“You Are My Cup Of Tea”

Originally Posted: January 10, 2018

My Mother would suggest that you go make yourself a hot cup of tea with honey and then curl up on the couch with your afghan before reading this story. Obviously, it is totally up to you if you stop here and make yourself a cup before continuing, but I can assure you that if you do, you will more fully experience her ways. The twinkle in her Irish eyes and the smile of contentment when chatting over a cup of tea, was the epitome of my mother’s ideal world. She had a collection of fancy tea cups and saucers that she proudly displayed on her traditional serving cart in the kitchen. If she was feeling extra fancy, she would serve the tea in her sterling silver tipping teapot kettle on a stand with matching sugar and creamer and then use her fancy little spoons to plop a sugar cube in my cup if I needed to sweeten up. Her sugar wafers lined her faint pink and yellow depression glass dishes that sat perfectly on the doilies that dotted her white wrought iron kitchen table with ice cream parlor chairs. Overhead, was her chandelier with candelabra bulbs that would be dimly lit to set the mood. My mother had a knack for presentation in which she invited you in to her enlightening chats about her past life and about listening to anything that we needed to discuss. You immediately felt relaxed as she gave you her time and undivided attention. No topic was off limits and the honest, caring conversations often ending up in laughing fits and tears rolling down both of our cheeks. These are the intimate moments shared, that I will miss the most.

I woke up unsettled one Saturday morning and had this overpowering feeling that I must visit my mother. I quickly called my sister and told her what I was feeling and she decided to take the drive with me to Rhode Island. This decision was a powerful one and one that I will always remember as my turning point. As I watched my Mum lying in her hospital bed, I grabbed her soft hand and leaned in closer to her so she could whisper into my ear. She said, “go live your life now as I have lived mine.” I held my grip tighter and told her it was okay to, “let go”, and that we will meet and share a cup of tea again. I imagined her whispering, “you are my cup of tea”, as she often would say to everyone. In this instance, I wanted time to stand still and to last a lifetime. I held her hand tighter as I managed to capture a cherished picture of this moment so as never to forget.

I knew in my heart what was happening, but my mind wanted to control the outcome. I grappled with the fact that I had no control and no matter how much I wanted the outcome to be different, it would not change. I finally released my need to control and up until this point in my life I had never allowed myself the capacity to lose control. This was not an easy feat, for all those that know me well can attest. While I wanted my Mum to keep living so that I could have one more conversation with her, she on the other hand, was ready. Truthfully, I will never understand this choice and I have a hard time wrapping my head around this decision, but once again I am reminded that the decisions we make may not always be our own. Ultimately, the decisions were in my Mum’s control and not mine. I was so grateful that I had my sister’s support by my side and this just reconfirmed my love for my sister.

A flashback to my childhood came to me as I sat at her bedside listening to the dull hum of her oxygen tank machine.

I remembered so many happy moments: mealtime conversations, endless chats and laughter, camping, running around in the woods building forts, skating on our creek, learning to swim, water skiing, driving boats, sailing, rowing and spending every summer at the cottage. “Boops”, our family rowboat, became a symbol of every summer spent at the cottage because Nana Marion, the matriarch of our family, would gather her grandchildren into the rowboat to make sure that she captured a summer photo. This family tradition meant so much to her and is a legacy that will never be forgotten.

Year after year, the number of grandchildren that sat in the rowboat with Nana grew as all of her children had children of their own. The rowboat symbolized so much more than pictures could capture. The grandkids would also get excited to go blueberry picking along the shores of White Island Pond in the rowboat with Nana so they would run and get their sand bucket so they could fill them up for blueberry pancakes or corn muffins. As they clambered into the boat making sure not to tip Nana out of the boat, they would often get stuck in the sand because of all the extra weight and then need a “heave ho” to send them off. As the grandchildren grew in size and numbers, they didn’t want to miss out on a good time so they would tie the ski rope to the cleat and then attach big inner tubes so they could float around the lake with Nana at the helm. So, you see, “row, row, row your boat”, became a cherished pastime. The last summer before we sold the cottage, Nana once again rounded up all eight of her grandchildren and captured years of fond memories. She was so proud of all of her grandchildren and loved everyone unconditionally. What a lesson she taught our children.

I snapped back to the stark reality, as I sat alongside her bed as she slept. My sister and I reassured ourselves that this ending is what Mum wanted and our togetherness provided closure. Serendipitously, as I walked out of the nursing home that day, I turned and noticed the carved wooden sign outside of the Nursing Center. Why hadn’t I noticed it before and what was the significance that drew me emotionally to it that I felt compelled to take a picture before I went home? The answer became clearer later that evening. The tree of life symbol was another sign from the spirits above. “Family ~ like branches on a tree, we all grow in different directions, but our roots remain as one”…

On our drive home, we reminisced about our childhood years and the closeness of our family clan. Years flashed through my mind and questions and answers I had, became clearer in my mind as we chatted. My parents provided a fun – loving childhood for Mark, Denise and I while we lived in Sharon, Norwood and at our cottage on White Island Pond, Plymouth, MA. My Mum was the card shark, reader, game player and my Dad was athletic, an artist, photographer and a tinkerer. He taught us how to swim, ski and to be handy with tools. His presence was kind and devoted but unfortunately my memories of him are way too limited. Our Dad passed away suddenly, on April 29, 1974 at the age of 53 of a massive heart attack, so the stark reality of life and death leaves a strong impression. He passed away in front of me outside as he was mowing the grass and I was raking the leaves. After his death, we embarked on our new normal, whatever that meant, and we supported each other whenever we could. My Mum continued to work endlessly supporting the three of us as we went off to live our lives.

Our family dynamics changed as we moved away but our individual strength and the summers spent at the cottage held us together. My Mum was my confidante and we always felt we had such a strong and unique mother daughter connection. The standard mother daughter relationship morphed into something way more powerful. We learned that time was precious and it was necessary to make the best of it and when we had vacation time we found ways to travel together. When out and about people would often think that Mum, Denise and I were sisters which of course made my Mum smile.

She loved getting dressed up and going out dancing and we equally enjoyed joining her.  She was a young widow raising three children and we learned that you do whatever it takes to get the job done. Nobody was going to do it for you. My fierce independence is rooted in the reality of watching my Dad pass right before my eyes at the tender age of thirteen. As a young girl, I just accepted this new life. I learned that masking and controlling my true emotions provided a powerful personal shield. Not until now, had I really dealt with those childhood emotions.

My Mum remarried eleven years later and had another wonderful life with my step dad Colonel David L. Fink.  They loved their Rhode Island military life, traveled the world, enjoyed their beach life, gardens, tomatoes and endless down home cooked meals. When you arrived at their home, you were greeted with open arms, bags of groceries, gained too much weight, but drove away exhausted from endless fun of playing cards, watching movies, going to the beach, and eating way too much even though we continued to tell them, “no more food”. My Mum was a caregiver personality and she prided herself in always being there for all of us. She cared for David till he passed five years ago and then we celebrated his life at the Newport Officers Club in Newport, RI, in his honor. David was a military man to his core and exemplified what it meant to give service to others. They both loved their military life and embraced all aspects so it was important to return to the Newport Naval Base with the Newport Bridge as a backdrop, to have a little send off with my Mum too.

After David’s passing, Mum decided to sell their house in Middletown, RI and buy another condo in warm FL. It was always a wish of mine that Mum would somehow live near me, but not until now had this ever happened. She found a cute condo near me in FL and decided to start her new life yet again. The quietness of being alone hit her hard and her desire to be around people to help with her new solitude became stronger. So off she sold her new condo soon after, and moved into an Independent Living Facility nearby. As the days rolled along, my mother’s heart and health deteriorated and her needs increased, so we moved along with these changes into an Assisted Living Facility to get her the needed care. The final move came about as I had made the decision to move back to MA into my new beach house up north. The timing of things was ironic and there was no way that I would leave my Mum in FL alone to not be cared for, so we decided to move her once again to a wonderful Assisted Living Facility in Rhode Island. It was right down the street from her prior home and we thought this may provide the light in her heart with all her past memories being so close. We felt content that she was home and close to us to visit and knew in our hearts we did the right thing. Life was a full circle for my mother…

We were gathered over at my sister’s house when I looked down at my phone and saw the #401 Rhode Island exchange and knew in my heart the news that I was going to receive. Here, it was the same day that we had just went down to visit her and now I was answering the call from her nurse notifying me that Mum had passed peacefully in her sleep. At that moment, I felt confident that Mum had heard everything we talked about, and did earlier together that day. She had waited to see us one last time too. There was no going back in time now. Honest, raw childhood emotions flooded my tears down my cheeks for now my Mum, Dad and David. I am forever grateful that I reacted on listening to my inner voice that morning to go visit her so that we could have one more moment together. My sister was equally in shock for the very same reason and we hugged knowing that following internal instincts is right and good. I am blessed with God’s power of giving me signs of his spirit and this strength led me to the answer. Tears of cleansing are good I tell myself often when I remember this moment. The darkness of the night sky and the quietness on the streets as we drove back and forth to Rhode Island one last time that day, enveloped our sadness.

Time has a way of transforming life and I am practicing living in the present, because that is all that is guaranteed. It feels good; it feels right for now. Mum told me that when she passed, that she did not want me to be sad but to go forth and live my life. She said she had a great long life and it was my time now to move along. During another intimate talk, we discussed where we would meet up. I know these talks were all brought on by me and my desire to stay connected once she passed, but I wanted to feel validated and to stay connected. I strongly believe that we are all connected to each other and to the whole universe. I get signs from my Dad as I go about my walks and have been collecting feathers from him for years. Yeah, I know it may sound different, but truthfully the more I pay attention to the worldly signs around me the more I am a believer. So, my Mum and I agreed on two things: to share a cup of tea and to meet up on the beach to talk whenever we needed the strength.

I love going for beach walks and for as long as I can remember, my Mum and I would take endless walks holding hands and solving world problems as we use to like to think we were doing. She walked the beaches as long as she could and the last time I took her in FL, I managed to wheel her chair down the wooden beach path so she could smell the salt air. As she sat on the bench that last time, she reminded me to always “keep an open-door policy”, and to offer tea and crumpets and more importantly to just listen to everyone’s stories. Time spent with family and friends is what made her complete.

Mum’s final wishes were to have a celebration in her honor. We planned the event at the cozy historical Winsor House Inn in Duxbury, MA. For an added final twist, my sister and I had the rowboat, “Boops” at the event and positioned it in the garden so that all the grandchildren could once again sit in there and be reminded of her spirit. This wonderful moment was full of smiles and laughter, in honor of Nana Marion. She would have been so proud to see and share this moment and we all felt her spirit in that rowboat.

She wanted us to enjoy a cozy dinner together: sharing stories, loving each other, looking at photographs from years gone by, enjoying Irish tea and honey, sugar wafers, ice cream, and star bursts in her memory. Time stood still in that cozy knotty pine room, with the numerous lit fireplaces, and the whole family together again. We were admiring pictures strung with lighted strands showcasing years of family connections, ate her favorite foods and topped it off with her personal favorite of apple pie and ice cream. As my son whispered to me that evening, “I see why you picked this place to have her celebration as the setting reminds all of us of being together at the cottage with the fireplace going, the knotty pine walls and sitting around eating, talking and laughing.” He reminded me of the funny expression we had at the cottage, “If only these knotty pine walls could talk!” So many years spent together at that cottage raising our children and so much history was embedded in those knotty pine walls. I was glad he noticed our intention. I think everyone relived some part of their past and their personal connection to the lessons she imparted. We watched a wonderful video that embodied the times spent and we cried, laughed and danced to the Macarena like ole times at the dance platform on White Island Pond. As a memento to Mum, we gave each guest a mason jar with a lovely picture of her inside, along with Irish Tea and honey. The evening was perfect and her spirit was there. She lives on in each of us and if we want to feel a bit closer, all we have to do is brew a nice hot cup of Irish tea from the mason jar.

I find myself putting the kettle on and having Irish Tea and honey more often than before and I take my daily beach walk to reflect on our time together. I cherish these traditions as it allows me to acknowledge her in the present. Sadness and doubt tries to slide into my thoughts but I push it aside and instead I enjoy a good cup of tea and I love my walks on the beach. Layers of azure cast a net over the ocean, and wheat and crimson seagrass stand tall in the distance. I allow these vibrant colors to wash all over me and I find that when I dig my toes deeper into the sand it helps keep me grounded.

A few days later after she passed, I headed back from my beach walk to my house and noticed something fluttering around in my flourishing garden. There was Mum greeting me perched so beautifully on top of my Purple Coneflowers. During one of our honest, deeper conversations we had, I happened to ask her what she thought would happen when she passed. She said a calmness would come over her and then she would be transformed into a beautiful butterfly so that she could come back and be with us anytime she liked. I loved that answer, and didn’t know the impact until it came true, and I captured the eloquent photo. “Welcome to my new beach house Mum”, I said.  Stop by anytime you wish!

You are our forever butterfly Mum.  With brave wings, she flies…

~ Marion Daniels Fink~     March 21, 1928 –  August 26, 2017