What's in a Name? | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: What's in a Name? | Previous Challenge Entry
By Philippa Geaney
03/17/22
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I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral. Perhaps there’s too much of her in me.
As it turns out though, the steadily falling rain conveniently pooled above my cheekbones and took care of any perceived inadequacy.
I was running on stoicism, the unwritten proof of kinship in the family; second only to keeping up appearances.

Ma would have frowned at the umbrellas, many brightly colored instead of respectful black, and tut-tutted at the hem of my long skirt as it brushed the sodden earth. I stared at it thoughtfully and wondered what she’d make of the rain.
She’d likely have huffed over the church’s low attendance, but it wasn’t a bad turnout given her grand old age. Most of her peers were long dead.

I stood beside my three sisters, greeting those who gushed and those who simply nodded their condolences before moving on quickly.

‘I’ll see you at the wake then?’ Each of us seemed to be taking turns in issuing the invitation.
Again, the reply was a gush or a nod.

I longed to go back to Ma’s house and pull on a pair of jeans and a sloppy joe, but Aussies love a party – births, marriages, and deaths. Besides, people hadn’t finished telling my sisters and me about the things our Mum had said or done for them.

It was possibly the end of this pioneering family’s name as we had no living brother. How many years would it take for the plaques dotted on various buildings and parks to mean nothing?
While our forebears hailed mainly from my father’s side, Ma had grabbed the status and run with it, and if the stayers in the area spoke from fact, she’d become the matriarch of the district.

Matriarchs must evolve, establishing their role in the progression of time. As her children, Ma’s role began with her four daughters, and we were the blank pages on which she wrote most of our childhood history before sending us out into the world for others to read.

That night after the final load of glasses and plates had been through the dishwasher and wrapped for removal, and the rain had lifted, we carried our coffee outside to sit under the purple blossoms of Ma’s jacaranda tree.
Tina started to hum a dirge softly.
We sat listening; allowing our history to embrace us. Today, another page in our family lore had been filled.

I began to think aloud, and as always, I searched for the music in words.

I don’t remember introductions
She was there when I arrived.
My father clearly loved her
And she kept us all alive.
So perhaps, I liked the girl.

She knew how we were feeling
She knew where everything was,
She cured hunger, pain, and wheezes
And answered ‘just because.’
And oh – I like the girl.

She warned of snakes and screamed at frogs
And helped us all to read.
We learned that ‘please’ and ‘thank you’
Were as essential as the air we breathed.
And yes – I liked the girl.’

I looked towards my sisters, who smiled, while the oldest lifted and circled her hand in a slight gesture to go on.
Tina continued the dirge, low and long.
‘What’s next Lord?’I whispered.

We learned that she was bossy,
That Christmas was divine
That cooldown corners were permitted
And black puppy dogs were mine.

We learned of God in Heaven
And Him we must obey
But His love for her was obvious
And His mercy He did portray

In her firstborn’s loving presence,
The unfailing tender care.
Before Ma even had a need
Her Estelle would be there.

I turned to my family when Estelle gasped. She leaned over in her chair and wept.
But after a moment she looked up. 'Continue please.'

Of Pamela’s inner beauty – intangible, I know,
But Ma and I had often reflected
Upon its gentle glow.

And Tina’s strength and learning
Ma knew that they were there
And joyfully claimed the credit.
She believed she’d put them there.

Now that she’s gone to Heaven
To discover the Priceless Pearl
I need it well recorded
That I really loved, the girl.

We sat for a long time, not saying a word, acutely aware that we were the products of our past. Not written in ink, but readable and precious, especially in each other’s memory.
Most importantly, though, we knew our names were written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.

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