Skip to main content

Why I Wear Purple


One whole year.  My Mom has been gone one whole year.
She passed away late on a Friday so we had plenty of time to plan her memorial and burial for the next weekend. She had a lot of family and she was among the last three of her generation, so we knew folks would need time to plan their travel if they were to say their goodbyes.
The following morning after she passed away, I rifled through my closet for all and anything that I owned in purple.  My mother loved bright colors and among her favorites was purple. She had been a great fan of the actress Elizabeth Taylor, the beauty with the violet eyes, so my brothers, sisters, and I decided we would wear purple to her celebration.
We met the following Monday to plan her funeral and afterwards I went shopping for more purple or violet to wear.  It was near the Easter season and I figured it would be easy to find nice things in that color, but it wasn’t, so when I wasn’t planning details for her memorial, I went shopping.  I only needed a few items to get us through the next week.
I cannot describe how it felt each morning when I donned a purple or violet t-shirt to go with my jeans or leggings. I made sure to wear amethyst earrings or a bracelet. When I found something in a shade of purple, I’d jump on it and bought several to share with my children and with my siblings. Purple became a constant reminder for me that Mom was still with us. 
We had the visitation and rosary on the Friday, a week later.  We had her funeral Mass and burial the next morning.  Everywhere we looked, her family wore bits of purple, and we spent the day celebrating my mother’s long life.
The day ended and we all headed home. I took off my purple and changed back into my usual gray tee and blue jeans. It was time to let Mom go. She was with her heavenly Father, but HoneyBunch called me to come see the evening sky. It had been a beautiful, clear day, and as the sun set, the clouds looked like the skirts of a grand lady as she leaves the ballroom. They were a rich purple and violet.   
Mom was signaling her good bye.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Finding My Muse

1)Because my muse has a wicked sense of humor and visits me at odd times and in inconvenient places, I have learned to record inspirations/ideas immediately before I forget them or they dissolve into nothing. I carry small notebooks, own a digital recorder, and have been known to text messages home. I will scribble on anything – old napkins I find in my glove compartment or old receipts. I even pop out of bed in the middle of the night to jot things on sticky pads. 2)Calendars are great places to find topics. I use important dates, seasons, and upcoming holidays to plan blog posts. I can also go back into my work calendar to refresh my memory about meetings, conferences, or books I have read that might be worth sharing with others.   3)I will sit with a good cup of coffee, pen and paper ready, and read the newspaper searching for topics, interesting characters, or modern trends.  News channels and other newsfeeds are just as good.   4)I love to read the TV and movie guides for titles and…

My Thoughts and Prayers

This phrase has come under scrutiny lately, called trite, overused, ineffective, insulting.  Yet, when Hurricane Harvey hit Houston in August 2017, there was little more most of us could do other than contribute money and goods, and offer our thoughts and prayers. When the lone gunman killed all those innocent people while they attended Sunday services in November 2017, there was little most of us could do other than contribute money and goods, and offer our thoughts and prayers. Very few of us are trained in rescue efforts or how to take down a shooter.If we tried, we would slow the efforts of those who can, so we help in the best way we can.We offer our sympathy and our prayers. Instead of on our knees or offering sympathy, those who make fun demand instead that we should be on our feet, marching and demanding change. Their displaced anger blinds them to the fact that as human beings we need emotional and physical support as much as we need food, water, and safety/shelter. My knees a…

The Girl Who Eats Canned Spinach

I went to a Catholic elementary school run by strict Belgian nuns, and we could not leave the cafeteria until we ate everything served on our food tray. Once a week, they served warmed, canned spinach with our meal. The spinach tasted nothing like the way my grandmother made it, but I ate it. I gulped it down in three or four bites and it amazed my table mates. I told them we ate it at home so I was used to the taste. Now, my real problem began the day I ate the spinach off my friends’ trays so we could go play outside. As soon as the nun monitoring the cafeteria turned her back, my friends ate something off my tray I didn’t want, and I ate their serving of spinach. I only did it for two of my table mates, but the word spread. On the next Spinach Day, kids followed me to my table.I was suddenly very popular, and as soon as the nun marched off to the other end of the cafeteria, my friends and an army of others who only knew me as The Girl Who Eats Spinach, begged me to take their servin…