Saying goodbye in colour
My mother-in law died in her sleep last week, after a fall that fractured her hip. Her death was as gentle as one could wish for a loved one, though unexpected because she was recovering well in the hospital.
We are plunged into the emotions and necessities of a funeral. Though grief has a different tenor when the loss comes after a long life, it is still a profound event. "To lose a mother", a friend wrote, "is something, whether it happens to you at ten or at seventy."
The family will gather on Friday for a simple service and luncheon, where we will share memories. The most vivid for me is our first meeting, when her son brought me, his fiancée, home to meet his parents. They had barely heard of me—our courtship spanned mere months. Her welcome was warm, unreserved and wholly accepting, and remained constant for over thirty years.
This will be an informal event, so I do not have to buy something suitable, but I have learned that the clothes chosen on such days are forever infused with tender sadness. I could never wear the dresses I wore to my parents' memorials again.
Mrs. P. was a textile artist; she made woven and hooked tapestries, and knit and sewed expert, immaculately-finished treasures. She had a sophisticated sense of colour and design, so it feels wrong to wear the traditional black, which she refused for herself, because to her it meant only mourning.
I will choose something that expresses my admiration of her gifts, my gratitude for her love and trust. I'll stand before my closet and ask to be inspired by her. My hand will find a bit of colour—perhaps a scarf—to honour the beauty she created thorough her long life.
There will be no post on Thursday, this week.
We are plunged into the emotions and necessities of a funeral. Though grief has a different tenor when the loss comes after a long life, it is still a profound event. "To lose a mother", a friend wrote, "is something, whether it happens to you at ten or at seventy."
The family will gather on Friday for a simple service and luncheon, where we will share memories. The most vivid for me is our first meeting, when her son brought me, his fiancée, home to meet his parents. They had barely heard of me—our courtship spanned mere months. Her welcome was warm, unreserved and wholly accepting, and remained constant for over thirty years.
This will be an informal event, so I do not have to buy something suitable, but I have learned that the clothes chosen on such days are forever infused with tender sadness. I could never wear the dresses I wore to my parents' memorials again.
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| Christmas, 2004 |
Mrs. P. was a textile artist; she made woven and hooked tapestries, and knit and sewed expert, immaculately-finished treasures. She had a sophisticated sense of colour and design, so it feels wrong to wear the traditional black, which she refused for herself, because to her it meant only mourning.
I will choose something that expresses my admiration of her gifts, my gratitude for her love and trust. I'll stand before my closet and ask to be inspired by her. My hand will find a bit of colour—perhaps a scarf—to honour the beauty she created thorough her long life.
There will be no post on Thursday, this week.
Comments
hugs,
Janice