish lullaby

Oft in dreams I've wandered to that cot again
I feel her arms a-huggin' me as when she held me then
And I hear her voice a-hummin' to me as in days of yore
When she used to rock me fast asleep outside the cabin door.

Chorus

Sylvia hugs Emily as she weeps during the lullaby that she had sung to our mother only five days earlier.  Katie completes this family trio.  Sylvia said Mom smiled a crooked smile and squeezed her hand when she sang to her on the last day of her life. Thanks for all your caregiving, sis.

Dad took this photo of my Steve, Andrew, me, Keith & Esther, and Joy.

Here I add the last bouquets of the flowers Andrew, Dad, and I picked.  This photo was also taken by Dad.

Charlie & Samantha brought the beautiful lilies.

Here we all are next to Mom's huge oak tree.  Left to right, front row:  Samantha, Steve & Mary (me), Dad, Sylvia, Katie, Emily & Michael, Jim.  Back row, left to right:  Benjamin, Charlie, Joy, Elizabeth, Alan, Esther & Keith, Andrew, Dick Hamilton, Paula & Ed.  Thanks to the Flanner & Buchanan representative for taking the photo of all of us.

Esther Margaret knew that Grandpa would approve of her blue and brightly colored dress.

Benjamin with his Grandpa, my brother Alan.

My sweet, fun, and wonderful sister-in-law Joy (aptly named) with my beautiful sister Sylvia.  Dad asked the women to go through Mom's jewelry, so many of us were wearing sentimental pieces which we had just been given.

My lovely cousin Paula, representing our beloved Uncle Jerry's family.

This magnificent oak tree is the reason Mom selected her gravesite.  When Sylvia's middle daughter Sarah died in a car accident in 1997, Sylvia selected a plot on a grassy knoll with large trees.  Mom decided that she wanted to be buried near a large tree also and traded in the mausoleum space Dad had purchased for this location.  Charlie and Benjamin admire Mom's tree.

Three generations:  my brother Alan on the right, his son Charlie on the left, and grandson Benjamin between them.

Benjamin loves heavy equipment and his grandfather's truck.

Sleep in peace, Mom, beneath your regal oak.  I'm confident that in time you and I will meet again. 

I love you.