ONE LAST GIFT

ONE LAST GIFT

By,

Kathleene S. Baker

Mother looked so stunning that I gasped under my breath with joy! More importantly, however, she looked rested and peaceful at long last. Standing in the visitation alcove of the funeral parlor, alone with my mom, was a sensitive and moving time. I was grateful for a few moments to compose myself before other family members arrived.

The last weeks of Mother’s life had taken a dramatic toll. She was certainly not a vain person but always took pride in looking her best. During those final days, I brushed her hair and applied lipstick daily, sometimes several times a day. I knew it lifted her spirits, if only momentarily.

Now Mother was gone. Yet, I was filled with pride as I viewed her. Certainly not for me, but for her. She would never want family and friends to remember her being sickly. And everything in the visitation niche was perfect: the flower arrangements, the photos nestled amongst them, the background hymns, and my mom looked lovely.

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Being the only daughter, Dad had given me the somber task of selecting Mother’s burial attire. Through tears and grief I had chosen suits and dresses one after another, and then changed my mind repeatedly. Everything had to be perfect right down to the accessories, as this was the last gift I would ever give to her.

Mom had a set of beads and earrings for every outfit in her wardrobe. Even on “stay-at-home days,” she cooked and cleaned wearing jewelry. Ever frugal, she didn’t spend much money on any of them. However, come Christmas she knew I would slip some of the pricier costume jewelry into her stocking. Each and every year she pretended to be surprised and her eyes would twinkle with delight.

After much agonizing, I showed Dad what I had selected for Mom’s farewell. With forlorn eyes, he nodded his head in approval and began to leave the room, then stopped and turned around. “You do plan to remove her jewelry after the service, don’t you? Those are some of the really nice pieces you gave her.”

“Oh no, Dad.” With Mother’s passion for beads and earrings; no way will they be removed.” I caught just a glimpse of a tiny smile, as a very sad and grieving spouse slowly exited the room. Suddenly I realized he was no longer the strong man, the “rock” of the family who could always handle anything thrown his way. His children had always needed him, but now the tables had turned drastically. My soul ached to witness this vast change.

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Immediate family members gathered early the morning of visitation day. Dad, his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren entered together for Mother’s private viewing, and to give final approval of all arrangements.

Everyone stepped to the back and Dad approached the casket first. Silence hung thick in the air, and for the first time in my life he looked old to me! His hair appeared whiter, his steps not so sure, and my heart hammered in my chest. Time seemed to be in slow motion while Dad stood motionless viewing his life partner—then his shoulders began to quiver and though he tried, his sobs could not be muffled.

I was about to step forward to comfort him; then hesitated when I noticed that with aging, unsteady hands, he was removing his wedding band. Ever so gently he lifted Mother’s left hand and placed his band atop her right. He leaned forward and lovingly kissed her frail fingers one last time. His body trembled as he repositioned his sweetheart’s hand, completely concealing the band of gold he had worn with pride for 64 years.

My knees buckled as I watched him present Mother with a special symbol of their love and life together, although it wasn’t only his ring he placed there. He had tucked a huge part of his heart between her hands for eternity—the part that had always been hers anyway...

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