Covid numbers are rising in our community. It’s invaded my family. We thought we were doing everything right. We are all vaccinated. Apparently, the Delta variant doesn’t care. The good news is no one is very sick. The vaccine is doing its job. Needless to say it’s rocked my world. We thought we knew. Now we know nothing. Keep masking up, my friends. This awful ride isn’t over yet.
Trying to replace some sense of control, I planted a tree. I’ve been nurturing a red buckeye for years. My friend Jim gave me a seedling. I’ve kept it in a pot, then a bigger pot and a bigger one, but now it’s in the ground. I hope the roots are ready.
In January, my friend Marion died from an aggressive cancer. I did not get to say goodbye. Before her death, she and her daughter Robin cleaned out her yarn supply. They gifted me with two large boxes that I placed in a closet upstairs. I wasn’t ready to open them. Robin had asked that we plant a tree to memorialize Marion. When I planted the red buckeye, I thought of Marion and the yarn, so I opened one of the boxes. I found a piece of knitting and wrapped it and placed it in the hole before placing the tree. A simple gesture that I am writing about here, so I can remember.
Marion was a writer. We met in a writing group once a month for at least 18 years. The poem “Last Words” by Rita Dove appeared in The New Yorker shortly after her death. This poem was just what Marion would have said.
Let the end come
as the best parts of living have come
unsought and undeserved
inconvenientnow that’s a good death.
Rita Dove, read the full poem here.
In the Open Write at Ethical ELA, Tracie McCormick prompted us to write a Golden Shovel. Here’s my Golden Shovel for Marion.
Bury the Knitting
(Golden Shovel for Marion using the striking line from Rita Dove, “Let the end come as the best parts of living.”I bury the knitting; Let
Margaret Simon, draft
dirt fall like rain on the
stitches of your gentle hands. The end
came too soon. I come
to this tree today to pray as
you did. The
roots will ravel around the best
parts
of a daily life of
love and care-filled living.
Reflections on the Teche 
A meaningful memorial. “The stitches of your gentle hands” creates a loving picture of your friend. And “the end came too soon” is such a familiar feeling to me, thinking of loved ones and friends I have lost.
**tears**
So beautiful. All of it.
Thank you for sharing. Thank you for sharing the beautiful poems by you and by Rita Dove. I am sure the tree will flourish.
Margaret, I am sorry about your loss but celebrate the memories afforded by the tree and skeins of yarn. Rita Dove’s poem is so beautiful. The audio made me ponder more about life and then you followed with your golden shovel poem. I am touched with the sensitivity in your slice.
Beautiful words for a beautiful tribute. I’m sorry for your loss and pray the tree will flourish and continue to bring you memories of your friend.
Beautiful tribute for your friend Margaret, to remember her through this young tree, carefully tucked in yarn, and your sensitive golden shovel poem.
Wishing your family member a swift recovery and healing.
Always the stories. My godmother passed away (not Covid) on 1-16 and we were able to bury her cremains on 7-16 with so much storytelling by the grandsons! So many ways to honor friends and family!
What a beautiful poem, Margaret. So sorry for the loss of your friend, and for the covid surge in your neck of the woods.
These lines “Let/ dirt fall like rain on the/ stitches of your gentle hands…” really got me in the gut somehow – what a wonderful tribute to your friend, both the gesture & the poem. I’m sorry to hear that Covid has come to your family & glad that none of you are very sick. Oh, how I wish for this pandemic to end. Hugs to you & may the tree grow strong.
Margaret, I’m so sorry for the loss of your friend, but so thankful that you have found your own way to say goodbye when you couldn’t at the time. Somehow I think she understands it all
– and loves the tree!
Margaret, what a beautiful tribute you’ve written to a dear friend. I love the symbolism of burying the knitting with the tree. What a joy to have shared so many years in a writing group together. Now I’m off to read the rest of Rita’s poem.
This is so beautiful. Every word, every single word. I am holding you in the light as you grieve, and also feeling the love you have for your friend in all — the gesture of planting the tree with the knitting, the yarn, the friendship, the poems, the golden shovel, the slice of life. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Margaret, I am sorry for the loss of your friend and for the sickness in your family. I pray for all of you to feel better soon. Your whole post is a beautiful tribute to your friend, which has moved me. I am happy for you that in your grieving process your are able to plant the tree, write this heartfelt Golden Shovel, and honor your friend again by sharing her with us. Thank you.
Margaret, I am so sorry for all the sorrows you’re experiencing. Your post is beautiful and burying the knitting with the tree was so unexpected and so deeply right. “I bury the knitting; Let
dirt fall like rain on the
stitches of your gentle hands.”
Those lines are such a blessing. Sending hugs and hopes that your family is healthy soon.
Oh, Margaret, what a beautiful tribute to Marion. I like the photo of her knitting that will be warming the red buckeye roots. Hope all continues with good news for your families mild symptoms and that they pass quickly. Peace to you. Thank you for the challenge that: “Keep masking up, my friends. This awful ride isn’t over yet.”
Margaret, this is such a beautiful post and poem. The knitter in me loves the way that you have honored your dear friend. Thank you.