Phyllis And Me: A Remembrance
by Carol A. Watson
 No one can prepare you for the sudden and unexpected death of someone you love, especially, if its a parent, spouse, child or dear friend. It's as if the ground opens up and swallows a part of you into the scalding magma deep in the earth's core. For a while, often a long while, you feel as if your own core has been robbed. It's empty yet heavy, a phenomenon that doesn't seem possible, just like the loss of that special person doesn't seem possible. When my mother died totally unexpectedly of a massive heart attack, I had a momentous need to heal my raw, bleeding, aching heart and to preserve memories of her before they faded.
Phyllis And Me is a collection of stuff of the heart that celebrates both life and death. It's a glimpse into the lives and souls of a mother and daughter and the many ways a maternal love is never lost even after death. Phyllis And Me is a personal narrative, a collection of memories that, even though about simplistic daily events, reveal the complex yet subtle way those events shape the life and character of a child. The crux, however, is only realized when the child becomes an adult and reflects on those memories. Additional parts of the book detail the unique ways in which my mother was celebrated at her wake and funeral. Those who have read it say the book is humorous, compelling, beautifully moving, uplifting, intelligent and honest.
It is a hopeful collection of remembrances and feelings, a testament to the realization that everyday events with special people are what make the world go around and give life its sparkle. Phyllis And Me is a heartfelt account of the discreet magic available to us all, everyday.
Some who have read Phyllis And Me say it's helped them heal their own personal loses. Others whose parents are still alive claim it's gotten them closer together. Although the specific events are personal to me, the connection and relevance is universal and available in each individual reader's life.
May you delve into the heart of this book and find, relive and renew your own connection to those cherished loved ones who add sparkle to your life.
Sincerely.......
Carol Watson
Excerpts from Phyllis And Me
From "Mary, Me And Menses"
Growing up under the veil of Catholicism I never put myself in the same league as the Virgin Mary. I never thought we had anything in common. Everything I was fed at the altar of organized fear indicated she was gooder than good and I wasn't. I wore the anchor of original sin around my neck to prove it and keep my morale in check and independent thought low and in tow.
People prayed to Mary. Sinners asked for her grace. She had to have special powers. She was the Guineas World Book of Records Mom, the mother of Jesus Christ, the man who walked on water and could turn it into fine wine Robert Mondavi would win accolades for.
Fortunately, for me, my faith filled and earthly Mom had special insights that transcended what the ordinary Catholic was taught. She knew things the Catechisms didn't touch upon nor the Saturday morning Catechism teachers who orchestrated the parrot-like questions and regurgitated responses to queries such as, "Who is God? and "Why did God make you?"
From "The Mystic Miracle"
"I believe, do you?" she asked me in the semi darkness of the Mystic Movie Theater as she squeezed my hand and the twinkle that was uniquely hers sparkled through the artificial night. We were celebrating Mom's 69th birthday. Just her and me.
Surprisingly, we were alone in the theater. Just Mom and me. We giggled about having the whole place to just ourselves and, of course, the projectionist. In keeping with the way of our hearts, the movie made us laugh and cry. It made us move closer still in a relationship where our positive sharing produced an invisible emotional yarn that wove together a comforting blanket of trust and love.
She asked me if I believed in Santa Claus.
From "No Regrets"
When she died I reacted by doing all I could to keep her alive. I wrote and gave her eulogy at the funeral. I put pictures of her everywhere in our home. And then I went to the rectory on a Tuesday morning. Over-ripe bananas on my kitchen counter were a good excuse to make banana nut bread. Usually I just toss dead bananas out. But death makes people do strange things. I usually don't bake either. Grief is a powerful impetus. I decided to bake it for the rectory office women. For break. As an excuse to go there once more in place of Phyllis. I wanted to absorb whatever essence of her that might still linger within the walls of the haven she had taken refuge in. I needed to go where she found consolation and a unique happiness. I went to thank the space for having been there to give her that refuge and because I wasn't ready to let go.
|
