U p l i f t e d . . .
Genavieve made mental notes of everything she had seen since weeks ago. The town and neighborhood must have gathered and agreed upon just what would be done and accomplished. She would want to do no less for anyone else in grief. The usual notes, cards, baked goods and covered dishes were there, of course, but among them were several other pleasant gestures. Her Great Aunt had been a blessing to many and had taught her also to leave encouraging notes and deeds of thoughtfulness. Many friends included little souvenirs with sympathy. A basket Aunt Ophelia, herself, had woven for a neighbor giving birth that held many little conveniences, had returned. It was found here again in the days after aunties death, but filled with jars of fresh figs and jellies for her family. It’s former recipient felt that the family might like it back in memory of her. Artful sketching on folded paper envelopes were now holding notes to her family in their time of sadness. Hankies embroidered with the utmost detail pressed and perfumed had returned now, as Auntie O made them and had left them upon the laps of many who had grieved in their times of loss. She reminded them it was fine to cry, cleansing to the heart and soul.
Families affected by her death came home to their own yards clipped, walkways edged of debris, assurances that would free them of any tasks while they were tending to details resulting from hurt and loss. Friends and neighbors could not do enough to express their care. Genavieve noticed rose petals strewn along the sidewalk leading to the entrance of her home. A silent moment seemed to stretch into an afternoon, while she remembered being among many young girls, as “Auntie O” had thrown petals onto the ground in an artful fashion, making a pathway to good thoughts. She gave each girl a jar of flower petals. She told them that the petals would spread joy and happy feelings, and to save them to sprinkle when they were sad. They had brought them here now to spread comfort, a testimony of Ophelia and the wonderful memories she had planted into every heart she had ever known. At the back door, things had been gathered into neat order, as the old primitive table made by an ancestor had been cleaned off next to the steps, there sat flowers in containers from gardens from all over town, and tins filled with non-perishables, as neat and pretty as a picture could hold. The steps swept, the love of the laborers still felt.
God makes no mistakes. In His Mercy He places the orphan and the widow among families and loved ones. Genavieve was grateful and felt uplifted for being the niece of this woman, placed in this family, and the recipient of all they had done, and becoming a town member where God had placed her years ago.
Copyright, Feb 21, 2012, Brenda DeLaune Brown, Kindred Hearts Antiques and Gifts
(Today’s Post Is In Memory Of Donna Miller Newman)