Marina and I met our dear friend Terese (Marina’s godmother) at the Red Rabbit, a drive-in bunny burger joint about halfway between State College and Allentown.
We were discussing family losses, grief, and coping while sitting socially distant at a picnic table with tractor-trailers rumbling by.
Terese asked a question: “Have you had any signs from your mother?”
“Yes. Yes I have. A moth.”
Haploa clymene, to be exact and scientific, since I believe Science is Real.
I spotted the moth a little more than two weeks after my mother’s death. It was close to her recliner in the TV room where she watched videos of her favorite musicals: Singing in the Rain, Oklahoma!, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Meet Me in St. Louis, and, of course, The Sound of Music. I gently cupped the moth in my hands, carried it outside, and placed it on the mossy patio to freedom.
The Clymene Moth is widespread in the U.S. but this was my first. It has a fleur-de-lys design on its wings when together and flat. It whispered, “Have faith, everything will be fine.” A message from my mother.
Just a day before my mother’s funeral, Richard received notice that he got a job in California, working at the Tesla factory in Fremont. Marina helped him find an apartment with roommates via Trulia, cram his belongings into his car, and off he went on a cross-country adventure. I wanted to put a Westward Ho sign in the back window, but there wasn’t room.
Westward Ho
In the weeks while Marina visited, gently guiding her mother through mourning, we took note of another sign: a spinning birdcage. My mother started collecting birdcages on her honeymoon and has a dozen or so scattered about the house. We even placed a few on the altar with flowers at her funeral. She only has one, suspended on fishing line, that spins for Marina and me.
Marina took a COVID-Careful trip to see her Dad and, as fate would have it, visited 440 Hottenstein Road to meet the new owner and reminisce.
The shop was transformed into a yoga studio. The barn is a workshop for renovating vintage cars. The chicken coop may become an artist’s atelier. The new owner feels especially blessed to have moved out of NYC and into Maxatawny for the COVID lockdown. A good sign.
Before Marina left the States we kept noticing We Believe signs scattered around Lemont. During these Trumpian times people have to reaffirm certain truths in their front yards. She laughed and said, “If I took one back to Belgium, they’d say, ‘So?’ ” Instead of taking a We Believe lawn sign, she packed a few more Fleur-De-Lys produce signs for her rooftop garden.
After a circuitous route involving cars, planes and trains through PA, MD, DC, NJ, Amsterdam, Antwerp, and finally Ghent, Marina is quarantined at home with one negative (meaning she doesn’t have it) COVID-19 test result and one test yet to take before she can leave the house legally. Her doctor took the swabs and reported results two days later.
Life in State College is settling in to a new normal. Sort of. I’m still working remotely and said good-bye to my Scion xB. I got a car last fall that was safer and more comfortable for my mom. I remembered my friend Wally saying that he loved public radio and hated the thought of trying to sell his used car. So, he donated it. Ditto. My old Scion will breathe new life into WPSU. What I’ll miss most are the bumper stickers and the memories. No Farms No Food. Vesalius College. I Hiked It Mt. N. And all those years of my spunky mother asking if we could take a ride downtown, “To see what’s going on.” Laurie Lynch
The End
P.S. Sorry, no photos of Marina in this blog entry. I took one classic, when we spent part of an evening wearing Dead Sea mud masks but publishing that would be a sure sign that I’ve gone over the edge.
Fleur-de-Blog 