In the days when girls were still little girls when they were 16 or more, a school friend and I used to visit local cemeteries and collect the verses written on gravestones. We set of mid Saturday morning with a paper bag each containing our picnics. Mine was always the same, a strawberry jam sandwich, a Wagon Wheel biscuit and a small bottle into which my gran had decanted some pop.
The one cemetery was right outside the town where we lived and we cycled side by side to it, along shady leafy lanes chatting as we rode. We loved the big head stones and the ones with angel statues; the graves of babies who hardly lived before they were placed in their stone cold cots of earth. But one grave I wouldn’t go to see, although my friend used to have a quick look. It was almost that if I didn’t look at it, it wasn’t true and it hadn’t happened. Still they were happy days and I loved the friendship and the bike ride.
I go to the same cemetery now each year and leave flowers on that grave, the one I wouldn’t look at when I was young. The grave of the mother I never knew. She died when I was two, and I cry. Here I am a grown woman and I weep arranging flowers lovingly in the pot that bears her name;
Eunice Harris.
1916-1945
Wife of James
Mother of Christine.
That’s all it says...
How sad to have lost your mother when you were too young to know her. Thank you for sharing your story.
ReplyDeleteNice memories from your past - heartwarming
ReplyDeletethanks for sharing
loveNligth
Gabi
Oh, Christine, this tugs at my heartstrings. A chill literally went through my body. I do understand you not looking at the headstone when you were a child. Hard, so hard.
ReplyDeleteneed it say more? being someones wife and mother is the greatest tribute to our lives. this is very touching.
ReplyDeleteVery moving. Well written.
ReplyDeleteTears are the waterfall that cleanses- Thanks!
ReplyDeleteMy parents were both born in 1916 (and one is still living) as well. How sad that you did not get to know your grandmother. Bless you.
ReplyDeleteI like how your writing takes me back to my days of childhood..best girlfriend and all..bikes..packed lunches and adventure
ReplyDeleteif this was fiction well done..you had me thinking something scary
as memoir..very touching and yes in the end I felt the fear of reality
avoided
Poignant memories of childhood and a sweet mother-daughter relationship lost.
ReplyDeleteI am sorry u didn't get 2 know her, 2 feel her arms around u, 2 feel safe & protected by her. I am so, so, sorry.
ReplyDeleteHard to know if it is fiction or reality, it seems so real. I can picture the two young girls, one who dared to peek and one who couldn't. Sweet, sad story.
ReplyDeleteChristine...thanks for visiting my magpie
ReplyDeletenow that I know for sure it was true
bless you for sharing this
do you still keep in contact with your friend?
I love that you pay tribute and leave flowers. She knows and is smiling.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful memory! And how you captured the change in yourself over time with how you now visit that grave - very nicely written.
ReplyDeleteAnd it's all a mystery, isn't it? What it might have been like had she lived to raise you? What you might have been like, raised by the person Eunice was? I'm sorry for the sorrow you feel as you arrange flowers. Many of us have such losses in our lives, of loved ones gone too soon. I like to believe that these things that shape our lives are used by God to bless us in some miraculous fashion.
ReplyDeleteThe brevity of the sentiment speaks volumes of the pain endured by those left behind.
ReplyDeleteoh man...my chest is tight on this one..i am glad you can look at it now...smiles.
ReplyDeleteA heart-breaker and yet it's inspirational, as well.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written tribute... looking back now, I am sure she was smiling to see you near by, though you could not look at the headstone as a child. The tears will cleanse as they flow now, now that you are able to visit.
ReplyDeleteA tug at my heartstrings ... lovely writing!
ReplyDelete