Susan MacNeil
The town of Stockbridge was a must-visit destination for Mom and me. Steeped in the history of Norman Rockwell’s art studio and home, we made our annual holiday pilgrimage to The Red Lion Inn. The forecast determined whether we could catch a visit with Santa, but if the weather didn’t cooperate, then a photo op standing next to the lobby Christmas tree was second choice. Over the last decade of Mom’s life, we traveled to the Inn at least once every year to embrace three centuries of welcome to weary travelers.
Mom was someone whose personal philosophy filled every day with the promise of gratitude for yet another adventure. Thus our mystery rides were built around a special meal in a special place, and Mom declared you couldn’t get more special than the Inn. I will never forget the first time we stood at the base of the stairs flanked by those iconic stone lion guardians.
“Well, hello! How are you today? You’re doing a good job of guarding. I’ll see you when we’re done,” Mom said.
Until she reached age 85, the stairs were never an issue. But eventually I held her hand and we walked up together, one step at a time.
The manicured view that greeted us fed her soul before lunch satisfied our appetites. Restored to grandeur, the Inn welcomed us, and Mom exclaimed that she felt as though she was either in a movie or a dream. Before we departed, she required a visit to the gift shop to purchase the perfect keepsake for me, tucked inside its own bag. “Save this for later as a surprise when you’re home,” she’d instruct. During our last visit on New Year’s Eve of 2021, it was a felted red cardinal. She got one for herself so we could both smile at the same memory.
I didn’t know that this would be our last trip to the Inn, the gift shop, the lions. On the way home, listening to the Rosemary Clooney Pandora radio station, Mom did something she’d never done in ten years. She fell asleep. She was 90 years old and her enthusiasm for life hadn’t waned, yet to sleep in the car was not something she’d ever do because she loved to imprint the view from every mile onto her memory.
Mom died twenty-five days later. We held her funeral on Valentine’s Day, an appropriate recognition of the love she gave to others. Upon cleaning out her apartment, I found all the mementoes from every gift shop we ever visited. Her Christmas decorations were still up, and there on her tabletop tree I discovered the felted cardinal she’d brought home from the Inn.
On the tag she’d made a note. In shaky handwriting she inscribed, “Red Lion Inn. Susan and I. 12/31/21.” Next to it she drew a heart. It now hangs in my car as a daily reminder of our last mystery ride together.
I just couldn’t bear to return for the holidays in 2022. But I have everlasting memories…of lions, Stockbridge in winter, stately Christmas trees, blazing fireplace. And my mother’s enduring love.