Recently, my son John and I had an opportunity to go visit
my mom in Vermont. Nearing her 97th year, mom's hearing has diminished to the
point of near deafness, which makes quality conversations more difficult, but
not impossible. However, I must confess that I felt perplexed at times, as I wondered how
to get beyond the communication barriers. One conduit I discovered was the
realm of silent films. We watched as Charlie Chaplain cajoled us with his comical shenanigans.

During my visit, I rebound the cover of a very old autograph
book from my mo m’s junior high school days (dated 1929). She seemed elated with her
treasure as she turned the pages and reminisced a little about golden days.  Endearingly, she read aloud a few
inscriptions,

To you our
latest baby, our jewel and delight, I wish you to know, and I don’t mean maybe, your
efforts have succeeded in making our home so bright. Signed, Papa  

Dearest
Elizabeth, The sweetest wish I know, God bless you! Signed,
Mother

Dear
Beloved, Lila Rub-a-Dub, Pookey, Child-de- dear, Lolita, Laura Lee- Lee, Enchanting
One, My pet, how I love her, Sweet and Lovely. I have been searching for a name
as nice as my darling Lila Ariel. Signed, Your Loving Sister Margaret.  

We read all the sweet sentiments
from friends and teachers. Afterwards, Mom said, “Be sure this does not get
thrown away when I am gone.”  I reassured
her that we (my siblings and I) would be trustworthy keepers of the book.

We ventured further down the path of reminiscing. Mom's laughter mixed
with tears as her story unfolded. It seems, her sister Margaret sent little “Lila” on a mission to
the corner store with instructions to bring her back an ice cream topped with
whipped cream. On this hot summer day, Mom carefully carried the desert but
could not resist a taste. Upon her arrival home the whip cream was all gone.  When confronted by her sister’s chagrin, Mom
sorrowfully exclaimed, “but it fell into my mouth!”

 
Morning arrived with
the bittersweet ache that accompanies goodbye. My son John and I took a few pictures
to capture the moment in time. The culmination of our time together crystalized Love’s essence in our awareness.

 My brother had busied
himself making food for our journey, sandwiches and homemade thumbprint
cookies, warm from the oven. His love does not manifest in words but rather in thoughtful gestures.

As we drove off down the road, my son John said to me, “Ah,
just when I settled in and was having a good time, it was time to leave.”  

We left, knowing we were somehow better for having come. For even when we love impecfectly, we still love.

The Eyes of Jesus -By John O’Donohue

 I imagine the eyes of
Jesus were harvest brown,

the light of their gazing suffused with the seasons;

the shadow of winter, the mind of spring,

the blues of summer, and amber of harvest.

A gaze that is perfect sister to the kindness the dwells in his beautiful
hands.

The eyes of Jesus gaze on us, stirring in the heart's clay

the confidence of seasons that never lose their way to harvest.

This gaze knows the signature of our heartbeat, the first glimmer

from the dawn that dreamed our minds,

the crevices where thoughts grow long before the longing in the bone

sends them towards the mind's eye,

The artistry of the emptiness that knows to slow the hunger

of outside things until they weave into the twilight side of the heart,

A gaze full of all that is still future looking out for us to glimpse

the jeweled light in winter stone,

Quickening the eyes that look at us to see through to where words

are blind to say what we would love,

Forever falling softly on our faces, his gaze plies the soul with light,

laying down a luminous layer,

Beneath our brief and brittle days until the appointed dawn comes

assured and harvest deft

To unravel the last black knot and we are back home in the house that we have
never left.

~liz Sorensen Wessel

Above photo of mom's house by my niece, Lisa Gayle