Sunday Scribblings: Another time in history

This week at Sunday Scribblings, the prompt runs: If I had to live at a different time in history... Here's one of those imagination games that I find so much fun. The exercise this week is to decide what era in history you would choose to live in if you couldn't live now. Not just when, but why? While you're at it, how about where? What do you imagine life would be like?

Ah... After a conversation with my dear pal Nancy last night, I realise, if I could really choose, my heart right now says "Forget Cleapatra, forget Shakespeare. Even forget the thought of being in the Holy Land in the early years of the 2oth century, when you might have gotten to sit in the presence of Abdu'l-Baha, and hear him speak..." All my heart longs for, the time past that I would love to return to, to witness, would be to be able to sit on the steps of the Gaelic League Hall in Limerick, some December day in the mid-1960's, and wait quietly until a mother and daughter came by, just to watch and witness that morning.

It's the memory of my mother that is most present with me these days. A memory of an outing that was just her and me. Of her five children, that day, somehow, I became the one who was brought along to an art exhibition. I don't remember if she told me what to expect, or if she just allowed me to witness the art, as it was displayed and as it was made, but the lasting impression was deep and strong. The artists were mouth- and foot-painting artists, and not only was their work on show, but many were also creating beautiful, intricate pictures with paintbrushes clamped between their teeth or held between their toes. That anyone could make such wonderful pictures impressed me hugely. (I was, at that stage in my young life, probably still struggling in my after-school art classes with Mr. Clifford, producing art in which adults had major difficulty identifying whether the animal on the wall was a cat or a mouse!) That people who did not have the use of their arms or hands could do this was, to me, miraculous, and to be allowed to witness that was very special.

If I could be there now, as an adult, leaning against the wall, watching, I'd love to see the expression on that 7-or-8-year-old's face. I'd love to hear her awed whispers to her mother. I wish now that I could see that mother's face, and hear what her responses were.

I have no recollection of what was said. I have an impression of the magic of the experience. We didn't go out to see art very often. That's the only time that I recall from my childhood. I have a sense that it was a cold day. I imagine I was in a buttoned-up wool coat and a knitted hat. I'm sure I'd have been wearing thick woollen tights and round-toed shoes. I can feel what my mother's hand would have felt like holding my own mittened hand as we left the hall, with me skipping down the steps, as we headed up Thomas Street, or out to William Street, to wait in the chill wind for the bus home.

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I realise that I've gone and "cheated" on the prompt again, but there's a part of me that's not able to go big right now, that wants to stay with the little thought, the little memory. I've been staying away from the blog recently. in great part because I've nothing much that I feel I can say or write, but there are little things I can share, and I will be doing that, as the mood strikes.

Blessings to you all, my friends.



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Go travel back in time to some real historical situations with other Sunday Scribblers HERE

Life Goes On

I've been in touch with many of the people who offered their sympathies on my mother's passing, but there may be some of you I've missed, who've wondered how I've been.

It's four weeks today since her death, and life does indeed, go on. My sister has just become a step-granny! A beautiful baby girl has entered this world, and we welcome her!

...

It has seemed strange to me at times over these weeks that there can be such a depth of sadness, such a sense of loss, so many tears, and yet, at the same time, we can be laughing, enjoying music or a poem, but this is just as my mother would have wanted it. She didn't dwell at length on instructions about when she died, but two things she did make very clear were that (1) she didn't want any artificial flowers on her grave. [That was so well-known, that we didn't even need to tell people. Of the 50+ wreaths and bouquets that came, none had a hint of anything artificial about them]; and (2) that we (my sisters and I) were not to wear black after her funeral. Some of my aunts wore mourning for a long, long, time after my grandmother's death, and my mother told us we were not to do that for her. She loved to see us in bright, cheerful colours, and that is what she would want. I have a good deal of black in my wardrobe, but when I wear it, it's just because it's there, and not because I'm in mourning.

...

My mother would want us to get on with our lives, to have fun, to enjoy the good things in the world, as she did.

...

I've posted the SoulCollage® card that my sister made just a couple of weeks prior to Mam's death. She's there at various stages in her life - prior to her marriage; on her wedding-day; as a young mother (I'm the baby on her lap in the upper right); and as the mother of a growing family. This card is a lovely mememto, and my father has been greatly comforted by it, with its reminders of all those times.

....

I really have appreciated all the kind words, the thoughts and prayers that you have sent my way in these weeks. So many people have shared their own stories of loss and bereavement, and offered their wisdom about the need to be gentle with myself. I'm listening, and taking that to heart. Thank you all.

...

She would have been so happy to hear about the new baby entering our extended family today.

Poem

For Death

(by John O'Dohohue)


From the moment you were born,
Your death has walked beside you.
Though it seldom shows its face,
You still feel its empty touch
When fear invades your life,
Or what you love is lost
Or inner damage is incurred...

That the silent presence of your death
Would call your life to attention,
Wake you up to how scarce your time is
And to the urgency to become free
And equal to the call of your destiny.

That you would gather yourself
And decide carefully
How you now can live
The life you would love
To look back on
From your deathbed.

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Lila kindly sent me a link to where I could find that poem, among the comments on his book - "To Bless the Space Between Us - a Book of Blessings" on Amazon.com.

The commenter left quite a long essay about O'Donohue, who died in January of this year, concluding with a quote about what O'Donohue said happens on the other side: "I believe that our friends among the dead really mind us and look out for us," he wrote. "Often there might be a big boulder of misery over your path about to fall on you, but your friends among the dead hold it back until you have passed by."

I now have someone very special watching over me. Since my mother has moved into the spiritual realm, she is more aware of me now probably than she had been during the past few years. In this I am blessed.

Solace...... Sunday Scribblings

Over at Sunday Scribblings, this week, they ask: "In what do you find solace? What place is solace for you? Where do you go in yourself or outside of yourself when you need comfort or consolation? Why do you seek solace? What does it mean for you?"

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I so often find that the prompt is apt to what's going on for me at any given time, but today, that word is more than apt, and these questions are more than meaningful for me. In this time, these short couple of weeks after the loss of my mother, I am seizing scraps of solace here and there, and I have been lucky, lucky, lucky in being able to stay with my family until I felt ready to return to my own home (which I did just two days ago).

I have taken solace in the sight of my Dad sitting in his chair with a glass of milk and a sandwich (or later in the day, with a glass of his favourite tipple, a little whiskey). I have taken solace in the presence of my sisters and brothers, my nephews, neices and cousins. I have sought out the comfort of sleep, dropping into naps and snoozes at all hours of day or night, and have slept in the bed that once was my mother's.

My soul has been soothed with the repetition of favourite prayers and sayings from Bahá’í writings. I haven't been able to concentrate very fully on reading anything unfamiliar, so have relied on memory.

.........O SON OF THE SUPREME!
I have made death a messenger of joy to thee. Wherefore dost thou grieve? I made the light to shed on thee its splendor. Why dost thou veil thyself therefrom?
........ (Baha'u'llah, The Arabic Hidden Words)

And my mother's favourite prayer:

"Thy name is my healing, O my God, and remembrance of Thee is my remedy. Nearness to Thee is my hope, and love for Thee is my companion. Thy mercy to me is my healing and my succor in both this world and the world to come. Thou, verily, art the All-Bountiful, the All-Knowing, the All-Wise."
............ (Baha'u'llah, Prayers and Meditations by Baha'u'llah)

Over and over, there is solace in such a prayer; there is healing.

I haven't felt like listening to radio, or turning on the TV. I haven't even sought out music, until today - my first day alone, but I have had music in my head, and the words of the song my brother sang as part of the funeral service have stayed with me as a solace and comfort.

"Close your eyes... you can close your eyes... it's alright..." Over and over, like a mantra of consolation.

More than anything, though, I've found solace in the words and contact from people who have heard of my mother's death and gotten in touch, in person, by post, by phone or email to say "I'm sorry for your loss". People say there are no adequate words, but the simple gesture of reaching out touches the grieving soul, lets them know they are not alone in their loss, and it is hugely comforting. My sister and I sat yesterday (the first proper opportunity I'd had) and read the comments left on the post where I announced my mother's death. 32 people that we've never met reached out and offered words of comfort and consolation that left us both in tears.

At home, during the days of the funeral preparations, people came to our home with flowers, flowers, flowers. The house still smells of lilies and freesias. Those who knew my mother - and it seems, even those who only knew of her - knew that she loved fresh flowers. Her grave was covered with so many wreaths they lay 3-deep, and though my mother was a person of moderate tastes, and not given to extravagance in any form, none of us considered for a moment limiting the number of flowers. That once, that last time, extravagance was the right thing for my mother. And that gives me solace.

Her resting place is a beautiful cemetary. Her grave adjoins that of one of her beloved sisters, and that gives me solace.

Now I am at the point where I could wander, ramble and say so much, but for now, I will leave what I have to say at that. ... And this...

I thank each of you for your kindness and your thoughts. If you did not see my first post saying my dear mother had passed away, let me tell you that there is great solace and comfort for all my family in the fact that her death was peaceful, quiet and free of pain.

There was so much solace for me, in the initial shock of the news (received while I was in California, a continent and an ocean away from home), in the presence of friends who held me and comforted me, prayed with me, and saw me safely on my way home; in the blessing of my son, my wonderful young man, who met me in New York, and travelled the rest of the journey with me, protectively shepherding me, and fielding all the travel difficulties that we encountered.

My family is a family that has been blessed in many ways. We have encountered no great tragedies along the path, and we have all come into adulthood, and seen our children grow, before we have experienced the loss of a parent. I know how fortunate I've been in this. I thank God for the mother and father I was given.

In the past, I've avoided writing too much here about my mother, frankly because during her time in the nursing home (7 years), it became too sad, too difficult to share what I felt about her, but I think you will all be hearing much more in time to come, about Mary (Eaton) Maguire, my mother, whose presence in this world was a solace to me, to all of my family, and to many many more.

May she rest in peace.

Loss

My dear friends,

I am saddened... heartbroken, to share with you the news that my mother passed away last Wednesday, 9th July. But within the sadness there is so much to be grateful for; there are and have been so many blessings showered on me and my family over these past days; there is a sense of absolute assurance that her soul is progressing now, free from the limitations of this physical world. She was buried after a beautiful ceremony on Saturday last, 12th July. My family has been surrounded by love and care which we appreciate deeply.

Prayers, thoughts, the lighting of a candle are all so welcome. If you pass a flower that catches your eye, allow a thought of Mary Maguire to be offered.

I thank you.

Imelda

Mother's Day. Me and my boy

I know it's not Mother's Day yet in the US, but here in Europe, it's today. It's even earlier than usual this year (it's normally mid-March). We're not together today, so I thought I'd put us here. I'm not with my Mum either, but I'm thinking of her and remembering the many gifts she's given me in my life. I'd like to celebrate her by showing you the two SoulCollage cards I've made for her.

This is the first one I made. The photo of Mother on horseback was taken when she and Dad were on their 1953 honeymoon. The preponderance of flowers honours her lifelong love of gardens. Having made this card, though, I felt there was something missing, some parts of the spirit of my mother that it hadn't captured. Some time later, I found the central image for the card that really contains the spirit (or neter) of my mother.

My mother loved the outdoors. My abiding memory of Mondays when I was at school is one of mother being overtaken with an urge to clear and clean, pulling furniture and "stuff" into the hallway, and half-way through the task, realising that the day was sunny. She'd wander into the garden to pull a few weeds, become transfixed with the song of the robin or blackbird, and she'd sit onto the backgarden swing to whistle along with them. That's where we'd find her when we came home! Who got the task of putting our rooms back in order? Us, of course! My mother loved picnics, daisy-chains and being with us.

I feel very blessed in my mother. I feel very blessed in my son. Even if it's not Mothers' Day where you are today, every day is a good day to remember.

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[Later: After a few people left similar comments, I need to point out that image of the woman on the swing is not my mother. It's an image culled from a magazine. It just reminds me so much of the spirit of my mother, I used it to represent her.]

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