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COLUMN SIX: Molly’s Meadow

BY SHIRLEY LAZARETH
Special to the VOICE

On May 14, 2018, Molly Rogers left this earthly life at the age of 104 years, 9 months and 17 days. She was my mother for nearly 86 years and her relatively sudden departure left an empty, gaping hole in my well-organized life.

I had yet to realize this.

Plans were made for a wonderful Celebration of her well-lived life. This took several months of preparation, and 104 closest family, friends and caregivers were invited to attend.

It was a beautiful day and we rejoiced at Molly’s life and accomplishments, especially her beautiful smile and her positive attitude. As the day ended, mother’s ashes in my silver teapot, nestled in her resting place beside our father, in Oakwood Cemetery. All was well.

Over the next few days, I busied myself with the usual household chores, thank-you notes and trips to Shorthills Villa, where Molly had lived for nearly 18 years.

Then it hit me—all the idle time I now had and how best could I make use of it?

Our family has always had a fervent interest in gardening so I chose this as my consolable therapy. I would demolish the “Lucifer of the Lawns,” the greatest crab of all, CRABGRASS!

My lawn and boulevard were inundated with this pathetic plant, sprawling across my luscious lawn and killing little sprouts within its reach—the dastardly devil.

And so, day-by-day, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute, I yanked, I pulled, I twisted, and turned. I stopped long enough to chat with neighbours and others passing by, honking horns, waving, thumbs up, smiles upon their faces as they watched a silly old senior, butt down on the sparse grass, filling bags with lowly crabgrass.

Many offered advice, sage suggestions and encouragement. All had met this enemy and few had won the battle. But seldom were they negative in their suggestions —all had good ideas, they helped me focus for the six weeks I spent pulling, raking, bagging, seeding, topsoiling and watering.

Now, new lush green replaces the old, weedy, pathetic patch beside my Fonthill home. Certainly, it may not last, of this I am well aware. Like politics, I guess —out with the old, in with the new, and while all seems perfect at the start, be careful what you wish for.

For now I have christened this lovely new lawn, “Molly’s Meadow.” I can picture my mom, a cup of tea in her hand, roaming up and down the boulevard, expressing her delight in a lawn that looks “just like your father’s” and yes, it was well worth it all.

Grief therapy comes in different forms. I experienced mine in Molly’s Meadow.

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