My mother loved to make angels. She crocheted big ones, small ones and all sizes in between. She didn't have a pattern for them. She didn't write her pattern down. Each angel was unique and hand made.
I remember one of Mom's birthday parties at which Mom distributed a tiny angel to each and every one of her guests. She had worked for weeks making them. I think one of my cousins even took two or three. We all enjoyed these heavenly treats.
Mom was generous at giving out her angels. For years her eye doctor and his staff each received an angel at Christmas time. Mom always seemed to have at least one angel in her purse ready to give to someone who she felt might be in need of one. Cab drivers, shopkeepers, bus drivers, even strangers she met throughout her day all were blessed with her special gift.
To celebrate the millennium, Mom made tall pillow dolls using a millennium fabric. They were beautiful creations in gold and white.
Her children and grandchildren received little six inch angels. These had underskirts in our favourite colours.
It was always an adventure to find objects for wings and porcelain faces and hands, or to find enough balls of white and ecru crochet cotton around the holidays. I still have a stash of little dolls that Mom had planned on incorporating into her latest angelic design.
It will be 3 years this Mother's Day that we've celebrated without her. Like my mother before me I have to learn to 'suck it in' and get on with the business of living. At one time there were 3 mothers living under one roof. Mom had to learn to live without her mother for companionship when my own daughter was only 5 years old. Now a grown woman she tries to make Mother's day special for me.
We met with the minister when Mom died and discussed her prolific disbursement of angelic creations. At the funeral he mentioned these angels and asked the congregation for a show of hands of those who had received at least one of these angels. This request was met with laughter and I heard a rustling from the congregation that filled the little chapel. I didn't even have to turn my head to know that every single person in that room had raised their hand.
When the organist began to play Mom's 2 favourite hymns I swear I could hear her voice belting out the melody. And every Angel in the celestial kingdom joined right in.
I'd like to close this entry with the following prose created by one of the funeral director's for a memorial evening for bereaved families at Christmastime. I think it is just as pertinent for Mother's Day. It brings me peace.
- In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we will remember them.
- In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we will remember them.
- In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we will remember them.
- In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we will remember them.
- In the beginning of the year and in its end, we will remember them.
- When we are weary and in need of strength, we will remember them.
- When we are lost and sick at heart, we will remember them.
- So long as we live, they shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.