The Mistress of Revels (July 2-6)

I

After meeting Leah at the Jubilee! service and lunching at Early Girl, my niece asked, "Well, what did you think of her?"

"I think you're lucky," I said. "If I had met Leah in my own life, I would have wanted to make her my friend. What a wonderful mother-in-law she will make you."

II

At the wedding, Leah became, as my brother called her, "The Mistress of Revels."

The Mistress of Revels

As radiant as the bride and groom, she loved telling me a story about her oldest son. He had long told her he would never marry and he didn't want children. But when he came home from a weekend bluegrass festival and told his mother about meeting my niece, she said she knew he had found his partner.

And he had.

And they had children.

And she and they were happy.

III

Four years later, when my sister-in-law died suddenly, Leah, without even being asked, drove from North Carolina to my brother's in Alabama, where she organized the kitchen, supervised the children, answered the phone, packed portions of funeral-baked goods for the freezer, and quietly shepherded the family through a difficult time. She did what everyone needed: she brought calm control and love into the house. I have never forgotten her generosity.

IV

The resident grandmother to my niece's and nephew's children, who called her Nana, Leah entertained them with her husband at home in Asheville or came often to their home in Brevard. She crafted, cooked, hiked, adventured, dog-sat, instructed, gardened, corrected, bathed -- in short, she loved those children wholly and fiercely.

She and they made me feel like one of theirs when I visited twice for Thanksgiving, the last time this past November.

Thanksgiving 2014

V

Then, only eight years after my sister-in-law's death, Leah too died suddenly and unexpectedly ten days ago, a shock to her husband and their two children, her oldest sons and their families, and her six brothers and sisters and their families.

new mothers-in-law dance with sons and a father dances with daughter

There is about such a death the belief that with more time comes more opportunity to prepare for the loss. I do not know, but I do know that prolonged suffering isn't any more natural than accident or aneurysm. The result is the same.

VI

On July 4, Leah's family gathered in Brevard to mourn and celebrate a life well lived. The stories of her love and generosity and kindness abounded: her gift of a ride, her hat and scarf, and a few dollars so a Mexican laborer might be less cold as he waited to thumb a further ride home; her offer to clean a new co-worker's plant in his office, leading to her second, happy, long-term marriage; her courage as a young single mother with two rambunctious boys; her penchant for recycling thrift store finds and delighting others with them; her work to help find mortgages for those who might otherwise not get them; her righteous anger and deep love of her large extended family.

family

VII

On my drive to North Carolina for the family gathering, rain spat and poured, clouding the vistas and driving water madly through the Ocoee, roiling like cafe au lait through the gorge. On my return three days later, the water had greened and pockets of sun broke through.

Grief shared had become mutual memory and joy.

VIII

At home again, I discovered that Ocoee derives from the Cherokee U-wa-go, meaning "apricot place," the apricot being Passiflora incarnata or wild passion flower vine, a favorite of mine along the lakes and ponds where I roam. The vine spreads generously wherever it can and produces beautiful, complicated, layered flowers -- like Leah, whose radiance shone in every circumstance of her life, and still shines in those she loved and knew.

Passiflora incarnata