IT has been but a week since my Mother's century mark for her birthdate came up on the calendar. That moment, in it's obscurity to almost everyone who is breathing, could not be more indelibly a part of you living. To me, the gift of LIFE, seen so often by we the 'quick', translucently, is the being of my 'blink' here on this earth.
Where my Mother and her Mother lay, on February 18, 1905, there lies the threads and substance that wove them and weaves me into the fabric of being. When one is cast into solitude [or wanders there willingly], lineage and ancestoral scope are one's architecture. The homage to the souls' parade, past and the inescapable enveloping present is the fuel of one's spirit.
Posting these thoughts allow me to make the largest mark upon the paper I hold, in so doing, I can cast these words around this earth and into the ether as it stretches. What more? I applaud my Mother and her ceaseless work imbued with her love that shaped me, enfolded me, and embraces me YET in her absence here on this land's slopeside. Her adieu, ill heard but felt as a dagger's plunge, will be amplified...someday...into the re-welcoming words....we shall each exchange.
As I paused and paged her image albums and her items on her century birthday...alone...I sense...her soul salving me, stirring her, bringing JOY's hurrah...Life's cycle so much greater that the decaying phase.
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