Of Apples Falling from Trees

Not long after my Mom died, I was getting my hair cut when a friend from my quilt guild walked in. For the next hour or so, Rita (the hairdresser), Karen (the friend) and I talked about the parents we've lost and how we deal with our grief.

Karen's Dad has been gone for a number of years now but she said, as her eyes filled with tears, that she still had her "Dad moments."

Grieving is an uneven process. I have my Mom's high school graduation picture on the windowsill next to my desk, and I turn to it with a smile or a "what do you think, Mom?" about once a day. I never kept a picture of my Mom on my desk before her death was imminent.

I once interviewed a group of older women for a series of newspaper articles about aging. They were all widows, and each of them talked about the comfort they derived from wearing something that their husbands once wore. At the time—and I was much younger then—I wasn't sure how this action could be comforting but now I know.

It just is.

I have some of Mom's jewelry. The necklace here is the one I bought her after my Dad died so she could wear his wedding band. That wedding band is now with my sister. The ring on the necklace now was Mom's. The profile head is a charm with my son's name on it, given to me when he was born. Of the two hearts on the necklace, the one on the left has my name and birthdate on it and was worn by my Grandmother Annie Hakala on a bracelet with charms for each of her grandkids that she never took off. The one on the right is one I bought with my husband's name and birthdate.

I found the solitary ring in Mom's jewelry box. The earrings were hers as well.

The ring I wear all the time, the earrings once in a while, the necklace on days when I am having Mom moments. I've worn it nearly every day this week. I wore all of these pieces yesterday because I spent the day with my good friend Sue, and I knew that she'd check in with me about my Mom and how I'm doing. When I know that's going to happen, I get a lot of comfort from having Mom close.

When I think back to how my Mom grieved my Dad, I think this is more of what she did—wearing something of his because it comforts in a grieving process that's more quiet and internal. That's how she handled all of the big things in her life, quiet and internal. For someone who was very sociable, she was intensely private. I guess my apple fell closer to her tree than I imagined.