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Mother looked so beautiful,
peaceful, and rested that I nearly gasped. The last weeks
of her life had taken a dramatic toll. She was certainly
not a vain person, but she always took pride in looking her
best. Towards the end, I brushed her hair and applied
lipstick daily, sometimes several times a day. I knew it
lifted her spirits somewhat, as it was the routine she had
followed her entire life. Now she was gone, but I was
filled with pride when I viewed her. Not for me, but for
her. She would never want family and friends to remember
her looking sickly. Everything in the visitation room was
perfect: the flower arrangements, the photos nestled amongst
them, the background hymns, and my mom looked lovely.
Through tears and grief I had chosen
suits and dresses one after another, and then changed my
mind again and again. Since I was the only daughter, Dad
had asked me to assume the somber task of selecting Mother??™s
burial attire. Everything had to be perfect, right down to
the accessories, as this was the last gift I could ever give
to Mother.
Mom had a ???thing??? for beads, and she
had a set for every outfit in her wardrobe. Even on
???stay-at-home days,??? she cooked and cleaned wearing a string
of beads and earrings. Always frugal, she didn??™t spend much
money on any of them. However, come Christmas she knew I
would slip some of the pricier costume jewelry into her
stocking. Each and every year she pretended to be
surprised, and her eyes twinkled much like old Santa??™s.
After much struggling, I showed Dad
what I had chosen. He seemed pleased and began to leave the
bedroom, then stopped and turned around. ???You do plan to
remove the jewelry after the service, don??™t you? Those are
some of the really nice beads and earrings you gave her.???
???Oh no, Dad. Mom had such a passion
for beads and earrings; there is no way they will be
removed.??? I caught just a glimpse of a tiny smile, as a
very sad and grieving spouse exited the room. Suddenly I
realized he was no longer the strong man, the rock of the
family that could always handle anything thrown his way.
His children had always needed him, but in a heartbeat the
tables had turned.
Visitation day arrived. Early that
morning Dad, his children, grandchildren, and
great-grandchildren arrived to view Mother privately, and to
approve all arrangements. Everyone stepped to the back and
let Dad approach the casket first. For the first time in my
life he looked old to me; his hair appeared whiter, his
steps not so sure, and my heart felt as if it would
shatter. As we stood in silence, I could see his shoulders
quiver as he tried to muffle his sobs.
I was about to step forward to
comfort him; then hesitated when I noticed that with aging,
trembling hands, he was removing his wedding band.
Ever so gently he lifted Mother??™s left hand and placed his
band atop her right. He then leaned over and lovingly
kissed her frail fingers one last time. His entire body
shook as he repositioned his sweetheart??™s hand, completely
concealing his band of gold.
My knees nearly gave way as I
watched him present her with a special symbol of their love
and life together, but it wasn??™t only the ring he placed
there. He had tucked a huge part of his heart between her
hands for eternity ??“ the part that had always been hers
anyway.
?©2005 Kathleene S. Baker
Lnstrlady@aol.com |
