Heavenly tickles deliver annual reminders

Mother’s Day has come and gone, but not without the little “tickle” that occurs every year around this time to remind me my own mother is out there in the ether keeping a watchful eye over her progeny.

There is great irony in the idea that the most unforgettable woman I’ve ever known feels the need to remind me she’ll always be there. She certainly doesn’t need to worry.

This year it came in the form of a lilac outside an open window at work. The bush seemed to bud and blossom all in the same day to fill my office with my mom’s favorite scent as the breeze changed direction in the middle of a long afternoon. She couldn’t have been more present if she were actually standing there.

Mom wasn’t the originator of the “heavenly tickle” in our family, however. My siblings and I first noticed the phenomenon not long after our dad passed away. Even from the great beyond, Dad seemed to operate in a manner entirely consistent with his earthly personality. He’d mess with us by moving stuff around, make us think we’d misplaced something — a wrench, a book, a single sock from a pair — something we’d held in our hands only moments before.

Then, most certainly to his great delight, we would wander all over the house looking for the missing item, only to return to the very same spot to find it exactly where we’d started the search in the first place.

My brother Jeff and I seemed to be regular targets of Dad’s heavenly shenanigans, and it went on for years, right up until Mom passed away. Then it all stopped.

Things were quiet for nearly a year after that, and we presumed Mom and Dad were too busy catching up to mess with us anymore. Then one day as I was riding my bike home from work, I noticed a bright-pink strand of mason’s string running alongside the road, the kind you’d find lining up blocks on a construction site. It had likely unspooled from the bed of some passing pickup as it hurried down the road.

A perennial sucker for any roadside curiosity, I followed it a hundred yards to its end. There, the string terminated in a perfect, script, capital “L.” The monogram was unmistakable, the situation uncanny. I’d seen that signature a thousand times. LaVonne Lorson was near.

It was just four days shy of Mother’s Day that year, but more importantly, it was the very date of my parents’ wedding anniversary. I rerouted my path home that day to stop by the cemetery and let the two of them know I’d gotten their message.

As the youngest in a brood of eight, I’ve never been one to track birthdays or anniversaries. It was such an overwhelming task from the start that I gave up early on and never looked back. Had I been inclined to do so, however, I’d have certainly abandoned the mission by now, given my parents’ 90-some descendants.

I do, however, know for certain May 9 marks the day the whole story officially started. This year marks Mom and Dad’s 80th celebration. I’m pretty certain when the party is over, one or more of us kids is going to get a tickle to make sure we remembered. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad!

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.