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ROLLIN, ROLLIN’ DOWN THE RIVER…’
Our Neighbor, Milton, might have considered a Papal visit to his home as a distant second to who the river yielded upon his property that day.
I knew something huge had happened; because, for the first time in my 40 some years, Milton invited my father and I into his yard with a small hand gesture.
My father and I sprinted across the lawn and now stood front and center for the breaking news.
Milton met us, with the facial expression of a foreboding storm as he looked past us down the river.
The river still runs, even though all of us, like The Indians who named it, are but shadows in the wind.
As I can remember on this occasion, Milton announced he had been praying and praying hard for his wife Anne to heal from her cancer. My father and I instantly lost our unspoken sense of adventure because this stranger-neighbor had become real to us in an instant. Milton’s humanity sprung from his depths right there in his backyard by the blooming yellow forsythia bush.
He
revealed the recent hurricane rains, which had flooded the river to three times its size had floated towards him an unexpected
"gift" caught up by fallen tree branches and vines. He said "I found a statue of
"Our Lady" right there washed up on the shore!"
Hope rippled into Milton’s voice as he spoke of Mary’ as if this was a sign of an answered prayer.
We left with a new found fondness for our neighbors.
Time passed and ‘ Milton’s Miracle’ fell asleep in my mind, until I heard that Anne had died. I felt sad and smiled remembering the grey statue of Mary. The Statue had served as a transitional object towards
Heaven for Milton and Anne.
Years latter, the memory re- awakened again, when my parents were failing and failing fast.
Ever in my thoughts, those independent- life loving-non conformists were facing their last party and winding down for last call on the planet.
My parents politely fired anyone I hired to help them.
Finally, I looked up into the Heavens for HELP.
"Ahhh, Yes" I thought to myself and immediately went out and bought a three foot concrete statue of "Mother Mary".
I lugged
Mary all the way down to the bottom of their property down.
by the river and in direct view of their bedroom window.
I went back into the house and asked them to look out their window. I told them Mary was watching over them always - She was ever present as source of perfect Love. The truth is Her grey presence by the river made me feel better.
My father looked down at the statue and smiled his indulgent Daddy-smile and Caroline mused about ‘The Grey Lady".
Caroline said the concrete statue looked like a Lady from another time.
The"M" key is now unstuck on my laptop..
Well it would seem mother is listening out there on some distant shore,
I just want her to know
I now have a concrete ‘ Grey Lady’ in my own back yard by a little stream.
And when I show up’at the water’s edge to sit and reflect.
the distant shore seems not so far away.
and I know for sure We shall all meet again and again
-*out of time*-
...
beauty is a verb |
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reflections of Mary
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The tiny line between 1922 and 2001 on Caroline’s gravestone , at least in my mind, is an asterisk instead of a dash because there was nothing linear about the woman-child who was my cosmic door. Nothing. Even now in absolute truth I tell you the "M" key on my keyboard keeps sticking." M" - as in the noun ‘Mother’.
I have never been to her grave , not even her funeral. Not that I am paranoid or anything, but , I imagine she expected me at her graveside. Presently , in my mind’s eye, she is off pouting somewhere on a distant cloud and willing my lap top's ‘M’ key to stick .
Caroline still can get my attention.
In the spirit of an asterisk rather than a dash this is a non- linear memory. I hope it comforts those of us who have regretfully missed major milestones in our lives. I also hope it comforts those stand-up responsible people who have been let down by the likes of us.
We know who we are, those us who have missed singular events for convoluted reasons that ultimately just sound like a pile of worn out excuses.
Notwithstanding, I believe in the final analysis that there is a continuum which is so much larger than all of us.
A continuum which is perfect in its Love.
…
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