May Her Memory Be a Gift

Her mother lay wrapped in layers of silk, all in traditional hues of blues and greens, as was the custom for Weavers nearing death. The blues were a symbol of life ending, and the body’s peaceful return to the oceans. The greens, of course, represented the soul’s return to verdant life.  To hell with tradition, Anna thought, my mother should be swathed in oranges and reds and hell, fire itself, for the lioness she’d been in life. The muted colors surrounding her bed coupled with her mother’s painful crawl towards death, were in such discordance with the woman Anna knew so intimately, that sitting at her bed made Anna feel like a cricket trapped in a jar.

It was so different than she thought it was going to be. Throughout her childhood, Anna had looked at death as a welcome event, like being wrapped in cozy blankets by a fire after playing in the snow. It was a thing to be celebrated and marveled over, as the loss of a Weaver unlocked their soul’s magic with ripple effects through the universe. But Anna had only known grands to die, and none had been particularly close to her. She’d been so young when her own mother assisted her grandmama to the ocean. Anna had hardly registered grief in her mother at the time, either because Anna had been so unobservant or because her mother had adeptly hidden her feelings.

Both were equally possible, Anna thought now, as her own grief threatened to suffocate her. “I was supposed to be older and have a family of my own. Mom was supposed to love them, and they her. I was supposed to know…I don’t know what exactly…but know some secret wisdom that elders have that make them prepared for something like this. I was supposed to have that before I lost her… I was supposed to be ready,” she thought as she hugged her knees to her chest.

Her mother coughed and Anna jumped. 

“Mom, you awake? What do you need? Do you want a sip of water? Do you want tea?”

“Anna,” her mom croaked.

“Yes, what is it? What can I do?”

“Cut it out,” her mother said bluntly and Anna rolled her eyes.

“You don’t need to nurse me to death, child. I’m doing well enough on my own. Go outside. Get fresh air. You look like hell.”

Anna smirked at the irony in her mother’s voice. Her beautiful, vibrant mother who’d been slowly eroding away as cancer ate at her insides. She was the smallest she’d ever been, losing weight steadily through the treatments and then more dramatically when eating had become too painful. Despite her frailty, she’d also become more swollen, distorting her features so that Anna had to work to make out the face she knew so well. Luckily, for Anna, her mother had kept her mental faculties, and her voice was just the same as it had always been.

“I love you,” Anna said, made sentimental by her mother’s attempt at humor.

“Ugh, this again,” her mother said before a coughing fit started. Anna leapt up to help her mother into a sitting position, rubbing her back as the wracking coughs subsided. She then grabbed the water cup and straw on the bedside table so that her mother could soothe her throat.

“That’s better, thank you,” her mother whispered, still an edge of pain to her voice. Anna helped her recline back onto the bed, fussing over the silken shrouds that lined her mother’s form.

“Anna,” she said, stilling Anna’s hands, “My grand ceremony…we haven’t talked much about it. You are the only one who can do it, you know. My soul chose you as my assistant. It should not be a surprise. It’s typical for children of the departing.”

Anna looked away. Her mother was right, of course. She’d known it was coming, but she didn’t think she could do it. She was resentful and terribly scared. What if she became overwhelmed during the ceremony, and her mother’s soul was lost forever?

Her mother looked at her with knowing eyes as if she read the fear on Anna’s face.

“It’s not what I would have chosen, this,” she made a small, sweeping gesture over her blankets, “but it’s what I got. It’s what we got. You can do this, Anna,” her mother finished.

“I don’t know that I can. I need you. You always know what to do. And what happens if I blow it? What if…when your body is gone, I lose your soul, too? I can barely stand the idea of losing you once, but twice! Why must our people do it like this, it’s not fair!” Anna cried.

“Anna, you are a Weaver,” her mother said gently but firmly. “This is your birthright and your destiny. I did it for my mother who did it for her mother who did it for her mother before her. You will see when it is finally your turn that you have nothing to fear, child. The path will be laid out for you. It will be a gift after all this,” she lifted her hands and laid them on her chest.

Anna was not convinced, but the steadiness of her mother’s voice soothed a bit of her frayed edges. She looked into her mother’s eyes – they were bright with wisdom and Anna knew deep within her that her mother’s faith was not unfounded. She had to do this on her behalf. She hoped desperately that she could surprise herself. Wet, hot tears spilled onto Anna’s cheeks as she clutched her mother’s hand and answered as a daughter still trying to impress her mother, “I won’t let you down.”

Anna’s mother died on a Monday. Anna was at her side as her breaths started to slow and her skin grayed. She’d called the Shuttler and all her mother’s loved ones to ready them for the grand ceremony. They’d all come, shuffling in quietly, wrapping Anna in their arms, whispering their “May her soul be free”s, before taking their places around her mother’s bed. The Shuttler handed Anna the holy totem, which looked like a small, golden river rock to place on her mother’s forehead. In one small act of rebellion, Anna also placed a small lion carving she’d begged for as a child, in the cup of her mother’s hand.

The Shuttler, a wizened master of ceremonies, led Anna to her side of the bed. She dutifully obeyed as he told her to pick up her mother’s hand. He pressed his hands on Anna’s shoulders as he started the blessing.

“May her memory be a gift. May her soul be free. May her body feed the masses, as her spirit lives for eternity.”

Anna felt it then. A warm, buzzing vibration started in her fingertips, then moved up her arms, eventually spreading through her whole body. She was frozen in place as her blood quickened and her heart thrummed like the beat of a drum. She couldn’t open her eyes, but she was sure that if she looked down at herself, she’d be glowing. A faint chant began in her ears. She couldn’t make out what it said at first, but slowly her mother’s voice took shape around the words which acted as a balm to her raw, wounded heart. She didn’t leave me, Anna realized, and now, she knew what she must do. The Shuttler lifted his hands from her shoulders, and the buzzing in her veins began to subside. Anna could not be sure how much time had passed, but she knew the ceremony had been a success. Her mother had been right again, of course.

*** 

Anna followed the head teacher, her guide, through the school pointing out how many students were in each classroom. They made it to the cafeteria and the sour smell of canned food being warmed on a stove wafted towards Anna.

The teacher turned to Anna as he said, “Most of our kids are in free meals programs. The state doesn’t have much for us, but they give us some. We rely heavily on benefactors such as yourselves to fund even just the basics for our kids. It’s a constant struggle. Which organization did you say you are with again?”

“Oh, I’m not with an organization. My mother died recently, and she left something to me in her will that I’d like to pass along,” Anna said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” the teacher said in the way Anna was accustomed to by now. This was the forty-sixth institution she’d visited in thirteen months. Many of the locations had been schools, but some had been community centers, half-way houses, and daycares. Her mother had been eighty-four when she’d died, so Anna had thirty-eight places left to go.

“Yes, it’s been incredibly tough, but her memory is a gift,” Anna invoked the words she increasingly believed as she carried out her mother’s mission. “This may be an odd request, but would you show me to the pantry? I’d love to see what you typically keep stocked.”

The teacher raised his eyebrows at this, and made a brief glance toward the kitchen, undoubtedly wary of Anna’s level of disappointment with the quality of its contents. He recovered quickly, “Absolutely, but be prepared – it’s not terribly exciting.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can fix that,” Anna said with a smile. The teacher led Anna behind the cinder block wall that separated the seating area from the kitchen. Anna saw what she always saw, a sparsely stocked cabinet with donated canned goods, oyster crackers, and a few mismatched packets of hot chocolate. Anna placed her hands on the pantry walls and said the blessing under her breath. Her fingertips vibrated and her heartbeat quickened as she weaved a bit of her mother’s soul into the storeroom. The Weaver’s magic, to do the soul’s bidding, at work once again.

“This is great, thank you,” Anna said to the teacher who smiled back at her appreciatively, “You should see some changes within a day or two. We will keep this fully stocked at all times, and whenever the kids wish to see something new, well, they shall.”

“That’s…that’s wonderful,” the teacher said, “We are tremendously grateful. I wish there were a way to say an appropriate thank-you.”

Anna laughed, “No need, although if you don’t have a mascot already, you might want to consider the Lions…they remind me of my mother,” she smiled hearteningly, as she pictured the woman who’d mothered her fiercely and now ensured many young cubs had their souls fed.