Someone Like You, Strawberry Sunshine

Someone Like You Strawberry Sunshine

Showing up, and proceeding as if I’m needed, even when, especially when, I knew not how. This one whom brought me into our world.

She too, having a miscarriage, with her first born.

My oldest brother James, born, without breath. Now five years since her last breath, remembering...

Winds rustle abundantly, rumbling thunder with a few flashes, downpours flowing, pauses and gasps. Mother Earth doing what she does in sync with Father Sky, resonating deeply within. Pulsating with rhythm of those that walked before us. Those Old Ones, ether speaking. Showing up in echo of that which is yearning to be seen, heard, dying, living, this ever abundantly so, in light and darkness of those days.

Some 4 years prior to her death, at the bedside of Clement, raising me as his daughter, that one whom I had observed as a teenager in the mid 70’s with his Mother, that woman whom I loved beyond words, as she went through dying, at home, with lots of moans and scents piercing. Months in duration, and his unwavering indebtedness to her, doing all he could do and so much more, a middle child of 12, as each of them showed up, or not. Five years later when his wife’s mother was suddenly ill, he once again left everything, showing up for her in ways of immense beauty unto her death and beyond. 

Nurses coming in his room asking me how long I’d been doing what I did with him 24/7. Simple reply, witnessing ways brought forth through him. Yes, there is other deep learning through the years, yet his actions are paramount in this domain. And I must add that should those other siblings have learnt some of these ways, it could have been much easier, had they chosen to show up for their Father, in his last days with breath.

Much easier, if they had been truthful with our Mother, rather than deceiving and enforcing her to that which would control her to her dying time.

But then, as you may surely know by now, easier is not always the way, and I would not trade any of those marathon moments for all the learning they bestow upon me.

A strong physical working man for most all of his 83 years, as he says “I made a living killing trees, in Nova Scotia and on the West coast in British Columbia”.  Looking for a Christmas tree with him required good eyes and a good neck. You looked up in the distance and when you saw what might be the one, you gently approached observing all of the tree, if it was that it could all be employed, in a good way, then, it might be the tree that would come down. All of the logs, pulp and firewood would be harvested, while the branches would lie upon the ground, this dead tree giving its top to be adorned for a time. 

His learning of living and dying came amongst having killed many animals through his childhood to ensure food on the table for his family. Rustling him fiercely when hearing of those who killed ‘for fun.’

Knowing the intricacies of internal organs of many animals he spoke of what was going on in his own physical body and how his entrails were at the heart of it all, singing song… ~Souvenirs d’un Vieillard~ ’petits enfants qui courrez dans la prairie, je veux de vous une caresse, pour oublier, pour oublier mes cheveux blancs’.

These were in his cedar canoe as his last breath approached.

The weeks and months after his dying were to unravel ancestral depths continuing to broaden glimpses of stories from long past mysteries stirring the pot.

Not quite a year after Dad’s last breath, in the midst of Old Man Winter, and momentarily seeing a braided offering, rekindling that spark having appeared at an ancestral Mi’kmaki Ceremony some months earlier. Glistening to come through possible amnesia, greeted amongst an ancestral abode spiralling with possible kin. This one sewing sense amongst everything that made no sense at all, in the many seasons since, awakening sparks of deep forgetting, gently offering a path amongst overgrown, disheveled misfits.

A few days later he shared a West coast story and quick view of bones, having made themselves seen. When our session ended, I returned east hunting for many months in search of seeds and bones. Interestingly enough, on Father’s Day, arriving at a Summer Solstice Ceremony, there was an envelope for me, indeed, with seeds having a richness of story upon these eastern Turtle Island lands.  Prayed and sown upon the ground, growing bountifully as they continue in sharing. Searching for bones brought hides, fleeced and hoofed ones in great numbers. Many stories stirring from all of these, including, not so long after this, a Skin Of The World Hide Tanning Workshop. Sharing stories and skills remembering kit’pu kindling sparks of long ago.

Sometimes you find yourself between a rock and a hard place and if you can befriend the rock, which actually has always been your friend, well strength might appear to gently proceed towards what you perceive to be a hard place.

Shortly after this, there were my fingers with what was in the making. Having asked those I had pondered would be there to guide and assist locally, receiving replies of ‘no way’, ‘oh, I won’t do that’,  I called upon those having showed up for me before, lighting my path through darkness, pleading and offering for their guidance. So, the weeks and months ahead would entail the intricate lives of five deer. 

Mame was one of those whom I had asked for assistance, a woman whom made many elaborate patterned quilts, all cut, stitched, adorned, each and every one by hand. Photo of her hand sewn and hand quilted postage stamp quilt, above.

And though my mother would not assist in its making, its making greatly assisted in sewing pieces of our lives together again,

that particular trieme, of our peoples peoples people.

This new life entailing five was waiting to be reborn with kerfuffles revealing themselves.  As I arrived one morning to visit her in the hospital, sitting on her bedside, tears in her eyes saying

“Dad did not want this for me.”

Certainly not. There she was, wanting to go home, stunned that some of her own children made certain she would not.  As it was to be in Kejimku’jik many prayers offered, those entailing five came along gathering some more smoke upon Ancestral gathering soil on the shores of what is now known as Fairy Bay.

Listening with Ramona at my side in the Big Tent, weaving through cramps in my lower limbs as a moment came with asking if anyone had something to say. My body bolting upwards, speaking and sharing some of the ways these five white tailed ones had been brought through the hands of my body to interconnect and live on as a jacket bringing in much learning. Offering in exchange for my presence there. It was profoundly discernible in the following days and time since of how some were shocked by this. For what is truth here, is that this was in no way a gift that I was giving, but rather, an enormous gift bestowed upon me by two immensely generous sacrificing hearts, mostly in recognition of remembering our Old Ones.

Our time following entailed selling my daughters birth home,

hastily purchasing a house and with the gracious help from a few friends relocating and attempt to find some sanity while more no-sense continued to unfurl with the actions of siblings upon Mame.

Were it not for a trieme of superbly fine women of the Big Tent, this one might not have completed that which was being asked. The immensity of Ancestral wrestling coming to the fore in those almost sleepless nights, along with excruciating physical manifestations, came to completion with an astute co-pilot, a tender caressingly love filled hands cajoling flow of these moose and deer coming together, another’s broken awl in perfect form to accomplish the final turning over. Without these three, there would have been no welcome for my Old Ones feet within our house.

My ears hearing of the travels and travails of this entailing jacket of five deer, upon their interconnectedness with all our forgotten ancestry, those having been left behind for eyes looking through a portcullis, a pause of breathlessness.  While those five were merging, I kept seeing some design. A bit of color, yet not quite getting to that and lo and behold as my eyes look, there, yes, there they are and rightly so, fleeced in. Surely so, by that one akin with beauty making with blessings from her ever occupied fingertips, whom I had almost, yet not, asked. Identity indigenized, all living together as one, much deeper pause of breathlessness! 

Listening to the audio recording of ‘Money and the Souls Desires’ by Stephen Jenkinson brought some deepening light of dynamics in my birth family and I hear echo and reverberation through generations on this continent and across the salt sea manifesting then, with now. 

“Grief is the willingness to be claimed by a story bigger than the one you wish for.” - Stephen Jenkinson

During our last few visits of over 10 months in that space, Grandmere Rose came to say with a deeply loving ache, “ j’ara aimer de t’aoire aimer plusse Ramona ~ I wish I had loved you more Ramona” looking deeply in each others eyes, our trieme all sprinkled drops and sniffles. 

Amongst wranglings in between those birthings of Sun at another visit, attempting to be with the words she was speaking, I understood ‘sunshine’ and began to sing one of my parents favourite old tunes ‘You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine’ she looked into my eyes and began singing with me, until she had no voice and reached for a hug.

On what was to be her last night with breath,

eyes quite glazed, no speech, entering the room I spoke to her and no sooner did Ramona come around her bed that Grandmere Rose rolled towards her, arms reaching out for their customary hug. Rolling back to the bed, shortly thereafter, reaching upwards began, with breath beginning to shift. 

Although other members of my birth family were with her the next day, we were not notified she had died nor did the hospital call us, yet, ether spoke, when an individual called offering sympathy and I thereafter contacted the hospital. The nurse informed me, that yes, she had died and was being prepared to go to the morgue. Somewhat reluctant, yet obliging they left Mame in bed until we arrived. Ramona choosing deeply and insisting to come with me to see her Grandmere Rose one more time and I am ever so grateful she did,

a cooling gift of dying, and being wrecked…

One of many sweet memories of Mame is her love of wild strawberries, her ability and finesse in picking humongous numbers of these tiny juicy delights. In my youth, summers were always abundant with strawberry shortcakes and the rest of the year with strawberry jam.  A red pouch filled with offspring from those seeds received on Father’s Day four years prior, from our last harvest, in that former field of wild strawberries picked by young lovebirds Rose & Clement over 60 years prior, bittersweet, that same property sold by me in November past, placed in her hand to make smoke and ashes with her dead body.

Over the years there has been much ancestral wrangling through the notes of an upright grand piano traversing five maternal generations, coming to this area when my widowed Great Grandmother Catherine returned to her birth area from Massachusetts, USA in 1920. Though I have no recollection of her playing, there are many dear memories of her daughter, Grandmere Margaret, reading and playing exquisite musical language with her fingertips even though she was a young 15 when this learning ended. When she hosted family gatherings,

‘Love and Devotion’

was Grandpere Joe’s favourite and the one she would start with before the Irish tunes in remembering her Paternal lineage, and other songs. Mame Rose was also taught much of this language, though she would graciously share that she never came close to her mother’s finesse in this art, she could play rather fine by my ear. As for me, well, I never sat down long enough, practice did not come easy for me. Yet my joy of listening came in again as Ramona began playing very young, she has learnt some musical language and in recent years has worked at learning songs she has heard. Some time ago, before our recent move, she worked with chords and notes of ‘Someone Like You,’ by Adele, playing and replaying those musical phrases. As we drove away from the hospital that day, knowing our eyes would never see Grandmere/Mame Rose again, our hands would never touch her skin again, those hugs we just shared were the last ones, sorrowing deeply.  We look at one another smiling and crying as we raise the volume on the radio, being so moved by that which our ears were hearing,

there’s a big message being brought to us through the music and words of ‘Someone Like You’

played so many times, by Ramona, over and over, Mame Rose was singing these words to us in the context of what emerged in her last couple years with breath and the days to come… 

…

 Old friend, why are you so shy?

Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light.

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited

But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.

I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded

That for me it isn't over.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you too

Don't forget me, I beg

I'll remember you said,

"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead,

Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead"

You know how the time flies

Only yesterday was the time of our lives

We were born and raised

In a summer haze

Bound by the surprise of our glory days

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited

But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.

I'd hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded

That for me it isn't over.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you too

Don't forget me, I beg

I'll remember you said,

"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead."

Nothing compares

No worries or cares

Regrets and mistakes

They are memories made.

Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

Never mind, I'll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you too

Don't forget me, I beg

I'll remember you said,

"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead”. -Adele

As raw as it can be, we, once again, were not informed of ‘Someone Like You Strawberry Sunshine’  going to the ground. Well, there is the internet and we were able to find her obituary on the web.

May wonder fill your days with love… 

What are some of the ways you are learning the skill of grief?

Aq’nemultes