this week before
her high school graduation
with lilacs heavy
in purple bloom
her mother's last breath

This poem is written in memoriam of Nancy Higgins, a woman I knew as a client of the salon these past seven years, but who I also came to know as a mother, an art teacher and a woman much like myself. Nancy died last week, at her home beside the sea, after battling gastric cancer these past two years. I am stunned by the loss of such a beautiful, vibrant soul before her time, my thoughts filled with her soft, sincere words, her lithe body and her warm, heartfelt smile. And my heart aches for her two beautiful daughters, one in college (having taken this last semester off to spend it with her mother), and the younger just one week shy of graduating high school. Two beautiful girls who will proceed from here, encountering each of life's milestones, as well as those small everyday moments, without a mother to share them with.

I will never forget Nancy slipping me--me, just the hair salon receptionist--a 5$ bill, and thanking me for "always being so sweet and so pleasant on the phone." As if she could sense how under-appreciated I was feeling on my job at the time, Nancy went on to tell me that I made a difference, if not to everyone I scheduled appointments for, greeted at the door, smiled at, brought coffee to or helped choose a shampoo, to her. She said, "I love you, Annette. I just love you." I recall tears pooling in my eyes with her sincere acknowledgment.

I never had the chance to know Nancy outside of the salon, the way I wished I had; I didn't go to her house in her last days, as lilacs were blooming all over town, but I did arrange for a stylist to come to her home, do her hair and lift her spirits, and I did think of her every day, and recall her words and her kindnesses that went far beyond that first time that she tipped me--the receptionist--and I did think of her daughters when I heard the news that she had passed, and when I picked lilacs for the kitchen counter, I thought of her light and it filled me with gratitude for even knowing her in the small way that I did. I love you Nancy. I just love you.

leafing through
black and whites of her father
on the waterfront
the longing of a little girl
in mama's blue eyes


This poem was written last spring, but it stings the same as all my spring poems, with the loss of my grandparents. Funny, you would think the fall would do this, but it's the spring that most connects me to my grandparents, maybe because my memories of them are mostly connected to the outdoors, their yard, the spring and things coming to life; Grampa's vegetable garden and Nana's flower gardens.

I lost them both when I was still a teenager and my memories are good ones. But, as my mother shared with me these photos of my grandfather, then a young, dark handsome man, working on the waterfront where he shipped large blocks of granite that were quarried here in Rockport to places as far away as New York City, I realized that my mother had her own memories of her parents that went back further than any of mine. That's when I saw the little girl in her eyes--a little girl missing her daddy.

She says she thinks of her parents more often these days; I suppose she misses them more than ever and that she is hoping she will meet up with them in the end, having now outlived them both in years. I find I am more and more every day preparing for the loss of my own parents even as I am enjoying their company, a few minutes here, a few minutes there, in between work and walking the dog and writing these little poems. So I listen and I laugh and I look at old photos with them, and I try to just be glad for these days, not sad.