Jane Hedwig Stahmer Oestreich
12/5/1911 — 3/5/2012
A memory: light sweeps around our lovely wooden house
and I on stilts tramp my circuit with wooden feet.
I balance each corner’s turn, pass the shadows
where once the coal was kept, and climb
a hill of lilacs toward our sunlit kitchen.
Within the house you smiled to hear
I’d circled all, a conqueror, accomplished hero.
I knew when you were home I, too, was home.
When you were not, it only rained,
with just a book or a cat that might console me.
As long as you loved me I was well –
no matter how many words needed to be spelled
or how many numbers there might be to divide me.
And now at 100, a proud and gracious number of its own,
like many friends before you, you’ve learned to sleep.
The touch of your cool hand stays on my arm
and you remind me I have the same long fingers as your own,
good for playing piano, you always used to say
(though I have never learned) and you remind me, too
I am an artist, just like my grandfather, your father.
And what was your own art? other than to love,
delighting in the canvas of your two sons,
delighting in what they might become and did,
without asking a single thing in return
but the gift of knowing in your unfolding heart
that you had mastered the only art that matters.
Now the house of your body may be dark,
the candle no longer lit from inside out
but I know you are swept toward greater things
just as you read in your book so many times,
carried from one small room toward many mansions,
this house but one in which you lived
beyond all reproach and from which you sacrificed
so well and all to make your sons.
And I still make the circuit of that house, and of you,
and will do so as long as I myself know how to live.
Sending my aloha your way Dan, for whatever comfort it might give you. Your poem is a graceful blessing upon your mother’s 100 years of beautiful living, and I hope you feel some of the peacefulness you’ve so generously shared with the rest of us in posting it here.
MÄlama pono Dan, and for your mother, Ka lÄ hiki ola; it’s the dawning of her new day.
Dan, Your mother was right — you are an artist. Such beautiful words, such deep feeling.
Thank for you opening your heart in celebration of your mother’s life and the inevitable phases of grief and wondering that you will pass through.
My mother, at 95, made her transition last May. Although ours wasn’t a smooth relationship, I am struck by the profound missing and remembering.
I believe Rosa is right…for your mother it is the dawning of a new day.
Comforting wishes,
Louise
Rosa and Louise — thank you so much for your lovely condolences and for sharing in the spirit of my poem. The dawning of a new day and a celebration of my mother’s life is exactly what this time is about. Your friendship and kind words are deeply appreciated.
Dan, The first thought that passed through my mind was how fortunate you were to have had your mother for so long. For some unknown reason, I assume she was aware and cognizant of the world in her advancing age. What a milestone — 100!
Of course my heart goes out to you in the loss of this “fixture” of unconditional love. Losing a parent changes the game. Or at least it did for me.
As others have commented, you create beautiful cadence with your words. They paint pictures as arresting as any artist, and your heart shines through with clarity.
Thank you for allowing a glimpse into this profound person.
Blessings,
Deb
Ah, Deb, thank you for your kind words. My mother indeed was a profound person in her ability to give of herself. One thing not in the poem is that she also was a great “gentle teaser” and was oh-so-good at knocking me off those stilts when I might get too serious!
Thanks for the poetry, Dan. It stirs thoughts of my own mother. Those women–they outstrip us at every turn!
Armand
Thank you, Armand. I’m glad the words touched you!