This is my hundredth post. Now I finally feel licensed to tell you about the person I have wanted to write about all along. My mom, Marilyn Jean.
"It must be winter in my heart." When you are in a fragile state do or do not listen to the Avett Brothers. Apparently whenever I hear this song, I become fragile all at once. My kids know about their beloved grandmother. She asked to be called Marmee. In her last days, Myles would toddle up to her bed and pat the sheet and say, "Mamee!" He is the only grandchild she got to hold.
They know that she had a store that sold beautiful things. They know that she set treasures aside for them long before they were born. They know that she was gentle and beautiful and did not raise her voice. They know she had a garden and loved old things. They play with her jewelry and velvet gloves. They read the books that she would have read to them. They know that she was married to their Papa Scott. They know that I miss her very much. Last month Myles asked, "Why did Marmee die before her mom and dad did? I thought parents were supposed to die first." That is the question. I often wonder about the effect of my grief will have on my children's lives. Myles especially. Because it was him that I had to bring to the park in tears days after her passing. It was him that I had to tell countless times, "Mommy's sad." They know that if she was here things would be a lot different. We are taught to love and then we are forced to let go. The world is so cruel. And Yet. There were years that I thought I would never be able to see the "And Yet." And yet there is great beauty. She taught us to look for this beauty.