Visiting my mum’s gravesite again after 6 years was good for me. The peace of the place where the cemetary is located persisted in the seasonably mild winter day punctuated only by a slight breeze emanating from the eucalyptus forest. Many stories in the hillside containing remains only differentiated by variegated markers. In a sense united in the After, in an through the land itself.
My coffee cup cooling but I carefully arranged the yellow daisies over mum’s stone marker.
I knew the arrangement was temporary and afforded yet another opportunity at self-reflection concerning my own mortality. I briefly wondered if my sister also reflected on this aspect of life but let her pay her respects in her own way.
After, we went by the old house where we grew up and could see the changes the new owners effected on the house and the garden. For my sister, it was sad but for me there was a certain metaphor of personal freedom since I had years before made the decision to sell and move on. The house was, at the core, the same as before but the home we had known was no longer. Maybe sense comes in realising the letting go process had been many years in the making even before mum passed. The old ivy structure around the pergola died first then eventually the pergola itself rotted and had to be taken down. In between these events, the long time family pet put down due to hips. Later wind ripped the structure from the west side terrace where laundry was put out on the lines stretched between the timbers. Then, still later the old oak was removed. Now, in the visit, the only permanence described by the sketch of trees designed by sun and shade as it was in the time before our family’s residence.
Revisting the old house was closure.