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The Birthday Party
Early in the Spring of 2004, I was invited to a birthday party.
I need to point out that this was no ordinary birthday party.
You see, this was a celebration of eighty years of the life of
a Matriarch, whose children recognized and embraced her
significance in the forming of their lives and of their
children's lives.
Eleanor is the "Granna" to my dearest friend. But, because of
the distance, I had been with her a few times over the course
of my friendship with her granddaughter.
Eleanor is, and always has been, a "significant" person in that
her presence affects you. Perhaps it is the paradox of her
manner, which can be both gentle and strong in the same moment.
Or, could it be the way her conversations, often laced with
humor, also contain the wisdom of a sage? She has suffered as
all of us who live on this earth have suffered, but unlike many
of us, she lives and ministers with dignity and genuine
affection. All of this being true, from the little I have
observed and all I have been told, the paradox is rather the
way that she knows her worth, both to herself and to others.
Eleanor is the most authentic person I have ever met.
And, so it was on that gorgeous day in San Francisco that a
celebration of love was bestowed upon her.
I had not attended with the notion that the experiences of that
day would be remembered in a magazine. But, the events, the
emotion, the devotion for this woman so touched me that I was
compelled to share the occasion with you, for she is a living
and vital contradiction to the world's expectations of women,
and we all love her for it.
Around 2 0'clock in the afternoon, the families and invited
friends began arriving at the home of the eldest son, Jon.
Though Eleanor's spirit remains strong, her health is sometimes
failing and the decision had been made to celebrate here rather
than a hotel. And, as the events of the day unfolded, the
backdrop of this beautiful home was ideal for the intimacy that
evolved. How wonderful to watch so many generations laughing,
singing and reminiscing together as the common thread of their
heritage continued to weave them together. Yes, I felt like an
outsider in a way, for only those who had shared the common
wealth of this uncommon woman, and had had their thoughts and
values shaped in so many ways by her, could truly revel in the
joy of their shared memories. But, I felt so privileged to just
watch the dream happen. No sense of a generation gap here. And,
what was most obvious was how they genuinely cherished their
Mother.
There were pictures of crayon presented by the little ones to
their "Great Granna," and a few precious poems expressing their
feelings for her. Then, the older ones joined with them for a
chorus of songs that had once been taught by the "Birthday
Girl" to her children so long before. Spider songs and
lullabies, even an old, forgotten Christmas carol, transported
Eleanor back in memory to a time long past, a time when her
hair was gold instead of gray, and her greatest joy was running
to the source of a child's voice calling "Mommy, watch me!"
Tears mingled with laughter as we all were allowed to share in
these moments.
So the afternoon passed, each generation taking their turn to
remember with songs, poems, endless wishes, and stories told as
only families know to do, of the many days that had come before
this one. Stories of the one whom they had gathered to
celebrate this day, the one who is their source.
But, the best of all was saved for the last. Eleanor's own four
children, all now in their sixties, had each written a letter
of memories remembered most about their Mother. These letters,
each one framed, were passed around the living room for all of
us to share and enjoy. I have never read sentiments so
beautiful, and I had the overwhelming sensation inside of me
that I was reading, watching, and experiencing what the whole
world of humankind longs for, all written down inside these
beautiful letters.
My expectation was that eldest son, Jon, would present these
four poignant letters, each one written in calligraphy and
framed in dark mahogany, to Eleanor as a token of their love
and also of this stunning day. Instead, each of the four grown
children produced from under the dining room table several more
copies of their particular letter, framed as the first, and
began to give them to each of their children - and to their
children.
It was then that I recognized that in these letters, and in
this day, and in their lives, the gift to Eleanor from her
children was the gift of remembrance.
by Morgan Delaney - 7th September 2008
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Relationship expert, consultant, and educator, Morgan Delaney,
MS, empowers single women with the real secrets about dating
and relationships, based on a decade of research in the fields
of developmental psychology, brain-based gender differences,
and the fascinating mysteries of the male psyche. To learn more
about Ms. Delaney's relationship research, and forthcoming
books, visit http://www.SingleSisterhood.com
Source:
http://www.creativewriter.me.uk
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