We each have our own way of grieving. I was relaxing in front of a crackling fire on the cold February evening I learned my mom had died. First I did what most people do. I cried those heartfelt tears that leave you feeling cleansed and spent the next few days reminiscing with family and friends.
I also did something a little out of the ordinary. Something special for my mom. Late that night it snowed and covered the world in faerie dust. My mate and I gathered the bread we had been saving for the birds and took a Winter Wonderland walk along an enchanted treelined path in the ravine. When we reached a coppice that was isolated from the city bustle, I whirled and danced under the stars and tossed bread crumbs into the icy wood.
The birds were sleeping silently in their cozy nests, but come morning they would feast like the kings of old - a fitting way to say goodbye to my mom. She grew up at the edge of the vast Canadian wilderness in a large house that was always filled with fun and laughter. She was the youngest of a brood of eleven brothers and sisters. Her mother was Irish and her father was descended from a long line of Scots Highlanders. They held dances in their big old barn every weekend. Nana would make fudge and homemade bread, and Papa would play the fiddle and call the dances. They weren't rich, but they never wanted for much.
My mom was once a vital young woman. She was healthy, energetic and loved to dance. "The prettiest girl in town," according to my dad. Judging from the pictures I've seen, I'd have to say he's not exaggerating. She loved people and the wild animals that lived in her woods. She enjoyed watching the deer who stole up to the salt licks when they thought the coast was clear, and the birds who visited the feeders Papa made and hung high in the trees near the house, beyond the reach of the family cat.
One of my most treasured memories is of an old photo of my mom feeding a young deer. I’ve looked everywhere for that photo, to no avail, but the peaceful image of her and the deer at the edge of the forest will always be a part of me.
I had no deer to feed that night, but the ravine is a haven for city birds. Since moving here in December, I've seen all manner of avian life from my balcony, everything from cardinals, jays and owls, to majestic falcons, hawks and eagles.
My mom had been ill for a very long time and unable to do the things she loved. On that cold February day, my poor dear little mom took a wee nap before dinner. She closed her eyes, found a special place free of pain and suffering and let go. Now that the bonds of her earthly prison are broken, her soul soars proud and free.
My Angel Mom plaque is a gift from my dear, sweet friend Amlaidh Niafer.
