There's rosemary, that's for remembrance… fennel, lemon balm, mint - a symbol of the pot that she always kept filled and from which she abundantly fed me… buddleia and echinacea, for the butterflies and bees, for she is their sister, at one with Nature.
My Mother was a weakly child - indeed at her birth, the second twin to emerge, she was 'covered over', given up for dead, until the midwife saw movement under the coverlet and heard the faint signs of breathing. That was just the start of a life of poverty and struggle for my beloved Welsh Mam; of much unhappiness, above which she rose with the grace of an angel. Her survival mechanism was simple: she loved everyone - humans as best she could, animals unconditionally. A legacy that she passed on to me, though I live it very poorly in comparison to the open heart with which she engaged with Life.
2 years old, Mam on the right, her twin sister 'Floss' on the left
To be honest, I am surprised by the depth of the grief that I have felt today, on what would have been her 100th Birthday. I think I have processed it, put it all behind me, 'dealt with it' - and then - on a glorious autumn day, the sun shines, I pick flowers from the herb garden to place on her grave, and grief rises in my throat and leaks out through my eyes. Grief - the price you pay for love, never completely goes away.
Along the lane to the graveyard in Highclere Park
Alongside the graveyard - the Chapel in the Park
Entrance to the graveyard
The steep slope leading down to her interment, under the trees
I've been up to the graveyard in Highclere Park this morning, to put some flowers on her grave, but in truth, she is not really there for me. Though her mortal remains lie in the most idyllic spot, in the end it is just a stone over some ashes of bone.
Autumn sunlight on the old graves
The real truth of her being I carry with me every day - her memory is in my genes and in those of my children. My mother taught us all how to love. I need no other memorial.
What a touching post. I feel the same about my father, some days his absence is like a physical pain...but the good memories always help me.
Posted by: Gracie | Monday, September 07, 2015 at 16:24
Those of us who have been fortunate enough to have had Mothers we cherish, either in person or in memory, have been blessed beyond measure. This is such a tenderly written tribute to a lady I wish I'd had the chance to meet. Sending love.
Posted by: Ardi | Monday, September 07, 2015 at 17:30
Wonderful tribute to your mom. Thank you for sharing.
Posted by: Teresa Watkins | Monday, September 07, 2015 at 19:43
Roz, what a beautiful memorial. xox
Posted by: Jamie Chavez | Monday, September 07, 2015 at 20:24
A touching post and filled with sentiment that I fully understand.
What a beautiful churchyard, a lovely spot to rest in for eternity.
You obviously loved and still love her very much.
Posted by: Sheila | Monday, September 07, 2015 at 21:02
What a sweet, kind mother she looks, sitting in the red car, you children at her feet. I love what you say about grief being the price you pay for love.
Posted by: Birchalls | Tuesday, September 08, 2015 at 00:10
What a wonderful post; beautifully written.
Posted by: Sonja | Tuesday, September 08, 2015 at 04:04
I remember her Roz, sitting, neat as a pin in Autumn Cottage, hair like a cloud of white and a beautiful smile on her face. It seems that it was a peaceful place for her after life's vicissitudes. Why was it that women of her generation seemed incredibly strong when it has been a quality claimed by so many "modern" women? For the real female strength I think we do well to look back.
Posted by: brenda scofield | Tuesday, September 08, 2015 at 10:27
Bonjour, Je vous remercie pour ces magnifiques photos. Comme j'aimerais y être. Bien à vous.
Posted by: Florence Degallaix - Milite | Thursday, September 10, 2015 at 07:37