Evening Walk, Five Years Later

Remembering Vallanee Rose Luedtke Hayes -- 1921 - 2007

My footprints mingle with rabbit tracks as  I make my way back from an evening jaunt to the compost pile. The air is cold. So cold that it pinches my forehead and stings my cheeks.

I remember. In the winter twilight I remember my mother's death five years ago in the coldest month of the year. Born on the Ides of May in the swelling warmth of spring, when the days are long and promising, Mom slipped out of this world in the cold of January.

I had driven up I-75 in a winter storm on a Friday night. I pulled over in Gaylord to stay the night and let the worst of the winds subside. Reaching the Wisconsin farmhouse where she was born by midday on Saturday, I joined the watch of the faithful who knew an end was close.

She left with a tear, one tear, slowly descending her drawn face. One tear that showed reluctance to go, even though she, like us, must have known.

Tonight, in the warm quiet of my home, I will spread one of her quilts across a bed. She will come as a presence in the colors and patterns and stitches of the beauty that she created in that quilt. 

Beautiful mother. How I miss you on a cold January evening. 


Copyright 2012
Wanda Hayes Eichler