Well, I just saw David's post and as usual his writing is so thoughtful and well-expressed that I am slightly abashed to follow. But I logged on to write my own thoughts about yesterday and so I'll push on...
I knew the family in Dallas would be gathering to celebrate or commemorate Mother's 85th birthday yesterday. We are fortunate in our family that a commemoration often becomes a celebration; we remember the past and gone by celebrating what was and what is.
By eating and drinking, of course.
I didn't do anything special last night; it seemed like wallowing to force the occasion. But I thought about Mother all day, of course, and missed Daddy, David and Helen especially much.
Several close friends proved their love by intuiting this: I got messages from Uncle, from Debbie, from Nancy. And even from cousin Don, who messaged me asking if I'd like him to send copies of some home movies his father made in Atlanta at Grandine and Pop's around 1960.
Anyway, I look at my right hand a lot. I wear Mother's engagement and wedding ring on that hand and when I see the rings, I see Mother's hand. I'm so familiar with the rings from looking at them closely when I was a kid and always seeing them on her hands, whatever she was doing. Having them is very comforting.
Then, I had strange dreams last night: One of those times too-frequent in
memory when we were all gathering for some occasion and Mother showed up
drunk. I was hugging her and berating her at the same time: "Mother,
you can't do this anymore. You're about to die."
Okay, and now one more thing about Dave's post: Of course, I wasn't familiar with the beautiful music, but I do know that verse, and I think I mainly know it because Bertie Wooster used to quote it. I guess it was part of how he won the Scripture Prize.