life measured by the magnolia tree

there’s something about death that makes one distinctly aware of the experiences of life.  The air feels more crisp, the coffee bolder, the giggles of the baby that much more soulful. 

This morning, my mumsy and pops dropped me off early at the airport, each embracing me twice before I could make it to the curb with my bags—it was an unexpected trip.  And one that I was not ready to make.

Usually I jump at the opportunity to visit home. family. friends.  But this trip was different.  My great Aunt Clara (Penny, we all called her, a childhood nickname from my great grandfather Sherman that stuck with her through the years) who was my grandmother’s younger sister passed away on Sunday.  Less than two weeks before she died, my other great Aunt Estelle also entered into eternity followed just a few days behind by my grandfather.  After putting my Aunt Penny to rest on Thursday, we got the call later in the evening that my cousin too, had died and that my Great Uncle Alfred will not be long...Four deaths in three weeks time. 

Today, I’ve come back to life.  Assignments, exams, housework, projects are all still here—waiting patiently (some…not so patiently) for my attention.  But they’re no bother to me at a time such as now.  The sun still glistens on the last leaves clinging to the trees.  My chest still rises and falls with each lung-full of air I take in.  cars speed by and people carry on.

Because life carries on.

I was talking to my mumsy early on the morning of my Aunt’s funeral.  I woke before her, started the pot of coffee, set Pandora to Avett Brothers and pulled on a wool sweater over my scrubs.  My mom met me outside on the front porch in her blue floral nightgown and robe—we shared a lifetime in that hour of watching the sun rise over the cotton field and through the great oak that marks our family’s land…the ‘top of the hill’ (as my pops proudly refers to it).  She told me of how much she had been talking to Aunt Penny lately—how my Aunt was the one that my mom confided in when my mom was worried over my grandmother’s progressing Alzheimer’s.  My Aunt Penny was always reading up on alternative treatments and new ‘clinical trials’ that she thought my grandmother would be eligible for.  My Aunt Penny made it her mission to shoulder the burdens of others. 

…like the time she took it upon herself to contact my church pastor about my going to Asia at age seventeen.  He told her that I was firm in my belief that God was telling me to go and do His work among orphans.  She told him and my parents that they should stop me…that they were responsible for my safety and I would have to do what they told me to do!!!  They all knew (and she did too) that even when I was told clearly ‘No’, I did not give up or give in until I was sure I was doing exactly what God intended for me to do, regardless of the consequences.  I’ve changed a lot since age seventeen, but in this way, my hope is that I’m the same.  Thursday morning, after her death, was the first I'd ever heard  of my aunt’s attempt to derail my great adventure into the world—it was her way of trying to protect me.  She loved those she loved.  And I love that about her.

As a kid, I’d play outside in my Aunt Penny’s back yard.  Slippery, waxy magnolia leaves were the carpet I ran atop, on my way to her hanging grape vines where I’d hide during our games of hide and seek.  My last visit home was in August when I sat with my grandmother on her front porch and we planted a mum garden together.  My grandmother told me to look at the magnolia tree just beyond the porch.  She said that she could measured her life by that tree…

The mum garden we planted together has lost some blossoms.  Bright yellow and deep purple buds have turned to black. Yes, death has made his mark.

But God...He has made flowers to live again!