After the fires that burned everything and the rains that never seemed to end there was, at last, a day when the sun shone and the air was warm and scented not with ash but with the promise of Spring. He pointed to the sunshine falling through her front window onto the worn rug in a wind-shimmered pool of light. “Do you want to take a ride out into the Spring?”
“Oh, of course, let’s see what’s going on around here. I’d love to get outside for a bit.”
So he brought out the wheelchair and, after some maneuvering, got her seated and wrapped up with scarves and blankets so that not a wisp of cold could find its way to her. Then he opened the door and out they rolled for the first time in weeks.
Outside it was a fine afternoon; a spring afternoon even though most of the trees sported bare branches just beginning to bud. The bright red camellias were everywhere though and he plucked a few of these and set them on the blanket covering her lap. Outside it was pretty much all blacktopped parking lot but she’d never had been one to look down. She looked up instead at the clouds she always liked to track in the skies vaulting Chico from the Ridge above to the farmountains of the coast range. There were enough there for her to see and identify as they rolled along.
Then they turned the corner towards the apartment’s swimming pool and picnic spot. There they stopped. In front of them was a large tree looming over all the other trees except the dawn redwoods. It was covered all across its crown in massive clumps of white, white blossoms; blossoms so white they could have been a pure snowcap on a tallmountain in January. Even though her eyes were failing her she turned her face up to those suspended drifts of a white and clear spring and said, “Oh my, oh my, isn’t that the most beautiful thing we’ve seen yet?”
They rolled on and got to the swimming pool and the small lawns and tables around it. She had him take her and place her in a way that she could feel the sun on her face and hands but so that it did not dazzle her.
They sat there for a bit. Not talking very much at all, just enjoying the warmth of the spring sun together. Then for a bit, he read her from How Green Was My Valley, the book she had been trying to read on the tablet he’d taught her to use; the tablet that made the print large enough for her eyes to follow. Then they talked a bit more as the sun fell lower in the sky. It became colder so they started to make their way back to her small apartment where she’d lived for over 40 years.
They came back to the tree of the white blossoms. A wind was coming up and the blossoms were being blown from the branches.
She had him stop under the tree for a time and she let the white blossoms from the tree drift down and rest on the ground, and on her lap, and in her hair, all twirling and glimmering in the sunlight like some gentle scented snowflakes.
“So pretty,” she said. “See how white they are.”
“We can come back tomorrow,” he said. “We could have a picnic in the sun by the pool.”
“So pretty,” she said again looking at a few blossoms that had fallen into her hands. “Okay, I’m ready to go home now.”
![That Was the Whopper Weekend That Was [Illustrated]](https://americandigest.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/welcometohell-150x150.jpg "That Was the Whopper Weekend That Was [Illustrated]")
Gerard Van der Leun
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
The scientists are in terror
Comments on this entry are closed.
Gerard, you have a way of touching me that brings me back here every day.
You and many others, I am pleased to know.
You’re a damned fine son, Gerard.
Thank you all. Right now I don’t know what else to do.
Yes. I feel that.
Here we are still blanketed in snow, bion.
But, your words take away the winter.
Thank you for sharing your treasure with us. God bless you both.
No words
Just God Bless, and thank you.
JWM
Prayers still coming for you and your Mom, Gerard.
Just love
Gerard: just be there.
Excellent! Glad she’s well.
Gerard,
You don’t need to think of anything else to do.
You are doing all that needs to be done.
Company is the most sincere and warmest love.
Your mother is fortunate to have such a good son.
Bless you.
“Right now I don’t know what else to do.”
You are doing exactly the right thing, sir.
“Okay, I’m ready to go home now.”
Ah, that caught me right in the eyes.
Blessings to you both.
I second Joan’s emotion, Gerard. There’s a world in those few worlds.
words
We are so glad that she is doing well, even if slowly.You are blessed to have been able to welcome in the dawn of Spring together. New life……
And in a that moment, time was stopped.
“…consciousness of duty faithfully performed…” Sometimes that is the only comfort to be found in hard places. It was to me, at least, when I was in similar circumstances. I wondered at the time why doing one’s duty could be such a balm for the soul. Took me awhile but then I saw it. At its roots, all duty flows from love. Love, even in tears, still love. God bless you and yours, brother.
Ma Vanderleun lives in many hearts, Gerard.
You are doing exactly as you should.
More than 95% of other’s children
Would even imagine doing.
It wouldn’t cross their mind
Too uncomfortable
Hiding behind their weakness
She cherishes with every sense
With a value only those who have lived
Without spite and hate
Will ever know
She sees only goodness.
Poignant, and so beautiful.
As always, thank you for sharing.
As I read I felt the sun on my face and hands, too. What a simple and lovely moment to share. Thank you.
It has been 19 years and 10 months since my mom uttered ” I think I want to go home now.” It changed my perception of life.
I can feel my own heart breaking and i’ve never even met her. God bless you GVDL.
It is truly amazing what a few rays of sunshine will do to persons outlook and soul. Especially true after a tragedy.
Good day.
A statement, a wish, a prayer, an affirmation.
Thank you.
I am packing my belongings in the shawl
my mother used to wear when she went to the market.
And I’m going from my valley.
And this time, I shall never return.
I am leaving behind me my fifty years of memory.
Memory.
Strange that the mind will forget so much
of what only this moment has passed, and yet hold
clear and bright the memory of what happened years ago
– of men and women long since dead.
Yet who shall say what is real and what is not?
Can I believe my friends all gone
when their voices are still a glory in my ears?
No.
And I will stand to say no and no again,
for they remain a living truth within my mind.
There is no fence nor hedge round Time that is gone.
You can go back and have what you like of it,
if you can remember.
— excerpted from How Green Was My Valley,
by Richard Llewellyn
Yes, Walt, yes. Exactly so.
Good on you Gerard! And another book on my reading list. Thanks!
I read that book many years ago. Better read it again.
You made me cry you stinker. Love to your Mama.
“Men like my father cannot die. They are with me still – real in memory as they were in flesh, loving and beloved forever. How green was my Valley then.”
At different times in our lives, our various ancestors come up and stare out of the windows of our eyes.
Emerson
Like Kurt said. With deepest respect.
Brought back memories…
How blessed you are to have her, and her you !
Lovely piece, Gerard. Isn’t it true, it’s always the little things that have such staggering meaning? The resplendent little flowering tree after a forlorn, rainy winter. The short drive into the sunshine.
Same here. Clouds and rain have dominated for months. Now, every shred of sunshine slowly warms our stone cold hearts. It will take a while.