Lighthouses and piano tunes

There was blood on the moon and a circle around it (I did not count the stars inside the circle -- wish I had -- I wonder now if there were three). I've never wholly trusted that old way -- wouldn't it mean the same for everyone? It's everyone's moon.


Three days from the full moon, we got the call about Mark's sister. It all happened so suddenly. She was cleaning hr house -- her mother called and noticed her words were slurred, she seemed disoriented. Mertie got ahold of her granddaughter and her son and sent them to check on her. They got her to the hospital, but there was no saving her. It was a cerebral stroke and by the next day she'd died. No pain and no time to comprehend. Her children who lived a few states away had been notified. They thought they were coming to see their mother in the hospital. Instead, they were coming to her funeral.

Freda loved lighthouses. She had them everywhere -- pictures and cards and books, and ceramics and carved of wood. Her house, meticulously and lovingly cared for, each thing in its place. A bedfull of teddybears and a kitchen full of sunflowers. This year, she put on the finishing touches here and there, had her son paint the deck, another rebuilt the grape arbor. She bought new cushions for the deckchairs and little lights for the edging by her sidewalk.

The day before she died, she was cleaning house again. She had the feeling that company was coming. Some things she cleaned over and over, her mind not quite listening to her somehow.

Freda learned to play piano a couple years ago. She loved a song called The Entertainer and could play this. Always, when we visited her, she'd coax her brother to the keys and they'd sing hymns. Her four children wandered around the house last Saturday, a bit lost. It was the home where they grew up. It didn't change significantly, except a new motif from time to time. Strawberries gave way to sunflowers. Metal butterflies relented their space to lighthouses. The kitchen was always full of food and a good swat with a teatowel reminded them to put those dishes in the sink, and they could wash them too, she'd tell them with a wry smile.

The tiniest one, a grandaughter, not yet two, went through the house calling Nana and through the yard calling Nana and later through the big room at church with the funny box in the front, calling Nana. She won't have time to know her.

This year, I lost my brother, Delbert, and my Honey lost his sister, Freda. They were both born in 1944 and celebrated their 67th birthdays this year.  Both times, the death card meant what it said. And both times, the next card drawn was the Sun. It rises new each day. Though the preacher at Freda's funeral said she was walking with the saints and later that she would rise in the last day (both at once), I think she was hanging out at her house, seeing to it that the lighthouses were dusted and that the kids remembered to put their dishes in the sink, and yes, they really must wash them too. And when the babiest one went calling Nana, I think it may have been because she knew, if the rest of us didn't, that Nana was there. I think the Spirit goes where the Heart leads and I know who owns Freda's heart -- those lovely ones who honored her, who sat with their drinks and their stories, remembering Mom at the piano, proud with a new tune, as they smiled at the latest arrangement of lighthouses and sunflowers.