Note- This story was written by my mother shortly before she passed away.
Last night’s storm has left the morning pure and refreshed. Today I’ll wear my lace dress with the ivory sash.
The front door is closed and my family knows peace. Now it is time to leave my room and enter a welcoming world, overflowing with life.
I shall carry this small book and walk down the lane that has always led to my four seasons. Accompanying me will be the sweet strains of music that mingle with the playful footsteps of my elusive fiddler.
Once more I am young.
In a while, I’ll rest on the quilted ground with my head placed on a soft pillow of earth. From there, I can see a rainbow high above me. This day is to be mine.
My thoughts will be of tender times. The secret reflections of the beginnings of love. The miracle of life wrapped inside me. The particle of time when my infant’s hands extended to me. The sacred moment when my husband and I combined in a renewed communion. The golden days when the six of us sat at our table and shared ideas and dreams. I’ll remember when my parents bestowed their wisdom upon our children, and in return, received vitality from their young heirs. I will also rejoice in quiet unspoken victories only a mother knows.
Perhaps I’ll eat from the basket of fruit I offered to Michael, and watch the family cat yawn and lazily stretch his paw, as a moth flutters by.
In the late afternoon, once again the Fiddler strokes his violin slowly and slips into the niche of the oak tree. And I will be content.
Then with the shadows of the past lifting, I’ll wrap myself into the folds of the fragrant earth and enjoy a soothing sleep that prepares me to meet a bright tomorrow.
It will be a wonderful day, a mother’s day.
Note: Read more of Mary Jane’s short stories from her book “And So.”