Giving Thanks

I'd given up hope of being in the hills today - the day I observe my remembrance; the day I try to salve my soul. A day when I look into the burning box of memories and try to piece together a peace.

I thought that this year, maybe every year now, I'd have to find a different way to mourn and to celebrate the loss and the life of my mother, another way to measure the passing of mine. This annual reflection on her birthday has come to mean a lot to me - I feared it another thing lost.
But then the strongest most determined lady I ever knew passed away & something changed - I think my Nan gave me today; she reminded me of the the resolve forged in our bones - the need for a steel that matches the softness of the heart.

 Today on a day when I deserve to hurt metaphor hung heavy about me - the misted shroud the valleys cloaked themselves in, the sunshine trying to break through - the route ahead of me once easy and now looking impossible. 
Leaving the car was a climb into the unknown in many many ways but one that today I knew I needed to try and make. As I made slow progress there were glimpses and flashes - of views and pains, of sadness and happiness. My feet followed a path I've never taken but one I know well - upwards into the cloud, towards the rock, pushing, striving, moving slowly, surely, cautiously - but moving. 
I've said before that I never feel truly alone in the mountains - history, hopes, ghosts and chances all walk with me, tugging on that invisible rope, guiding me, pulling me, steadying me, making me stop, take the time to stare, a weight to gladly carry onward.

Somewhere around the flanks of a raven roosted Crag the swirling of the clouds and my mind seemed to clear, I broke through the inversion. Before me a rock strewn summit, tiny iridescent tarns reflecting azure, skylarks singing on the wing.
The finest of all cathedrals to give thanks in.
We sat a goodly while, me, myself and my ghosts.

Both the women who shaped me from my earliest age are gone from this earthly realm now, yet today they both walked with me a ways. I've romantacised my Grandfather's memory to a level I know simply couldn't be lived up to, but the truth is my life hasn't been one of male role models. In the searching of sepia memories, faded speckled and torn one thing holds true, both these women, women who deeply disliked each other, put that aside because both of them loved me and did the very best they could for me. Wise women would once say there is power in the naming of things; and these women, a mother and a grandmother named me, though decades apart . I still carry my given name - but when I chose to change my family name it was a play on words that felt true, my family name becoming the name my Nan would call me when we were alone, a name that wrapped me in love. When I told my Mum what my new name was she smiled a wry smile and said "well done".
It took me a long time to see that my Mum, cowed, scared and lost still did what she could to protect me, though that often that meant sending me away or things a little boy can't grasp.  & yet, when I was sent away it was to the farm. My Nan's presence was everywhere, strong, loyal, and formidable - a true farming woman, the beating heart of the land. I think she sowed in me values and attributes I've only realised the benefit of in later life.

This has become the day when I introspect, when I pause and ponder, when I wander into the wonder to give thanks and to ask of myself questions I know I'll never find all the answers for.
But today amidst the sorrow and the pain there was happiness, gratitude and love.
Today I answered some questions and gave a lot of thanks.
Today I remembered and today I smiled.