The Best We Can

Last Sunday, my daughter and I went to the cemetary that my mom is at to plant bulbs for next year, and a few mums for the remaining fall weather.  Because of the situation here, I hadn't been able to go up there for a year and a half.  It is about 2 1/2 hours from here.  An old, country cemetary were all of her people are buried.  'Her people.'  That reference has always made me laugh.  I heard it first from my grandmother.  "Their people, our people"  It makes me think of tiny humans carried around in a little purse.  Anyway, as morbid as it may sound, I love cemetaries, and the one my mom is in is lovely.  She is on a hill near her mom and dad, some aunts and cousins, and her grandmother and grandfather.  If you sit by her stone, and look across the road, on the other small hill lie more cousins, and neighbors, and grandparents.  Everyone there seems to have related names. A lot of the stones are old. Someone's history.  There are big, ancient oak trees scattered all over. Some were still  in various stages of deep reds and gold.  Some were bare. As far as a cemetary can be, it is homey. 

We stopped at McDonald's and picked up lunch (my mom loved their grilled chicken sandwiches) went to the cemetary, and placed a blanket next my mom's stone.  We had a picnic before we started planting.  It was a very still day, sunny, no wind, sapphire blue sky.  My daughter and I talked, and then I said out loud, to my mom, that I missed her and wished I could talk to her.  At that moment, a swril of wind blew up in front of us, carrying with it a few fallen leaves.  That wind, rushed over us and then stopped.  It felt like a hug and kiss on my cheeks.  My daughter said, 'Mom did you notice that the wind blew when you were talking to grandma, and then stopped?'   "Yes."  And I smiled. 

I told a friend of mine yesterday, and she said, "That was your mom answering you.  She was doing the best she can to answer you with what she has to work with."  The best she can.  Even the spirits are doing the best they can.  An interesting thought. 

My daughter is one week and two days sober.  A blessing.  I miss her when she's passed out.  When I ask her why she continues to do that, she tells me, 'Mom, you never see all of the times I don't drink when I want to.  I am trying.'  She's doing the best that she can with what she has.  I think we all are.  We get frustrated, fall down, sit and cry, brush ourselves off, and try again.  Hopefully, the trying and the strength to do so, lasts a bit longer each time until, this parasite called addiction becomes weaker and weaker and someday falls off.  Another example of  why we can't judge others.  You can't see into their minds and the battle that is raging there.  We can only see the winner.  I think one of our jobs entails not only loving them, but when our children win, provide them with nurishment (soul, body) to keep them strong for the next fight,  and if the enemy wins a battle, be waiting with supplies for the time they're ready to battle, again.  Their choice, I know, but I'm still on her side when she decides to fight for herself, and she's fighting now.