The end of the journey...

I'd wanted to go for a walk in the forest alone. To weep, perhaps. To think. He wanted to come, though...the two-year old. I did not say no.

He was exhuberant, drinking in the summer sun, wading through the meadow grasses...chasing his shadow. Trying to hide from me in the bushes. Insisting on taking the 'other' path.

I watched him running down the trail. His arms outstretched and and his face tilted to the sky.

I did my thinking...remembering when I was a child and the entire world was new and exciting and oh so beautiful. I thought that my Mom, too, had been a child once, had likely run down a summer path ahead of her mother, and basked in the glory that is our world.

I do not know when Mom learned that life was not forever...that she was here but for a short time.  Whenever it was, she did not let that news bother her at all.  She took it in stride. Death was just what happened at the end of life...and was of little importance and worthy of no worry or seeking or wondering. Life was where her focus was, where her energy went.  Unlike me...

I was very young when I discovered death, perhaps 3 or 4. While others my age were contemplating faerys and rainbows, I was desperately trying to wrap my mind around the concepts of infinity and mortality. Many were the nights when I would not be able to sleep...terrified of the dark and of dying. I'd creep down the stairs and fling myself into my mom's arms, sobbing about matters for which I had very few words.

I remember Mom became exasperated by my fretting, by my questions that have no answers, by my negativity. Why do we live if we're only going to die? Why? Why? Why? What will happen to you, Mommy, when you die? What will happen to me? Who will hold me? Kiss me? Dry my tears? Love me? Who will do that when you die?

"I won't die until you're ready for me to die," she'd finally promised in an effort to allay my panic and get me back to bed.

Mom passed away last month at the age of 94. I guess I was finally ready.

Eileen Schuh, Canadian Author
 www.eileenschuh.com

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Purple circles twice a day

Grieving 

Purple circles

Twice a day

Not that I'd take too many

But that I'd dump them

Crush them 

Flush them down the drain

Anticipate the darkness

The blackness

The pain

That should be

Could be

Would be

If I didn't swallow 

Purple circles 

Twice a day.

Eileen Schuh, Canadian writer www.eileenschuh.com

Writing away your troubles...

I am mourning the passing of my mother and although I don't feel like doing much of anything, I thought it may help to pay a tribute to this strong, family matriarch.

I partially followed in my mom's footsteps--she was a published author, too. She wrote children's short stories for magazines. One of her stories was adapted for use in a grade school reader. She loved kids, and always had a passel of them around. Cousins of all ages spent time with us on the farm, sometimes for weekends or summer vacations and sometimes for a year or two because life in our little house in the woods was better than their lives in the city.

I didn't inherit Mom's passion for raising other people's children, but I did inherit her love of books...and writing. She taught me to read at age 3 (at my insistence).  I was a January baby and in those days, unless you were born before the end of December, you had to start school the next September.  Although I was almost 7 by the time I stepped onto that yellow school bus and thrived on the learning part of Grade 1, I found the social aspect of the experience extremely difficult. Most of my days were spent wishing I was home with my mommy.

Last week as I was going  through old pictures to help my daughter create a video collage for Mom's memorial service, I came across some letters...that I wrote.

Mom told me that whenever I missed her at school, I should write her a letter. My teacher apparently told my mom I talked funny. She was probably right, judging by the way I sounded out some of the words and phrases in those lonely, homesick letters...

Dear Mummy I want to see you now. I guess I will aftoeweat (have to wait) to see you. Begose (because) it is not time to go home. I have a lope in my trot (a lump in my throat). I swlod (swallowed) it now. I hop it will not come again. I hop you are doing fin. I am doing fin.I gaive your letter to Miss.young. I! LOVE! YOU!

good-by for now Eileen p.s. over....

[My editors will notice my love of the exclamation mark started at an early age. My readers will notice I began to develop my story-telling abilities at a young age, too.]

It is reses (recess) now. I am tayerd (tired) now. our ool (whole) Room had a esy(easy) test. I will till you now how I made in it. [Notice how I am building suspense.] I made 100 in It. It is lache time (lunch time) now. I wate (want) you very much. I guess it is chast (just) ubout time to go home. I have not-hing to say for now But just went (just wait) [again, building suspense] mayBe I have yes! I do! I can not find aneybody to play with. I think I will tow (?) I can wat to see you now be gouse (because) it is Jues (just) about home time. Soo good-by.

love Eileen

********

I was obviously learning the therapeutic benefits of writing. I also quickly learned other benefits, too, like asking for things. A few months prior to the above letter, I was in bed upstairs with chickenpox when I sent this note down with my little sister: 

Dear Mummy

I am fanneg [finished] eating now. I am egie [itchy]. It is shallie [chilly] up here and I want you to make my bed

*******

Today I am that sad little girl again...missing her mommy.

Maybe I'll write Mom a letter...

Eileen Schuh, Canadian Author 
www.eileenschuh.com

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Eileen Schuh, Canadian writer www.eileenschuh.com