Queen Anne's lace

Today marks 5 years since Debbie had her brain surgery; Thursday is fifteen years since Joe had his brain aneurysm and one month since our mother passed away and on Friday, I will finally have that MRI doctors recommended years ago. My heart is heavy with all these emotions.

Although I usually attempt to put an upbeat spin on the stories of our life, it’s too soon in this place where so much sadness is bundled together.

Before spending the day with Deb, I head out for a walk to reflect on the day ahead, to meditate, or ruminate over the pain of it all. The clouds play hide and seek with the sun and the thick summer air weighs heavily with my thoughts. 

Up ahead the path is deep with the dainty Queen Anne’s lace and lifts a recent memory with Deb when she shared how our Grandmother told her the story of Queen Anne’s lace.

Queen Anne was challenged by her friends to create lace as beautiful as a flower. While making the lace, she pricked her finger, and it’s said that the purple-red in the center represents a droplet of her blood.

Funny how my memory of the tale is not as crisp as Debs and I bend to glance at the flowers where a red drop dots the center, validating another side of Debs memory. How does information get stitched into the fabric of her memories at one point and another unravels before the day ends?

She pulls the memories from places of our past that have been erased from mine. Weaving beautiful memories of our childhood, each detail bittersweet. But as I drive her home, she no longer remembers where she lives and her frustration grows. Time with Deb is like riding a roller coaster, but the in-between is sad and lonely for Deb and heartbreaking for us all to witness.