Thursday, November 11, 2010
Death, Release, Cornbread, Love
I am all over the fucking map today.
Well, right here at home. I mean, in my own crazy head. And in the yard. My own crazy yard.
This cold wants to linger and it's set up camp in me. Every day I check it and say, "So hey- when are your planning on packing up and leaving?" And it looks at me through mean bleary eyes and says, "Aah, not sure. Pretty comfy right here."
I'm making a big salad and a cornbread to take over to Kathleen's. I've let the chickens out and given them their scratch. I've talked on the phone.
And I'm thinking about my husband's Aunt Elizabeth.
She died yesterday after having a stroke a few days ago and I am so proud of her for going on. She would have hated to linger. She would not have tolerated not being able to take care of herself. She was one of my favorite people in the world.
She would have been ninety-four next month. She lived a good, long life.
She said YES! to life. She had one of the truest hearts I've ever met and a wicked good sense of humor. She didn't tolerate bullshit and she wasn't prejudiced against anyone and I am so glad I got to know her.
Here's a picture of Mr. Moon with her when we visited her in Utah a few years ago.
She was his daddy's big sister and she was a tall woman. A Moon Woman, like my daughters Lily and Jessie, like their Aunt Brenda. Strong, strong genes there.
This isn't an obituary, it's not even a tribute, it's just a little love-note to a woman I loved, who was a loving woman. She went through hardships I can't imagine and she never lost her smile, her ability to go on, her hard-working, deep-loving ways.
And I just love the idea of her spirit set free in those rugged insane mountains in St. George, Utah which she loved so much. She was born in Tennessee but she found her way to St. George and she was happy there.
I am grateful I knew her. I am grateful her genes are ones that some of my kids share. And my grandson, too. My womb knew what it was talking about when I met Mr. Moon. Trust the womb, babies. Trust the womb.
So. That's today. Or this morning at least. I'm not grieving. I am grateful that Aunt Elizabeth got to live the way she wanted for all those years and then, when she couldn't have done that anymore, she tripped on the rainbow, she shuffled off her mortal coil and flew free.
Ah-yah. I would wish that for all of us.
I would wish that all of us had her intelligence, her spirit, her humor, her joy.
I am making cornbread, I am making salad. I am going to go see Kathleen and Judy. It is a beautiful day. I am celebrating that and I am celebrating my husband's father's sister.
I am going to try today to live as joyfully as I can in their honor.
Amen and hallelujah. The mountains and hills of Elizabeth's beloved Utah, those crazy, ancient, wind-carved stones of beauty are standing tribute, too. They may not know it, but they are, and her bones will be, in one way or another, part of theirs.