GOLDEN DUST TO GOLDEN DUST

Being a “golden oldie”, I usually read all the little tips for preserving at least a tiny bit of brain power.  Of course, I do not follow all the suggestions, but I have arrived at a “golden rule” of my own:  Learn at least one thing a day.  It can be a new thing, or it can be something I learned in the past but had forgotten.

Today I learned, or re-learned, that snowflakes form around particles of dust or pollen already in the air when the weather conditions are just right.  After they fall to the ground and then melt, the dust returns to dust.  Maybe it is the familiarity of those words, but I find that to be a comforting thought.

By this time in life, I have heard those words too often.  I have come to believe, however, that those folks are not gone from us, but rather have taken a different form.  That’s the Law of Conservation of Matter from that physics course I should have taken.  Beginning our lives as dust, we then become beautiful, unique snowflakes, before returning to dust again.

I do not feel as though my loved ones have left me.  More than ever, I hear their words and feel their presence.  Looking around my messy house, I hear my mom saying once again, “You were raised better than that.”  And of course, she is right, and I smile.  I was raised better than to live in a messy house but living with a man and three rescue dogs had changed my priorities by then.

When I am doing chores, I hear my dad’s voice telling me to wear gloves to protect my hands.  I smile and wear the gloves, most of the time, but especially when I am working in my flower garden, planting what I remember to be my grandmother’s favorite flowers.  They are all with me always.

I am becoming more like them than ever, too.  I remember puzzling over my grandmother softly crying as we sang hymns in the Wise Baptist Church.  I couldn’t understand why she would be crying.  It was just a normal day in church for us, singing the old familiar songs, so why was she crying? Now, though, I cannot sing in church without tears.  In fact, now I even cry a little watching television commercials. Awkward! 

In the mornings, when I go to get my pets out of their sleeping crates, I say, “Good morning, Sunshine!” That’s what she always said when coming to wake me up. That was years ago when I stayed with her for a while so she wouldn’t be alone after my grandfather passed away, much too young from cancer.

Thinking about her, I smile again as I am reminded of the last time we sat together at that church.  I was an adult, just in town from Kansas City for a visit. As the ushers started to pass the collection plate, my grandmother reached for my hand.  Folded in her hand was money she wanted to slip to me to put in the collection.

I patted her hand as I gently pushed it away. My other hand already held my own grown-up money, ready for the collection plate to reach us.  I would always be a child to her, and she would forever be the rock of our entire family to me.  She still is, and that is even though her return to golden dust was decades ago.

In the warm summer months, I can smell the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and I am a teenager again, riding around with the windows down on a Sunday afternoon with my first boyfriend, an early Covid loss. But we are young and carefree once again.

As a “golden oldie”, I have forgotten many things, especially names. However, the truly important times and people that I have loved will be with me always – even till I am golden dust myself.

© Sharon Pigeon