My Mother in Heaven: A Prose Poem

My Mother in Heaven

A Prose Poem

By Jane Gilgun

This is a prose poem about my mother’s life in heaven, where she relives happy memories and unhappy events on earth turn out as she had hoped. Rose Gilgun died more than three year ago. I hope she has in heaven what she loved about life on earth—flowers, family, food, friends.

 

About the Author

Jane Gilgun writes poetry, does video poems, takes landscapes photos, and writes just about every day. Jane wrote a children’s book in honor of her mother called The Picking Flower Garden.

See her other poems, articles, books, and children’s stories on Amazon Kindle, iBooks, Nook, & scribd.com.

My Mother in Heaven

A Prose Poem

 I felt like talking to my mother and thought I’d phone. Then I remembered that she died more than three years ago. She talked to me anyway. She said she’s in heaven and has never been happier. My father is with her. He no longer has false teeth, and sad memories no longer haunt him. He is at peace.

My mother is surrounded by flowers. She tends them every day. It is warm, the sky is blue, and the sun shines. People from her past come by to look at her gardens and talk.

The flowers never die. They simply change as time goes on. She thinks they transform themselves according to what she wants from them, but she is not sure. All mysteries are not solved in heaven.

Her gardens are like the gardens she grew in the Peace Dale Rotary for decades, across from her house, where she doesn’t actually live. She couldn’t tell me where she lives but wherever it is, she enjoys herself. Even the liquor store is there on the rotary, and the doughnut shop. The liquor is free and does not make you drunk. The donuts are free and do not make you fat. Not one has to go to the bathroom. She doesn’t understand that, but that’s how it is. No one has to shower, wash, or brush teeth, but people do it anyway because it feels good.

Whenever she wants, she visits her mother and father and two brothers who died in infancy, and everyone else she had ever loved and missed when she lived in Peace Dale, like her sisters and brothers and the people they married and their children who are no longer on earth. They get together for meatballs, spaghetti, biscotti, salad dressed with oil and vinegar, and the rest of the huge list of Italian food they love. It’s great not to feel full and eat what you want and it tastes so good. No worries about cholesterol in heaven.

Heaven is living all your happy memories and hopes. When she is with her parents, for example, she sometimes is a little girl of two or three. Other times, she is a teenager, sometimes a happy adult, sometimes weighted down with worry and things turn our all right. She is amazed at how she and they change ages and appearances depending upon her own memories and wishes.

With my father, she is mostly in her early twenties, before they had children. They go for walks, read, tend the yard and house, and snuggle. Sometimes they are older, even in their seventies, as they take walks and visit with people.

Dad spends a lot of time with his mother. She told him how sad she was that she had to leave him when he was only three, but that she always looked out for him. He looked for his father in heaven, but he could not find him. He suspects that his father didn’t make it. Maybe he is working on getting in.

Jesus is one of the crowd. He spends most of his time making furniture. Right now he’s making a rocking chair. His furniture is everywhere in heaven. He always has a project. He doesn’t have to preach or lead anymore because everyone in heaven already gets his messages.

Mom said she is glad I think of her. She thinks of me all the time. She wants us to be together again, but only when the time comes. She understands there are things I want to do on earth.

Here’s to my mother, who I hope is in this kind of heaven.