Between the Sounds of Woods in Rain
Eulogy for the Homegoing Service of Jenny Edmonds by her son, Theo.
Hers were the first eyes I ever looked into. My voice was the last she heard. When the magnetized pull shifts inside your compass, how do you locate yourself between the sounds of woods in rain? A patch of early, early spring daffodils pulled me to the creek side. In the water, the tender toughness of the bright yellow petals showed a reflection of us sitting together inside the ancient glow of stardust finally crawling to reach us over an unfinished Appalachian ridge at dawn. Under creaky boards of a familiar front porch, tucked away on a wandering shoulder-blade hillside, we huddled between painted, raw wood porch posts. Shucky beans threaded a gentle stretch over our heads. Sweet smells of wet dirt hanging on a pile of fresh from the field melons circled us. I found myself being shaped into the same grin I had come to know on her. A grin so precious and curious that gratitude for all the affection I’d ever known in the world, wrapped me inside a well-loved, tattered quilt. Placing one arm around my back, her other hand reached forward to cover mine. Squeezing ever so gently, through clarity and love she said… “Mommy’s beloved boy, I’ve stepped ahead of you. A different walk than you’ve known before. My guiding hem, slipping from your hands, must be found within now. Let this be comforting to you. Let this be revelation for you. Between us… we no longer need bend to the limits of air. All our talks, questions, and songs are fused back into starlite. Mommy’s caring gaze and healing touch are yours now to share with people who need them. Whether it be the person reflected in the mirror or in the face of a friend. Please remember, too, what I taught you, — if you take the time to notice, everyone is a mirror. Son, we all need grace, love, healing, forgiveness, laughter, and kindness — this is where joy lives — this is where you will also find memories of me. I have surrendered my journey to the untamed rush of energy flowing through a new kind of music. They are songs lifting me beyond the limits of air. As your mother, I know your open heart and unselfish imagination understand that this moment is not a suffering that must be endured. This raw moment is a slipping glimpse into the unknown. This moment is your reunion with invisible loss. It is my body’s last gift to you. The unknown is always with us, son… always walking beside us. Do not be fearful of it. Befriend it again. It is your guide to the wisdom already held within your awakened but unclaimed lives. I live beside you as courage to make those choices you have not yet made. This moment is your strong, deep foundation from which to step into the next part of your own journey. Still, I know, too, you may experience this moment as wilderness. This does not worry me. Over the years, I’ve been awe-struck by the creativity you time and again mustered in navigating all wilderness frontiers placed before you. From early days, I also realize that life forced you to acquire this well-earned skill. As we journeyed together, there were times I did not know how to protect you. Mommies, too, are on redeeming journeys of our own. You taught me that. Remember what I taught you. In wilderness, deepness is dependable. Deepness… (that mystical capability you have to somehow walk lightly through heavy places) … is dependable. Now, is not one of your challenges to be solved. Now, especially, is time to release what your mind thinks it knows. Return to your beautiful, courageous imagination. Go deeper and deeper until you have embraced the fierce decision of this hard moment — to transfigure the hardness back into softness. A softness known to every cool wet seed, turning in what feels like hot scorched earth. Even before breaking through dirt into sunlight, seeds are already capable of everything. They do not depend on the words of others to declare them worthy. Son, I assure you, there are no words… big enough… to name the journey of a flower. I hope you find a soothing comfort here, too, in this… Mommy’s faith and love were the North Star I believed them to be.” As she lifted with threaded sunlight between the sounds of woods in rain, Her warmth touched my face. Old songs we once sang together in that little concrete block church down by a timid creek began climbing up the mountain to travel home beside her. As I followed the music up, her whisper snuck beside my ear with one last kiss… “please know my precious boy, you were made worthy to love, and to be loved in return… if it were not so, I would tell you.” Between the sounds of woods in rain, our earth dance tenderly let loose the dancers from the tune. Between the sounds of woods in rain, she left me feeling capable. Capable of making fierce decisions that honor the untamed rushes of energy, found in the flow of new music. Capable of transfiguring hardness into the softness of being a cool, wet seed turning again… turning again… turning again… turning again… Turning and finding it curious that some still believe we have words capable enough to name the journey of a flower, or words worthy enough of the honesty found between mother and child, found only by those who learn to turn sideways and slip into the joy found between the sounds of woods in rain.
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Theo Edmonds, Culture Futurist® & Founder, Creativity America | Bridging Creative Industries and Brain Science with Future of Work & Wondervation®
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