Reflections on the Teche

I traveled north to Mississippi to be with my mother for Easter. Since I don’t see her every day, it’s hard to know what to expect. She was surprised and overjoyed to see me. She knew my name. It was like old times, except when she’d start a sentence, she would pause because something was lost. I got her dressed for Easter services and discovered she had pajama pants on underneath her jeans. She misinterpreted my directions to the caretaker and said, “Now look what you did. I have to take all these pills.”

Church was the balm! We arrived early and were able to hear the brass ensemble and the choir practice. Mom sang along. She used to be an alto in the church choir. She can still read all the words and the notes. Alzheimer’s is a puzzling disease. She could call out names I had forgotten in my years away, and then tell me that Dad would be the usher today. Dad’s been gone almost a year. One lucid moment, she said, “I wish John (my father) was here. I’m doing OK, but I just think he would love this service.” Both of my parents passed down to me a love a good Episcopal ceremony with incense, bells, and trumpets!

In her book, Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer speaks about ceremony and its importance in our traditions, in our souls. I felt this strong connection sitting next to Mom on Easter Sunday. I will hold onto this moment when things get harder.

Ceremony

breathes life into an ordinary day.
My mother next to me laughs and remembers
all the words, even the alto part.
We sing in ceremony together,
closing a circle of love around us–
the two of us mother daughter
incense,
gerber daisies,
brass bugling,
a woman preaching,
“It is not raining!
New life is the path beyond the empty tomb.”
We look at each other
with glowing tears.
I see her love.
We celebrate life on an extraordinary day.

Margaret Simon, draft