Her spirit watches over us in all things great and small

Her spirit watches over us in all things great and small:  Mummy would have loved this.  Mummy wouldn't have approved.  Mummy would have been so proud. Remember when Mummy . . . [Reprint of photoshopped image of Mummy from "A most incandescent light"]

"In the midst of all this a major milestone has quietly passed," writes Amba, a better woman than we, who blogs unflinchingly of the terrors we all will face one way or another sometime sooner or later:

J and I will no longer be sleeping in the same bed. For me this is a big step back, a first distance, although for some time he has no longer known or cared if I was in the bed with him, only whether he was undisturbed and comfortable. Being touched, other than briefly, registers more as a disturbance than a comfort at this point.

The other thing it inadvertently reminds me of is . . . after his mother died holding our hands, after the intimacies of washing and dressing her, tying her jaw closed, combing her hair, folding her hands, they placed her in an open coffin and then, according to custom, veiled it. They placed a transparent scrim over her that created a step back, a first, transitional distance.

An old-fashioned family heirloom card table with drop leaves in Goomp's livingroom, arrayed with a picture of Mummy in her salad days (center in photo) and precious mementos she treasured -- a multitude of ceramic and metal miniature boxes with alligators, kittens and frogs inside -- came to life in the golden early-morning sunlight of the second-longest day of the year. [Reprint of image from "The secret life of inanimate objects"]

We ourselves are the head-in-the-sand type, preferring to avert our eyes early and often until fear and loathing come knocking at our door. This day, December 7 -- the "date that will live in infamy" in the nation's collective memory as Pearl Harbor Day -- lives in our family's lives as that soul-chilling day we lost Mummy, now 13 years ago. In memory of our dear mother, we republish this post from December 7, 2004:

Impossible to believe she's been gone eleven years to the day. Our precious mother happened to depart this vale of tears on December 7, the anniversary of the day that would live in infamy in the nation's heart. In her family's heart Mary lives on, beckoning us all to be the best that we can be.

What is the measure of a woman's life? That she was beautiful and brilliant and beloved . . .

That every friend she ever made, from childhood on, has remained a friend forever . . .

That no one's sorrow escaped her notice or her tender concern . . .

That she was a loyal and loving wife . . .

That she was a devoted and proud and nurturing mother . . .

That she was a ridiculously indulgent and adoring grandmother . . .

That she loved music and art and literature and flowers and animals and bridge games and dear friends?

All of these things are a measure.  But Mary's life was more than the sum of its parts.  Her death has extinguished a most incandescent light.

The Measure of a Woman, tribute written by her daughter, Susan, for the memorial service held in Thanksgiving For The Life of Mary Loddy Jameson, December 19, 1993

Her spirit watches over us.

Update: From Amba in the comments:

My God, Sissy, that's eerie. There's the scrim . . . as if it were an instinct.

Yes. That picture of Mummy. An attempt at a visual equivalent of our sister's eloquent eulogy.

Update II: From Elisson of Blog d'Elisson:

As long as she is in your heart, she will, in some small way, always be alive.

Update III: From Gayle Miller of And you thought YOU were cranky?:

RIP to all our departed mothers. We all needed them longer than we were able to have them.

Elisson -- what is it with Jewish people and Chinese takeout? I keep asking my boss but he's Observant and hasn't a clue?

We love it when our commenters start talking to each other.

Comments

[amba]

My God, Sissy, that's eerie. There's the scrim . . . as if it were an instinct.

[goomp]

Tears come to my eyes as I read yours and Susan's tributes to the brave, sweet and kind devoted woman who was my beloved wife and your adoring mother.

[Elisson]

Those of us that are members of that infamous club - "People Who Have Suffered the Loss of Their Mothers" - all learn to deal with that loss over time, each in our own way.

Your remembrance of your dear mother does her honor. As long as she is in your heart, she will, in some small way, always be alive.

Meanwhile, we are gearing up to remember my mother, who passed from this Vale o' Tears nineteen years ago this spring. Every year, on the first night of Chanukah, we celebrate with the traditional potato latkes - and the decidedly untraditional Chinese take-out. It's our own peculiar memorial observance...and it's tasty, too!

[Gayle Miller]

My mother left me 32 years ago and there has not been one day that I have not to some degree, be it great or small, missed that woman on every level of my being. She was my best friend, often my only companion, the woman who didn't have to open her beauty shop until 9 a.m. but who, nonetheless, got up at 4 a.m. to drive me to the skating rink so that I could practice undisturbed before school. She was marvelously intelligent, an astonishing cook, one of the most beautiful women I have ever beheld, as well as one of the funniest.

RIP to all our departed mothers. We all needed them longer than we were able to have them.

Elisson - what is it with Jewish people and Chinese takeout? I keep asking my boss but he's Observant and hasn't a clue?

[Laura Lee Donoho]

This tribute is beautiful. My thoughts are with you Sissy and Goomp.

[Teresa]

As you do every year, you bring your mother's memory alive. Lovely lovely post Sissy.

[Sissy Willis]

Thank you, darlings, for your kind thoughts.

[Jill]

A loving tribute is truly a gift that can be taken out year after year, to be burnished again and warming us in its reflective glow.

[hnav]

well now i am teary eyed...

rest in peace...

[Tara]

Sissy,

Reading your blog always makes me cherish my days.

My own Mother turned 79 in November and I am going to print out this post to give to her because she doesn't have a computer and she never will.

Sharing your memories of your Mother is a lovely tribute.

[Sissy Willis]

Thank you, darling. Warm thoughts to your own mother.