November 28, 2017  - Final salute of autumn leaves

As you might know if you’ve been following my blog, Mom sent me weekly letters and in the fall she would press a handful of colorful leaves between sheets of wax paper so that they would last and then shove them in the #10 envelope with her weekly letter.  Every year for 40+ years, I would open the “leaf letter” and smile as it always was a little bit of a surprise.  Sometimes they were the solid yellow Elm leaves; other times they were the peachy yellow Maples. 

I could even guess which tree in the yard she had taken them from, and when I called next I would confirm that with her.

And, as some of you know, my Mom passed away in October at the height of the fall foliage in New England. She would have been enthralled with the exceptional color on display the week that she died – except that you had to experience it between the heavy rains. Occasionally, it would clear and the sun would peek out and you wanted to reach for your sunglasses the color was so bright.

Ken and I were at the funeral home dealing with the final arrangements and the Director asked, “Will you be having a flower blanket?”

“No, not on my budget.” I said softly.

Ken looked at me and wondered what we were talking about.  I said, “Flowers to put on the coffin.”

“We ordered a bouquet that set us back a bit.”  He mentioned as he looked at me.  He is not a tightwad but discovered funeral flowers are expensive and looked at me for guidance.

“Mother wanted flowers when she was alive – not now.”  I said calmly because she had mentioned that in the past. My mind was saying:  Frugal Mom, hadn’t purchased a blanket for Dad’s casket a few years back, I was following her lead. Mom wanted us to live within our means and my means were gasping at the cost of this unexpected funeral air flight and rental car . . . ”

The Director at the funeral home took it in stride and I had a quick thought.

“I’ll do a Barbara!” I said cheerfully.

Ken looked at me quizzically.

“Every year Mom would send me fall leaves in my letters. I’ll bring some fall leaves and sprinkle them over the beautiful wood of the coffin – that will please her.”

Ken looked at me in a queer way. So, I explained.

“I’ve lived away from the area ever since I got married.  Ken, here, he is a 15-minute drive away.  I got weekly letters from Mom, Ken only got letters with itineraries in them when Mom and Dad were going on vacation telling him who, what, when, and where so he could check on the house and get in touch with them in case of an emergency. 

Ken nodded.  I was telling the truth.  But, part of me wondered if he was thinking – what did Mom write about every week?  Part of me also wondered if he might be jealous that I had gotten weekly letters.  I had always wondered if my other brother, Al, had gotten weekly letters and wondered if they mirrored mine.  I never asked because I didn’t want to be jealous of him, and now I’ll never know will I?

Later that afternoon, I walked my parents' property and gathered perfect, unblemished specimens of lovely gold Elm leaves and shoved them in the pocket of the blazer I would wear to the wake that evening.

As the family assembled that evening, I sprinkled them over the lovely wood of the casket and even a few onto the puffed satin that surrounded her.   A few floated to the floor, just like nature, and I left them there.  I doubt any mourners actually noticed, I sent her off with freshly fallen autumn leaves.

I’m sure Mom would have loved that.