Remembering my Mother
Saturday, July 4, 2009
... In the weeks since my mother’s passing, I have been pondering the many measures of a life—that which dissipates, that which remains. I have been looking up, studying the skies. I have been watching the greening of the stalk of curly willow that sits in a vase in my most sun-filled room. I have considered spring’s rumbling things, impatient, even in winter, to rise. I have been blessed—immeasurably blessed—by the outreach and wisdom of souls like you, and I have made my decision: Beauty remains.
(I have been speaking of how Nothing but Ghosts was inspired, in part, by my mother. These words are from my memorial remarks two-and-a-half years ago.)
(Photos of my mother and father, 1955, and of my mother during her last birthday party at my house.)
13 comments:
Beautiful post, and beautiful photos that show her grace. It is amazing how much you resemble her in so many ways.
Thank you, as always, for sharing her with us. I didn't know her, but feel as if I do.
Wonderful photos.
Beautiful pictures. Thank you for sharing them with us.
She's pretty. You look like her.
What a beautiful photo of your parents, and a wonderful memoir of your mother. She must have been some lady!
Such beautiful photographs...her spirit shines through in your writing :)
I love that first photo especially. I love your words.
It's funny; I can see both your mother and your father in you.
Lovely photos and thoughts of your mother. Our loved ones' beauty does remain in sometimes the most subtle ways. During my quiet moments, I'll think of the beauty that was my dad when I notice my child's smile or gaze at a soothing sky.
Beautiful post. I am attaching a link to my review of NBG. I wrote it today after losing my grandmother. http://thatsanovelidea.blogspot.com/2009/07/nothing-but-ghosts-beth-kephart.html
Thanks for helping with my loss...
Alison
“...that which remains...”
Yes, what remains from a life? Such mysterious words, so intangible, yet so very real. When I remember my father, and then look at my sons, I see some of what has remained, but often as a transformation....
One uttered a word, another embraced it and made it into gold....
Such honor and respect you pay your mother: your remembering, your seeing the beauty that remains, your writing a story like Nothing But Ghosts. You are a wonderful daughter.
I echo Q.
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