Snow fell on Sunday. In May. On Mother’s Day. It frosted the tulips white.
“My mother would not be happy today,” my sister posted on Facebook. “She wouldn’t even be amused.”
And I doubt if even we could have made her crack a smile by bursting into song and dance, perhaps with a spring rendition of Winter Wonderland. She’d have squinted her eyes, squeezed her eyebrows, pressed her lips, shook her head.
But inside, I think she would have smiled. Maybe. Just a little.
Anyway, the Sandy and Candy Show is on hiatus. It hasn’t performed since our manager took her final journey before the snow fell.
And some of the music left with her.
Remember how we’d go on sometimes, Mom? Like those nights when we wheeled you outside in your Cat-in-the-Hat socks and stocking cap and hamburger wrap and you’d stare awestruck at moon spots (sun spots during the day) and watched us “perform?”
We haven’t sung together since. Except when the two of us sang Amazing Grace at your memorial service. And then again a few weeks later when we wrapped your urn and set you in the ground with fresh tulips. Or were they silk? It was pretty cold that day.
And some of our song died with you
Are you seeing rainbows of living color and flashes of light now? Are your warm? Are you singing a new song?
Still trying to sing,
With Lisa Jo and Community on the word prompt, song