Light the Candles

The other day, my friend Carly sent me an email with pictures she was eager to share showing her regular, everyday mantle illuminated with candles. I immediately wrote her back and asked, "What was the occasion?" and she replied that a friend was over and, for no particular reason, thought it would be a good idea.

Indeed, it was ... and her little relay of this fraction of time in her home took me back to a conversation I had with my mother in the early days of her illness.

I remember the day in which I helped her into a bubble bath which I had prepared for her in the beautiful, deep tub in her master bedroom. I added lavender and rosemary oil drops and then proceeded to hunt for candles throughout the house. It seemed that we needed to dim the lights so that my ailing mother could find a moment's peace from the pain, stress and pressure of the shards of reality she faced with her cancer diagnosis looming overhead.

My parent's post-children home was somehow transformed into a showpiece of "look-don't-touch" finery. The carpets, sofas and piano were white, with only hints of color in the accent pillows and throw blankets and area rugs. But, yes, in the home there were candles ... everywhere. In every room, they were placed artistically on display shelves and in between books which were never read, and adjacent to incomplete photo albums and random curios. Looking back, I see that the real "living" in that grand home really only happened in a few square feet, around the kitchen eating nook or the adjacent TV room. The rest of the house stayed empty and still, awaiting someone somewhere to admire the silent beauty of it all. The good china was never used, the guest towels stayed untouched, and the candles were never lit.

That day, I gathered up every candle I could carry and brought them to the ledge of my mother's bath. I lit them, maybe 30 in all -- in different colors, heights and scents. My mother began to protest the use of the "good" candles, and then caught herself in the moment and stopped short of uttering her complaint. Her pale and sickly demeanor was magically illuminated into a golden hue of health, the enchanting flickering light seemed to dance some stresses from her eyes. The air was rich with a fragrance combination I can never forget-- lavender, rosemary, candle wax and burning wicks. I swear I can even gather in deep breaths of good life in the mix from that moment.

Mom said, "Why did I wait to have cancer to light my beautiful candles?" There were no spoken words between us after she asked the question which hung in the air before boring a place deep into my soul's memory. She knew what I now know, too, that we don't need a reason to drink in a moment of calm and beauty. Carly knows it, too ... and I hope her mantle is illuminated for many days to come.