Today, January 20, would have been Mother’s 90th birthday. Last year at this time I was just sure that today we’d be having a big party for her at home in Lago di Carlo, complete with napkins specially printed with “JoAnn wants you to have this napkin.” Mother was just obsessed with everyone having a napkin in their laps at the table. I used to joke that we’d give the ushers at her funeral at stack of napkins to hand to entering mourners. Daddy took me aside once to let me know that Mother didn’t think it was funny.
As we all know, “Man plans, God laughs.” Mother left us on February 1, and almost a year later - even taking in all the change since then - it feels unbelievable that she isn’t with us.
One of her books that I took with me from the house was her Bible, translated by George Lamsa. She used it daily for her morning devotional (along with the Daily Word), and she would make notes in the margins. Today the book opened to 2 Samuel 14, part of the story of Absalom (which I don’t know very well), on which Mother had clipped a big pink mitten bookmark. The verse that leapt out was verse 16: “That they may not destroy me and my son together from the heritage of God.”
Continuing to leaf through, I stopped at I Corinthians 11:18-19, which Mother had bracketed: “First of all, when you gather in the church, I hear that there are divisions among you; and I partly believe it. For controversies are bound to be among you, that those who are approved may be made manifest among you.” Her note beside her bracket: “Controversies are opportunities.”
Another book I sometimes use for morning devotional is The Secret Language of Flowers: Notes on the Hidden Meanings of Flowers in Art, by Jean-Michel Othoniel. I thought it would be appropriate to bring it out today because Mother loved gardening so much (and weeding! Mother is the ONLY person I’ve ever met who enjoyed weeding). The book opened naturally to Acanthus: “. . . the acanthus became a symbol of immortality . . . It also evokes perseverance and victory over the ordeals of life. It is a symbol of eternal love, the raising of our souls toward the divine.” Mother always persevered - she had infinite patience - and she triumphed over daily ordeals by expressing Love and making things beautiful for the rest of us. I kinda wish I’d had this information last year when I wrote her eulogy.
What is today like? Well, I’m not in Louisiana, and there is no big party, and no specially printed napkins. My sister and her husband have already driven to Lago di Carlo to put fresh flowers on the graves. They texted me a photo; the flowers they chose are lovely. I am reading, writing, reflecting not only on Mother’s life but also on this last year of important change. I emailed a few of Mother’s friends from church. Housecleaning will definitely have to be part of the day - a fitting tribute to Mother, who kept and valued a clean house, and necessary at Maison Robaire, to welcome a weekend houseguest in only a few days.
Serendipitously, an old friend in New York called to check in on me, and I heard from someone else who is concerned for my well-being that I don’t always hear from. Perhaps oddly, two snippets of last night’s dreams took place in the house where I grew up - but with my nephews and niece, who were never in that house.
The cupboard is bare, so I know I’ll have to go out for lunch. And you may be sure I’ll have a napkin in my lap.