Do You Still Laugh? Do You Still Sing? by Melinda Augustina (robert munsch read aloud .txt) 📖

from the musical "The Wizard" c 1998

My flat vision was replaced with depth, and roundness, and wonder. The invisible threads of connection were profoundly obvious.

When we arrived at her home I could see out the dining room window - the beauty of the magnolia tree. I saw how she had planted it so it would fill the dining room window with blossoms by day, and how she had placed an outside light “just so” as to shine on the tree at night. It is a living painting, framed perfectly by the window frame. I could see, not just the petals on the blossoms, but inside the infinite depth and layers that create one petal. I was not just noticing how thick the bark is on the tree, but that every fold and indention is a universe in and of itself. Not just how deep the sky - but I was in the sky and on the earth at the same time.

This sense of wonder lasted for several weeks.


Was that profound level of beauty and softness her daily experience of life? That depth and that magic and that profound beauty?

Was it always like that for her and was I just now seeing it?

I have no way of knowing.

If so, I am the daughter of an even more extraordinary woman than I imagined.


I’ve read about the pulling back that people do as they are dying. You can see it in their behavior sometimes months before they die, sometimes only days. They are quite irritated, they might stop creating conversation - can’t be pulled into ideas or thoughts about the world - getting ready for the transition. My mother did some of that before we even knew that she was ill. But in the last moments of her life she stayed connected. Her consciousness was brave, present and alert, connected. And I begin to wonder now if there isn’t a different way to die. A way that maintains the energetic connection. A way that lifts some of the veil between the two worlds. I don’t know - I’m just curious.

She was born on what astrologist Gary Goldschneider calls “The Day of the Blissful Wizard”. She carried a gift of many synchronous, magical, beautiful qualities through the lives of hundreds of people. Her power combined with mine was pretty fun at times. We could bring in telephone calls, create great acting performances, career opportunities, blow open heavy doors . . . oops!

I notice now that anything we united on, we accomplished.


My mother died as she had lived - soft, magical and full of love.

My friends, clients and colleagues meet my mother now in articles and photographs, and I notice that I still ask, “Isn’t she beautiful?” and they say “Oh my God! Yes! She’s gorgeous!”

-and that is still the right answer.

The letters.

Three days after her passing I began a spontaneous writing of letters to her that would last for several weeks. For her funeral, I was put in charge of working with the choral conductor and choosing music. In our house if you were put in charge of something, all that meant was you were in charge of listening to everyone tell you what they thought you should do. It was easy for me to choose the songs, but “we” were having difficulties about those choices. (It can get rather taxing when a musician dies.) The music became the place everyone funneled their emotions and there I was in the middle of the war.

So, like many times in my life, I wrote to her. It was 4 am, the morning of the funeral when I began the first letter. Several pages and sobs later it was 6 am when I finished it. I did nothing else to resolve the conflicts - giving it all up to fate, or whatever, or whomever takes over when you give it all up.

By 10 am, with no more effort on my part, everything was worked out and each student got to make the contribution they wanted to make.

Most of the letters are reprinted here. You'll notice that in my own round-about path I pass through many of Elizabeth Kubler Ross' stages of grief. And so will you. In your own time and in your own way. All I can say, is continue to create peace for yourself as the drama plays out.

Denial

Dear Mother,

It’s so hard to know at this moment whether I’m doing the right things. Spontaneous, right action is beautiful when people allow it and trust. Everything else is pure hell.

I can only imagine how many times you wanted to express the depth of your love for us, your beautiful intelligence and how our family culture made fun of that.

I hate that part of our way of interacting. The chorale director wants his idea of a musically perfect funeral, which is his fine, and yet the family must be honored. I’m wondering how to do both so everyone is happy. Father Tank said, “Well, you can’t.”

What should I do? I want your love expressed. Period.


Artists are so temperamental. Even Michele falls to competition when Dean arrives.

I remember your perfect example to me - to ignore unfair things and to take “the high road”, knowing it will all work out in the long run. I have done that many times - that “high road” seems a little overrated to me right now. Right now I want to fight for what seems right.

I remember a few times when I saw you treated badly by your peers or by our family. I remember the hurt in your heart. You pretended you did not care and I know that was not true. No one can ignore that sort of hurt. Genius rarely has a comfortable home.


How many times I put off sharing myself with you until I had accomplished more - until I could surprise you with something I felt you would be really proud of. Bad strategy. How was I to know you were curious about every little detail up or down?

I love the soul of who you are. I love the woman I looked up to as a little girl. You were so beautiful and perfect (well, to me you were perfect). Like a movie star in a most beautiful movie.

Thank you.

Thank you for the beauty in so many forms - the food, the furniture, the flowers, the happiness, the magic, the love.


Thank you for taking me to Italy. Thank you for noticing my talent and for believing in me. Thank you for the
love and the most splendid example of softness you showed me in the last moments of your life.

I want to make sure people feel that now. That they don’t have to wait for a death.

I never felt that before. That was the real thing. Nothing else mattered. The fullness of your love finally expressed. The fullness finally expressed with no fear, no worry, nothing - only the fullness of life for the sake of the fullness of life.

I see now that I wasn’t who you needed me to be at times. I’m sorry for that. Why do we withhold our love from others? A bargaining chip perhaps. Pppllllbbbbbbbbbbbb.


A Buddhist nun once told me that I was born to learn to keep my heart open no matter what - that that is my big lesson in life. When she told me that I wondered, “If that’s what I’m born to learn - what happens after I learn that - then do I die?”

Some people say you die after you learn all the lessons you came here to learn. Hmmm. That must be why I always learn the hard way. I don’t want to die. I want to love forever. I don’t want to be noble in those moments - I want to be real.

And I want to show the world what you showed me in those last few minutes.


I have always wanted to show the world what you and Daddy created. You showed me that freedom and love were possible at the same time. I always felt my role in life would be to share our story in the biggest possible way with millions of people. I simply thought you would be with me while I did it.

I know you are here - I feel you. I could always feel you in Chicago, in Austin, in Dallas – everywhere. I imagine this will be different. I keep thinking how I wanted to show you off to the world.

You are so beautiful. Thanks for letting me sing so softly in your ear - thanks for letting me say I love you. Thanks for letting me love you. What a gift.


Thanks for singing to me - thanks for filling our house with music - thanks for filling my heart with harmony.

Thanks for all of your support, belief, disbelief and laughter.

Thanks for showing me your power that day when the door blew open. Just think what else we can do - just imagine. It’s going to be fun.

It’s my favorite time of the day - early, early morning. Precious time before the world wakes up. Remember how I would get up early in the morning to have breakfast with you and Daddy? It was the only time I could have you both to myself and I loved that. I’m sure you figured that out. Thanks for letting me be there.


Uh - oh - here it comes. Everybody’s waking up now - time for the rambunctious part of the day. Including children, there must be about 15 people in the house right now. Our version of normal.

Thank you for helping me to see the rhythms of natural law. Thanks for helping me to respect them - and thanks for your patience while I tried to defy them all.

You are a genius. You are the blissful wizard. I am honored to be your daughter. I love you. I’m looking forward to the future.

M.


Mother,