It wasn’t especially sad.
She was the happiest person I’ve ever known. I can only smile when I think of her.
Her name was Marjorie.
Last Sunday, her family gathered at the rocky beach of Lake Crescent, in
the Olympic National Park in Washington State.
The lake was utterly still. The
rainforest held back the rain, staunchly showing only misty sunlight. We placed a vase of pink roses beside the
edge of the lake, a canoe at the ready to launch them forth.
One brother gave the eulogy.
The other brother read a moving tribute.
People gazed at the firs and cedars silently reaching heavenward on the
slopes of a mountain named Storm King.
I read a blog post (posted last September on this site) called
Post Apocalyptic House. One can’t help
having a few tears at the memorial service, and we had a popular box of Kleenex
in the middle of our circle.
At that point, we all took a rose from the vase and inserted
it in a grapevine wreath, which was launched into the water and tied offshore
while a simple guitar played Amazing Grace softly in the background.
Then, we raised a toast to Marjorie with her favorite thing:
See’s candies. My husband wrote a little
poem for her on her 90th birthday, three years ago:
She loves candies from
dear Mrs. See’s.
Pass me one more, if
you please.
Though I live here in
So Cal,
I’ve no need of things
low cal,
Just put the box here
on my knees.
We laughed at hearing it again.
All week, as we swam, kayaked,
watched toddler grandchildren wade and make mud pies, the rose wreath was near
the beach action, precisely where Marjorie would want to be. Before we came home, we took the roses and
one by one cast them in the middle of the lake, or left them in the forest. I turned to see the one I left. It was under a
fern, the sunlight steaming down through the great old growth forest.
A laugh, a cry, a soft August
morning.
Bye Mom. Enjoy all the See’s candies and roses in
heaven. I love you.
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