When I went out this morning with a pair of secateurs and a beige rubber pail, I was expecting to spend a couple of hours doing a holiday chore... alone. I had no idea I'd be enjoying a beautiful virtual visit with Mom who would help me bring the magic of Christmas to our new home.
I'm out front of the new house I love, humming Christmas carols, listening to an eclectic mix of Christmas songs playing on the cell phone that is in my pocket, smiling to myself, and wiping tears from my cheeks. Make up your mind girl -- are you happy or sad? Well, both.
This December, I feel a need to accept the inevitability of change while holding on to a treasured past. I find myself trying to embrace old traditions but also searching for new ones. Today’s attempt to bring the past, present and future together includes decorating the urns on my front porch. The heavy, ornate, black iron pots used to sit outside Mom’s front door and welcomed all visitors home.
I can hear Mom's voice in my head gently encouraging me.
“It's reflecting nature, Cath. It doesn't have to be perfect. Step back and take a look. Find the holes. Be bold. Trust yourself.” She always offers the best advice, even if it is only in my mind.
When Mom retired from teaching, we gave her money to go to school. She was the only one in the family who didn’t have a university degree. She was ashamed of this -- always feeling like she wasn’t as clever as her brothers, her husband, her kids.
When we told her the intended purpose of our financial gift, she cried with joy, thanked us for our thoughtfulness, and then went in a totally different direction. Instead of enrolling at a university, she chose to study floral design. It was a brilliant decision.
Mom is an artist. Her intelligence radiates when she’s being creative.
Mom's ability to work with natural elements is remarkable. She can look at field of weeds and see endless possibilities. She once made our dining room table look like a lake in the mountains with an intricate design made from moss, tiny spruce branches, flowers, sugar, and mirrors strategically placed between chrystal glasses, china plates, and shiny silverware. The kids still talk about it -- and all the others she made for every special occasion.
Her ability to mix colours and textures was impressive. The artworks that emerged from her flurrying hands as they stripped leaves, grouped flowers, wove in ribbons, and added what seemed like random and bizarre objects, were as unique, fascinating and gorgeous as the artist herself.
We learned so much about her through her art.
As the years went on, the arthritis in Mom's hands made them too weak and painful to control and shape the flowers and greenery. Because she could no longer make the Christmas arrangements for my front step, she started giving me money to buy ones of my choosing. They were fine, but they didn't hold the magic of the ones Mom made.
Today, she doesn’t really know the date or that Christmas is less than a month away. The magic she brought to Christmas is absent. Thankfully, I remember how she made the holidays – and every occasion – extraordinary. I continue to appreciate how she thought about the details and managed to always keep the beauty of tradition balanced with a spark of novelty and laughter. Cue visions of the kids putting puzzles together on the floor..... with their noses!
Ok, back to humming and crying on the front step....
This year, as noted before all the rambling started, I decided I would try to make my own arrangements using her urns. Our new house is surrounded by all the elements she taught me to see and appreciate -- the gentle curve of pine boughs, the contrast of black and white birch against the rich burgundy of dog wood, the delicate textures of dried hydrangea, the velvet fur of sumachs, the cheerful look of bright berries.
Pulling various elements from my trusty bucket, I continue to assemble the arrangement. The strength of our virtual time together grows stronger. Once again, she guides me with her hallmark enthusiasm saying, “make sure you can’t see the oasis. Take a look at the pine tree out front, see how the bows bend. There’s a hole there. How are you going to fill it?”
I can feel her excitement as I follow her instructions and the arrangements come together, balanced and looking like something she might have created. Alright, they are nowhere close to the spectacular arrangements she would have crafted but I know she'd squeal and proclaim they were perfect.
I am filled with gratitude. This may be the last Christmas Mom remembers me, but I will remember this day, and her, and the many gifts she gave to so many of us by simply being her joyful self.
It's too easy to slip into sadness of all that is missing during the holiday season. However, it would be a shame not to celebrate all the wonderful Christmases that have been, and to honour all the effort, love and light Mom invested. Right? Sniff. Right!
So, I'm choosing to hang on to my memories while I gather new ones. Filling her urns on my porch the first week of December will be one of my new traditions. I truly hope that Mom and I continue to share the time together -- her voice in my head, guiding and encouraging me. I am, once again, so thankful for the gift of being her daughter.
Lessons Learned:
We need to leave space in our busy lives to capture experiences and make memories when we can
Remembering what was makes living what is easier
Virtual visits provide comfort, inspiration and joy, and they are awesome