They were expensive. We’re not sure they’re the right fit for us, for our dining room table, for our house. They seemed good in the store, and the truth of the matter is, neither of us ever wants to spend time shopping, so we just went ahead. And maybe we shouldn’t have.
That morning, we’d been over to the North Bridge in Concord, paying tribute to my aunt’s life.
My Aunt Connie, small-town Iowa girl through and through, was quite sure she’d lived near the North Bridge during the Revolutionary War. When she visited a few years back, she stood on the bridge entranced, remembering seeing those famous events with Minutemen and all the rest unfold. My cousin told me they’d talked about this previous life just a few days before she died. He also told me she’d torn up the obituary she’d worked on over the years, saying all her friends are dead and no one else cares. My uncle, the youngest and last sibling standing, told me there won’t be a memorial service “with some idiot dribbling on,” but that next spring, two of my cousins will take their parents’ ashes to a special place in the mountains.
Yesterday, I gathered late fall flowers, ferns, and herbs from our garden and tied them up with a bit of yarn. Tex and I made our way through the gorgeous day to Concord and joined the many tourists on the bridge. No one noticed as I tossed the bouquet into the slow moving river, and no one bothered us as we leaned on the railing, leaned on each other, to watch until the bouquet had floated around the bend.
My queer femme readers, probably we should have left it there. Remembering family, honoring a matriarch, opening our hearts to the mystery and grief. Calmly moving through the rest of the day with that sacredness.
It’s not that the chairs or so awful, or that we won’t be able to use them. It’s that we pushed ourselves to do something “useful” without really paying attention to this time of loss and necessary grieving. My aunt’s death came on the heels of the death of our dog from which we are still reeling. There is so much loss, in our lives, in the wider world. It’s ok to slow down. It’s ok to be together and mourn.
My mortal queer femme sisters, with your To Do lists and your good intentions, might you not rather put them down for a moment and watch as leaves fall, as the river slowly makes its way to the ocean, as your heart beats to that own unique rhythm no one else possesses?
Today, when the veil is very thin, remember and mourn. Remember and share the memories. Remember and celebrate.
Mortal, all. Human, all.
I hold you and am held by you.
Every Monday, I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was fabulous, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women. Would you like to offer up a Meditation of your own? I would love that! Send it along to me at thetotatalfemme@gmail.com.
Since 2016, I here at The Total Femme have done my best to post thrice a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy Dingy on Wednesday, and Femme Friday on you know when. I’m pulling back the reins now, darlings, and going down to once a week, this Meditation. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you. Send me your poetry, your musings, your art, your wonderful you, and I will love you and hold you and feature you right here. So let me hear from you! thetotalfemme@gmail.com. And stop by on Mondays for a bit of sacred femme space.
The Total Femme 