My Mother's Things

The woman who had been the love of my mother's life contacted me on Facebook a few weeks ago. I had heard nothing from Mary, that's her name, since she and my mother broke up when I was twenty, thirty-seven years ago.

This is my mother, Lytton, about 45 years old, sitting with Mary on my mother's back porch, around 1979. Smoking was cool back then... 

Mary was cool. She was a police detective and had a gun and an unmarked car.

They were together six years, though they never lived together.

This is one of five photos I have of the two.
Remember when people didn't take photos every day? Or even every month? 
My mother didn't have a camera, and I didn't have much money to spend on film & developing.

"Did you play Danny Boy at Lytton's funeral?" Mary wrote. "Danny Boy" was the favorite song of my mother's mother--and had just been sung at John McCain's funeral, so I heard.

We did not, I told her. Our mother's suicide hadn't left us in a sentimental mood. My brother wanted one of the psalms where bones are groaning. Against his wishes, we chose the kinder Valley of Death of Psalm 23. I believe that is one of the things he never forgave me for.

But I told Mary about the funeral––except I couldn't remember a single song or musical piece we chose... (Since then, I've remember the recessional was "Love Divine, All Love's Excelling"––set to the Welsh Hyfrydol tune––because I love singing, Changed from glory innnnntoooooo glo-o-o--reeee...)

I FB-messaged:

" I (with Domenica) chose the story of the woman taken in adultery for the Gospel reading-- because it shows Jesus's infinite compassion and mercy: --"neither do I condemn you”-- not judgment, & L always craved not to be judged harshly, I would say.

The priest, who was a pal of mine at the time, said he'd never read that at a funeral but it was beautiful and perfect.

I just can't remember a single song we chose!

But they were standard Catholic hymns--the liturgist being old school did not allow secular music at Mass.... (I'm not in the Church anymore, btw. But it was a good place to be at that time.)

Oh, yes, and we had BUNCHES of white lilies--those trumpet-looking kind.  She would have loved it---and since I was working at the basilica, my coworkers pulled out all stops--a procession with incense and candles.
And it was TWO HOURS!
I felt sorry, upon reflection, for the friends who showed up just to be nice to me & Domenica--esp. the non-Catholics who must have been half-comatose by the end.
Ha!
But we had nice snacks afterward---with real china cups--I told my coworker who arranged that that my mother would NOT want styrofoam!
So, yeah, it was a good thing in a bad time..."

And then Mary asked what I had of Lytton's, so I put together a photo essay of the main things. 

I could say a lot about each thing, but I'll just say that my mother stole the Horn & Hardart forks [3rd photo down] when we were there in New York City in 1968, 
and she bought the Renoir print [last photo] when she was twenty-one, visiting her sister who was on a fellowship in Paris.

 

I'm glad Mary contacted me to spark all this––I'm glad I took these photos. 

And it was . . . comforting? to hear that Mary considered Lytton the love of her life too––I suppose because it was added proof (not that I wasn't clear on the point) that loving someone doesn't protect them, isn't, in itself, enough.

Afterward,  I felt in a way I haven't before that I am done with this story. It is my mother's story, and while there are a lot of beautiful things in it, all these things are covered in very fine ash.

I have my own things now. 

__________________________

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org

If you go to this website ^, the phone link (below) is live--you can click on it.