Memorializing

The month of May offers much in the way of remembrance and renewal. We have an annual, communal time of mourning with the passing of Memorial Day, and it’s also nature’s season of rebirth in the Northeast.

In my “collector’s gardens,” as I call them, I find both loss and life emerging simultaneously. Right around the holiday weekend, my perennials tend to display their initial blooms. Some of the first to flower are my beloved irises.

My collection of irises has come from numerous sources, including from my mom, who sourced hers from my father’s mother and grandmother; and from my aunt-in-law, who sourced hers from her own grandmother. Both of these special women carefully divided plants and transported rhizomes to share with me before moving out of their respective, longtime homes. Leaving behind the gardens they had poured countless hours into was painful, yet knowing I would tend to the offshoots of their labor was a small comfort.

As flowers, irises are undoubtedly gorgeous. To me, they’re also infinitely meaningful—so meaningful, in fact, they inspired an essay, which is featured in my first book, Cultivating the Doula Heart: Essentials of Compassionate Care:

Ode to an Iris
There are signs of strong roots as the breeze gently sways the perennial iris. Unflinching near the earth, the graceful oscillation builds upward, as does the colorful display. Off-shoots emerge from the sturdy, deep green foundation. Nearest the ground resides a tightly closed bud, perfect in its anticipation. Full of promise, it quietly awaits its turn in the sunny spotlight.
At its uppermost point, the stem reaches skyward in an unabashedly gorgeous bloom. Soft hues of yellow extend outward against a backdrop of purple speckles and stripes. Each shimmering petal stretches open, edges rolling back slightly in overextension, soaking in sun and exposing sweet nectar to bees, butterflies, and the occasional hummingbird. In the air wafts a deliciously potent aroma that echoes this essence of reaching its prime—the brief rapture of its peak.
Balanced in the middle of the stock, below the radiant blossom, rests a flower that was. Why does this urge arise to pluck it away? Does this sign of impermanence detract from the adjoining display of bright life? Why shouldn’t both exist together, confirming the beauty of the crescendo in their affirmation of life’s fleeting nature?
Is this aging flower shrinking and shriveling in misery? Is it slumped, saddened by decline? Perhaps not. Perhaps this elder bloom is peacefully resting, grateful and proud for having finished its work of beckoning pollinators, ensuring future seasons of growth.
It curls back into itself, gently hugging and creating a twist of color and texture, enveloping all memories of its brief existence. Is there humility in this graceful bow? Generosity? Is there work yet to be done? Wisdom to share? An aspiration to manifest contentment, conveying fertile trust in what is?

There are endless means of memorializing—gardening is but one. I describe a number of “legacy project” options, including gardens, in my newest publication, The Death Doula’s Guide to Living Fully and Dying Prepared, with hopes of encouraging people to create ways to honor enduring bonds and treasured memories.

Memory gardens. When my cousin’s mother-in-law died, I gave her two bleeding heart plants along with my condolences. With help from her young kids, they made a special “Nana Garden” to memorialize her life. Spaces like these can become a place to visit when seeking a sense of connection to someone who has died as well as a chance to witness the seasons and life cycle. Some people add a bench to their memory garden for quiet sits as well as décor, like lighting and chimes. Even if the family leaves the property at some point, they might be able to dig up some perennials for their next home. If not, they leave knowing a part of their person’s essence can continue on in the form of beauty and blossoms.
Death journals. Similar to my death journal—a scrapbook in which I store notes, quotes, poetry, song lyrics, mementos, and instructions for my care—you can create your own assortment of offerings. You might make one death journal for all your loved ones (with general or individual messages contained within it), or you might make a number of smaller keepsakes for different people—each with its own unique flair that honors the relationship you share.
Cookbooks. Many of us demonstrate care to others through cooking. Whether it’s a favorite birthday cake or a hearty casserole, the thought and energy we put into making a special treat or meal often feels like love manifested. Many treasured holidays and traditions showcase certain menu items. Do you enjoy cooking or baking? If so, think about your personal specialties. What are you known for in terms of your culinary skills? What do your loved ones regularly request? Some recipes have been passed down from generation to generation, while others might be all your own. You can capture them within a legacy cookbook. Sprinkle in generous helpings of memories associated with the meals and “pro tips” for those who will receive it.
Handmade and heartfelt gifts. Are you a quilter or do you know someone skilled in sewing who might want to assist you with a project? Some people turn a person’s collection of souvenir T-shirts into a patchwork quilt. Others might incorporate signature clothing items, like a comfy bathrobe, favorite sweater, and lap blanket, into a special keepsake like a “bereavement bear” (a stuffed bear made with chosen fabrics). I commissioned a friend to turn one of my deceased grandfather’s flannel shirts into a pillow for my grandmother so she could squeeze it when her arms felt empty. You might also consider plaster molds—perhaps of your hand holding a beloved’s or a fingerprint mold that might be worn as jewelry. “Thought rocks” can be a nice, simple activity as well. Collect rocks that have a somewhat flat surface and paint or write messages of affection or inspiration on them, either for someone in particular or loved ones in general.

How do you celebrate the impact beloveds have had on your life? How might you want to be remembered in the minds and hearts of others? Take a few minutes to ponder these memorial projects and any others that might come to mind…

What appeals? What doesn’t?

Memento mori. ~Francesca

Whether you’re interested in exploring mortality, providing care to others facing the end of life, or you’re seeking more meaning and purpose in the here and now, this interactive workbook offers practical skills and profound insight to help you move beyond fear and nurture inner strength.

Written by a doula and infused with customizable approaches, this gentle guide invites you to process your life and inner workings, build a vital support network, and draft informative wishes for your final chapter—whatever your current age and health status.

Completing this workbook is a brave act of preparedness. You will tap into deep truths and poignant memories on each page, leaving you feeling lighter and less burdened. Most importantly, you’ll find your best way to live fully and die prepared.

1 thought on “Memorializing”

  1. What a lovely person I have the perviledge of giving birth too.
    My wonderful sweet child of mine. XOXO 😘

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