Memories of Springtime and Mother’s Days Past

Winter had worn out her welcome. Memories of springtime and Mother’s Days past recently invaded my dreams. Thoughts of how each season compares to sacred snapshots of unforgettable days of our lives swirled in my head like snowflakes dancing on the wind. As we age, it’s easier to grasp the importance of holding them dear. Before change comes. Without warning.

A Time for everything. . .

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Memories of springtime

These are a few enduring moments that remind me of those days. Each recollection vivid and beautiful in its own way, but now they come and go like ghosts in the night.

Little boys and their dogs

Arctic blasts left us living in a mess from renovations after our water pipes froze and burst last Christmas. To escape the chaos and clean-up, I often found myself reminiscing with one of my sons about the gardens we had sowed, games we played there, and strawberry lemonades we shared way back when he asked me questions about everything.

He loved to play hide and seek in my rose garden. I referred to him and his three brothers as my favorite helpers. Selah and Stormie, our Golden Retriever and Weimaraner pup were my goofy garden buddies.

Arrivals and departures

When temps dropped into the teens again a few weeks ago, hubby and I covered seedlings and roses with sheets of plastic and then lugged a dozen huge flowerpots inside for the seventy-fifth time since March left like a lamb. Even I’d had enough.

Winter was formally on notice when rain pelted the roof as if to announce springtime’s official arrival. Daffodils and tulips sprang forth and carpeted the ground with pastel smiles. Birds and wildlife wandered out from their nests and burrows. Yes, spring had arrived then departed and arrived again—but this time, maybe she knew we needed her warmth more than ever, and so she stayed.

Our not so perfect Storm

Storm, our now almost twelve-year-old Weimaraner’s health had steadily declined since autumn. Most days, eager and happy as ever to romp, gobble anything that resembled food, or play with her four-year-old Irish Setter sissy, Sunny, she seemed fine one day and on death’s door the next.

Frail and weak, Stormie’s once muscular body resembled a doggie skeleton under her usually snug pink sweater, hip and neck bones protruding as we walked our mountain daily until the day before she passed away.

Hours after Storm left us, I sat alone in our backyard—her favorite place to run amuck with Sunny. Radiant light warmed my tears as they streamed down my cheeks and the afternoon sunshine caressed me in its consoling way, so I closed my eyes.

Visions of forevermore

A scene played out in my mind. Stormie inched toward our beloved Golden Retriever Selah, who had passed away four years ago . . . exactly one month before we brought a sweet Irish Setter puppy (Sunny) home to revive our brokenhearted Weimaraner. I instantly recalled how Selah was one of my favorite Mother’s Day gifts and how Dennis surprised me with the precious fur ball in 2007.

Stormie, our Weimaraner and Selah, our Retriever stood near a woodland meadow surrounded by four-legged creatures. Some like them. Some different.

A man stood beside Storm. He wore a white robe down to his ankles and brown sandals on his feet. His dark hair framed his face and fell past his shoulders, but I can’t say I saw his face or claim I know who he was. All I know is he was there, reaching out to her. I imagined blue as the ocean eyes and kind lips that spoke the words I desperately needed to hear: “Go. Enjoy this place I’ve prepared. Run with your friends. Forevermore.”

Man and animals, he saves . . .

. Psalm 36:6 ESV

Momma’s gray ghost

At first, I didn’t open my eyes. I wanted to linger there. Watching them. Maybe because she and Selah were so much more than family pets or our best friends. Eleven-and-a-half years with this feisty Weimaraner I called my sweet puppy girl or Momma’s angel wasn’t enough. She was my favorite Christmas (2011) gift. The same doggie girl everyone else in the family said was NOT an angel.

Some days she acted like a loaded pistol. The one my sons said resembled Harry Potter’s unlikely friend (the famous house-elf) Dobby, and my husband said smelled like burnt . . . I mean . . . cheese popcorn.

Even on days when she whooshed around the house like a real-life gray ghost or acted super naughty, she was always Momma’s girl.

Even when . . .

• During a fourth of July cookout, my then five-year-old grandson said, “Numi, Stormie stole five steaks!” When he pointed to the kitchen, Storm shot me a surprised look as if to say, “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
• Storm swiped a box of twenty crispy chicken wings. The high school graduation day quick lunch that was meant for one son disappeared, so he blamed his brother for eating the hijacked meal. Until, that evening when all blank broke loose and we thought Storm would die. For real.
• She left a cloud of down feathers covering our master bedroom after our wackadoodle girl decided to attack all the pillows in her crate.
• She gnawed through the side of one of my bookcases that was just a smidge too close to her bed.

God, I miss those days.

Saying Goodbye

Some of us aren’t good at goodbyes. We hover like mother hens, over words our hearts want to share, but somehow can’t— until the time is right to release them. There is no time frame. No need to feather an empty nest once more.

There is no ‘Restart’ button. No ‘Resume’. There’s no right way to say goodbye to those we love. And now, I’m three weeks late. Each detail, a priceless memory of springtime and Mother’s Days past.

In the garden

People like me have their own way to grieve. Alone. In the garden where peonies and roses have an intoxicating way of lessening the sting of such a solitary word.

I’m one of those oddballs who holds on to visions God lets our minds see, and especially those that help us pick up the pieces and clear our throats so we can say, “Goodbye for now my scrawny girl. Until we meet again.”

Mother’s Days past

I have so many memories of happy Mother’s Days. They outshined Stormie’s most mischievous escapades. Although I know her memory will always be with us, there’s a hole in my heart where she once lived. I want to hold on to her happy hellos. Soft snuggles. Wet nose. And loyal friendship.

Overcoming words like difficult or impossible

While the grieving process and saying goodbye to our friends and family might be extremely difficult, I believe these challenges hold clues to help us uncover the gift life truly is. God sent His one and only son so we could partake of that gift. Forever. Understanding the many different mysteries this life holds—and all the possibilities—make impossibilities mere obstacles, and death’s sting endurable.

Tell your stories

When I think of all the days and hours and moments Storm gave us in the form of unconditional love, I feel a strength deep within helping me let go. It’s times like this when we can lean on our faithful Father for guidance and clarity. He has a way of using memories of springtime and Mother’s Days past to heal our brokenness and restore hope for more joy to come. 

These bible verses speak volumes about what God thinks of animals and nature. Some of my favs.

Job 12:7-8,10

Mother’s Days present

My husband and I planted a Blue Spruce last Mother’s Day in memory of both our moms. When he asked what I wanted for Mother’s Day this year, I mentioned how much Stormie loved to romp through my rose garden. Several heirloom roses arrived today. We’ll be in the backyard this Saturday, and hopefully, he’ll recruit a few family members to join us.

Although we could discard sad chapters and only hold on to the joyous snapshots of our lives, I believe every frame holds beauty. Wouldn’t it be great if each made someone smile?

We’re starting this new chapter of our lives with Sunny. She loved and misses her sissy Stormie too. She’s our one and only Irish Setter doggie girl now, so we’ll thank the Author of all our stories in advance, for more tales to come.

And possibly more wagging tails someday—But don’t tell Dennis.

Where does your hope come from in seasons of trials or sadness? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this subject here in the IAF comments section below this post.

 

 

 

All images courtesy of Pixabay.

Feature Image by Rebekka D from Pixabay #1Gallery: Image by Victoria_Regen from Pixabay, Image by cri92 from Pixabay, Image by lisa runnels from Pixabay, #2 Image by Daniel Krawczyk from Pixabay, #3 Image by Pexels from Pixabay, #4 Weimaraner puppy & Me Image private property of Joann Claypoole      .