A Memorial

This week I attended a small luncheon in memory of my friend Mrs. B., who finally succumbed to the pains and troubles of this life and is now free at last. Her daughter regaled us with tales of her mother’s colorful, free-spirited ways and independent nature which surprised several of us who only knew her as a conservative elderly woman. We laughed and shed tears, reminiscing about this sweet lady we all loved, one who enjoyed dressing up her Easter hats with vegetables or birds.

One of the most amazing stories we heard was of her equally colorful daughter who as a 7-year-old insisted to a friend that she could drive. The car started and rolled backwards into a steep ravine with a creek at the bottom. Fortunately the daughter safely jumped out of the moving car before it went down the embankment. Lying in bed terrified, pretending to be asleep when her mother returned home later that evening, she heard her mother screaming after her babysitting sons told her what had happened. Then she went to her daughter’s room and calmly told her that she knew she was pretending to be asleep and that she loved her very much. But tomorrow, she told her, she would be very angry. And she was.

I miss my friend, but I’m glad she is at rest. And I have new memories of her now that make me smile.


About moonbridgebooks

Co-author of Cherry Blossoms in Twilight, a WWII Japan memoir of her mother's childhood; author of Poems That Come to Mind, for caregivers of dementia patients; Co-author/Editor of Battlefield Doc, a medic's memoir of combat duty during the Korean War; life writing enthusiast; loves history and culture (especially Japan), poetry, and cats
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3 Responses to A Memorial

  1. Ritergal says:

    What an amazing story of that little girl — and of her mother who managed not to yank the kid out of bed and vent anger on the spot. The memorial service you tell of sounds like my ideal: lots of stories and memories and laughing.

  2. Linda Austin says:

    Yes, my ideal, too. A beautiful way to celebrate a life.

  3. Kathy says:

    I lost a long time friend on March 18 of this year. 50 years old, she succumbed to cancer, leaving 3 children and a husband behind. She will miss seeing her oldest graduate high school this spring. My biggest regret is not staying in touch w/ her after she moved north of town. Laughing and memories are not only for the tomorrows but for today and for the living. If only..

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