Willow's Tribute

Grandmother Willow

(1947-2003)

Grandmother Willow, had her Masters in Music, worked with the Dead Sea Scrolls, and followed a Traditional Wiccan path.

This was written by Adelphos, Grandmother Willow’s son. Her smile was magnetic and contagious. The gleam in her eyes was like a ray of sunlight through the breeze blown autumn leaves. She was a "take me as I am" sort of person. It was always your choice to love her or not. Never did her love feel forced or overbearing, but she would also never give up until it was understood that she did love you unconditionally and without expectation. I never could quite understand how anyone couldn't love her right back, though there were some who didn’t.

Although she was always respectful of another's wishes, or another's sensibilities, she never pretended to be less than what she was. Her soul was joy, her mind wisdom, and her heart a full ocean of love. She took in strays, both people and animal, and loved them in spite of their ability to love themselves.

She created family where there was none, and presented her self as a soothing balm for the wounded heart. Although her life was filled with pain from a collection of illnesses, she did not let it get her down. There were times when the pain from one, or some compilation of illnesses would way lay her for a while, but never stop her. There were other tragedies in her life as well. I knew her when her mother died of cancer.

I knew her when her first husband died in a plane crash, when her second husband died of cancer, and when her father died of complications of Parkinson's. I knew her when her own heart was broken and wounded, and when she herself felt the loss that I feel right now. She came right back every time, a living example of "pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again." I got so used to seeing her pick herself up, I could scarce believe that she was not going to be able to come back from this latest ordeal.

Right now, my heart would beg her to bounce back one more time, be there when I call, hold my hand when I feel sad, listen to my angry ranting and then give some loving understanding response that would make me see through the anger to a truth I had not considered. My heart would beg her not to leave this lost child behind, and yet the wisdom she taught me reminds me that it is her time to go, and it is time to let the seedling of understanding within me grow into the strong oak that she wanted it to become.

As I think about losing her, there is both a void and an overflowing in my heart each at the same time. The void is that she is gone and that I will never again be able to share my earthly life with her. The overflowing is the memory of all that she gave, year, after year, after year. Her generosity surpassed what little material she was able to give. Her generosity was in a listening ear, even when she didn't feel up to it. It was in a reassuring glance at just the right moment. It was in humor, joy, and compassion. Her humor was mischievous, her laughter full blown, uncompromising, and carefree. When it came to knowing how to milk the last drop

of joy from the most mundane human experience, she was a billionaire, and this abundance she was compelled to share.

Even to the last she was giving. Even those caretakers who came to her bedside in her remaining weeks were touched by her, inspired by her, and given joy by her. Even as she was dying she sought to pour out her uncompromising soul to any need that might pass her way. She found hope that medical staff would learn from her illness and that they would gain knowledge to help others who might suffer as she did. She gave comfort and encouragement even to those who had come to comfort her. At a time when she had every reason to give up hope, she commented about how much she loved the magnolia tree which she could barely see
from her hospital window. As she lay in a stark artificial room, she found joy in what little nature she could glimpse.

She loved nature. She loved flowers, particularly sunflowers, herbs, autumn leaves, and home. She was known as Marcy to the world, but those of us closest to her, knew her as Maus, or Nanna Rat. She collected little figurines of mice, hundreds over the years, and delighted in each little story told in art. She loved to joke that mice would take over the world because it says in the Bible you know. . . "Them Eeek, shall inherit the earth."

I have to stop writing this now. Were I to continue, it could become a novel, but I think for now, I've said almost as much as my heart will allow. Will I miss her? From the very longing depths of my soul I will miss her. Yet even as I say this, I know that it is not possible to un-love someone, and once anyone has entered your heart, they will be there forever.

This I know. I will always carry her with me. I will see her wherever I go, in the falling leaves of autumn, and the budding flowers of spring, in sunlight on sunflowers, in waters flowing clean, in smiles, in jokes, and laughter, in little gift store figurines. In times of sorrow and times of joy, in all the coming days of my life, she will be with me. I will miss her for the rest of my life even as forever she has integrated her heart and her soul into my own.