Tag: Creative writing

Day 1 and 2- Israel Trip

The first two days are merged into a blurry singular long and exhausting trip!

I left Bellingham at 6am on the shuttle. My seasick patch had not quite engaged apparently — I got fairly queasy but managed to make it without creating a memory that involves me puking at some point. Most of my travel memories are punctuated with puke stories.

I checked my bag and headed to the gate to wait for Savannah to arrive. I ate a bit of breakfast and we met up, then soon realized our gate had been moved to the opposite end — so back we went.

We tried multiple charging stations before successfully recharging all our devices. And off we flew. Five and a half hours to New York. Pretty uneventful. I watched a couple movies and relaxed.

Upon arrival at JFK we ate at the Five Burroughs Hall. Greek Mediterranean was my choice – tuning up for Israel! Hummus. Babaganush. Pita. Yum!!

Before we knew it we were getting a second X-ray screening and boarding the ten hour flight to Tel Aviv.

It was the longest ten hours of my life. I felt fidgety- like restless legs — could not get comfortable enough. Watched a movie called Lion. So well done! I appreciate true stories. And subtitles.

We could watch the flight progress around the globe at a snails pace! We got up. We sat down. We tried to eat but it was not good food. We got up some more. We stretched. We nearly cried. It was super hard to get anywhere near comfortable and falling asleep seemed impossible.

Finally finally we were in Israeli airspace. At that point NO ONE can be out of their seat. For any reason. So the final bathroom call was a line down either side awaiting their final flush. Then as we were landing a lady got sick and got up and people were yelling at her to sit down.

Once we landed we met our travel company rep in baggage claim. A thirty minute bus ride took us to our first destination- Herods in Tel Aviv. A beautiful old resort hotel right on the beach of the Mediterranean Sea. The cool breezes and smells of sunshine filled us up with joy at having made it!

We attended a delicious buffet dinner then walked in the post sunset sandy beach. Picked up shells. Admired the amenities. And now – having been awake over 24 hours it’s time to crash. For this is not meant to be a relaxing vacation but a spiritual experience and an historical treasure of activity and learning and experiencing the Holy Land!

Preparations- Israel 2018

Today was final preparation day. After taking care of upcoming art projects I had several errands for the trip tomorrow.

Stopped at Wells Fargo to get the foreign money I had ordered – so pretty!

I kind of expected shekels to still be in silver coin and come in a little bag like bible stories! But of course that would be silly!

Next stop was my moms gravesite. My son Mark and I stopped to put some bling on her grave from my daughter. I wanted to tell her goodbye before we make this big trip that is actually for her.

For years she kept telling me she wished I could go to Israel. She, who never left the United States, watched televangelists religiously (pun?) and while she hated traveling herself she loved the idea of me going there. And then there was the shofar incident.

There is one ministry that offers a shofar for a big donation. For months all she talked about was wanting to donate so she could get that rams horn. I ignored all such requests from her thinking she would lose interest. It was just a phase. Why did a white Christian elderly lady want a shofar? She couldn’t explain so I continued to ignore until she finally wore me down. I made the donation ONLY after making the lady on the phone verify that a shofar was in their possession and that it was guaranteed authentic. She verified. I donated (my mom donated– I just did the transaction). I’m telling you — I know it seems crazy but at that point I figured what the heck. Give her anything she wants– she sits at home alone all day and night. She would do it for me. She is obviously touched by this item and life is short.

So we waited. And waited. And weeks went by. No shofar. I called. Shofars are in customs. Just give them time to process. We wait. She worries. I call. No shofar.

Finally I call and tell them their ministry reputation is now tainted. They lied when they said they were immediately available. I demanded they refund the shofar money and stop lying to little old ladies who had nothing better to do. And I told my mom I would just go to Israel and get her one!

That was a year ago. She called me every time there was an announcement that another tour was being planned. I checked into several ministries who do tours but they were so expensive I couldn’t do it. For months she waited for me to go but I struggled with finding a legitimate and affordable tour and I didn’t want to go alone. Usually I would want to travel alone but not for this. So I invited my niece Savannah, my moms first grandchild, to go along too.

I got the flights and found America Israel Tours out of California it has good reviews so I emailed and got a response from a lady named Pauline Pancake. Seriously. Well that sounded legit, right?? So I read more reviews and talked to someone other than Ms. Pancake- I would seriously change my name!

My mom was ecstatic. Multiple times she made me promise to get a shofar. I promised. But then she said she wanted a big one! Like how big? BIG! She said. Like four feet long! I told her that won’t fit in my suitcase. She didn’t care about the trivia if that. A big one. I told her one foot. She said big. I didn’t answer.

I gave her the itinerary two weeks ago so she could follow along and know which sites we would visit each day. She was really interested in us going to swim in the Dead Sea and going to the spa.

When she suddenly had a heart attack October 13 people asked if I was going to cancel. I said heck no – the woman wants her shofar and I’m going for her so no cancelling. I sat next to her bed and held her hand on October 15. I told her I wasn’t cancelling. Well for one thing I had flight insurance but had skipped the trip insurance. She didn’t really say much.

The next day I brought her home from the hospital. And she died. And now I have a journey to take and I imagine her with Jesus, the ultimate Israel tour guide, following our journey.

And her shofar will be integrated into her headstone when we return. It won’t be four feet long but it will be beautiful. And she will be glad.

Follow us as we travel šŸ’•

Ā©Belindabotzong2018

The Original

One of a kind

Larger than life

Hilarious

Recurring descriptions on sympathy cards covered in flowery words

Kindnesses and thoughts from those left behind

She was an original

She wasn’t allowed to drive due to seizures

But she bought a tiny yellow Smart Car šŸš— for me to drive her around in and named it Buttercup

Her numerous doctors appointments were filled with her bragging about her Buttercup. She would get doctors and techs to come outside to see her Buttercup. The eyelashes my uncle put on drew all manner of attention. She, who otherwise was a more solitary being, loved and delighted in the attention Buttercup drew. People waved, stared, smiled and honked. People waved us over to ask about Buttercup. At the gas station, without fail, everyone wanted to know gas mileage and factoids.

She loved Buttercup and was always praising her for her looks and charm while I was cursing the horrible engineering that jarred my kidneys over every small bump. Not to mention the railroad tracks, bridge transitions, and potholes. French people should stick to making wine and cheese I would tell her. She would defend that Buttercup like a mother cub and hated my insults. Last month she made me get a license plate that said “BTTRKUP”- I had just installed it on our last scenic.

Her hair was a huge disappointment to her. As it thinned from over-processing and with age she was in constant distress over her “bald spot”. Every outing started with coaxing those remaining strands of hair into an illusion of lusciousness. Only my sister, a hairdresser, could pull off that magic trick. Then I would have to spray VO5 until I was gasping for air. It is the smell of my childhood – hairspray and Coty Wild Musk.

She loved loved loved bling and coordinated outfits. The collection of earrings we gathered from around the world was astounding. Funky. Dangling. Shiny. Butterflies. Ladybugs. Feathers. Tacky. Holiday themes. Nothing was too snazzy for her.

She had shoes in every color to match her outfits and loved to put little tiny clippies all over in her perfectly coiffed hairdo.

Rhinestones and ripped jeans. V-neck T-shirt’s in every color – Plus tie dye.

No one was their own name. We were all interchangeable in our real names but nicknames were all our own. Melissa. Pete. Oodie. Bunny. Gina. Booboo.

Shopaholic in those catalogs in the mail. Collections. Oriental trading. Piles and piles of amazing things that everyone needs and apparently didn’t even know you wanted– the possibility of owning a gun shaped toilet plunger should delight any redneck in the family. And if she knew you liked a certain thing it became her mission to purchase any possible item in that category. I like strawberries and have had that theme in mind for my kitchen since I was 12. She bought fairy strawberries. Twice. She bought a knife holder strawberry. Salt and pepper strawberries. Everything strawberries. She collected chickens. 25 years ago she worked in a hatchery and thus began the quest to own any item with a chicken motif. Years and years friend and relations poured their hearts into chickens. My aunt has a horse. My mom was set on the idea that this translates to wanting anything with a horse design. My aunt would disagree and this befuddled my mom’s way of thinking. She bought Superman socks for one of my coworkers because he was so sweet and he kinda looked like Superman. And Batman socks with capes on them for another who runs marathons because she thought that would inspire him to run better. Not.

She was humiliating – telling all her doctors that I was so smart and then arguing if I tried to interpret her rants and round about stories filled with all her nonsense words for them. She called out to strangers thinking they were someone she knew. So many times. It was embarrassing. She loved sayings that were inappropriate or off the wall. “Colder than a witches hoohoo” – bring just the tip of an iceberg. Saying words incorrectly on purpose brought her great joy. Brefkast. Really?

She could peel a ten pound bag of potatoes in minutes and was in a constant search for the ultimate spud peeling knife. Absolutely refused a vegetable peeler. And she diced those spuds into perfect cubes and fried them up for everyone.

Potato salad and baked beans. Pasta salad and macaroni and cheese. The staples of every bbq or feast. Cookies cakes and pies. Yum!

She got into certain “kicks” with food. I was in charge of groceries and she would go for weeks at a time wanting specific cereal or bread or whatever. The most recent was Raisin Bran with bananas. Before that it was frosted mini wheats tiny bites Only!! Groceries were a subject of contention with us. I celebrate instacart and click list as if they were nobel prize material. She despised that she couldn’t go pick out her own groceries. Constantly complaining about the size -flavor -color -quality -brand of everything.

She suffered with pain, seizures, arthritis, uncontrolled hypertension and poor nutrition choices. She fought the doctors and nurses. She adored the receptionist at the nephrologist. She could be rude or take them in like family. No matter what she was in charge.

One of a kind original. Gooie. My mom.

Ā©Belindabotzong2018

And then what happened?

Normal returns

A solid week of grieving

Clinging to ideal memories

Visualizing complete and perfect healing

Sharing words of comfort, wisdom, hopes, and fears

Laughing and crying til there are no more tears

A shiny pink casket

A brilliant sunny day highlighted in gold, red, and orange Autumn leaves

A song, a speech, a memory poured out between sobs. Exhortation to believe in Jesus and heaven and forgiveness.

Staring then cleaning. Phone calls and emails. Conversations filled with her voice as we reminisce and remember

Together and apart so much to do

Then Monday comes. The house is empty. The trash cans full to overflowing. The shredding and burning complete. The photos sorted and memories shared. The echoes of a life hard fought.

And our “new normal” begins with an empty spot where there are no more phone calls missed. No more voice mails that start out “Hey…”. No more doctors appointments, lunches, scenics.

She’s on her final journey to somewhere even more beautiful than her beloved Sedro-Woolley where she was born, where she raised five children, and where she died in what she thought was heaven on earth.

Now she sees clearly His face, their faces, and she sees the spectacular home He and they have prepared for her. A mansion. No tears. No pain. Just love and joy and peace. Pure love and pure joy and pure peace.

Off to work we go. Loving you and others. The Lord. My mom.

Ā©Belindabotzong2018

Lists

Where do you begin?

Where does it all end?

What does it all mean?

We stood there the day after

Looking at each other

Them looking at me to lead them

Asking what to do

Where to start

How do I know the answer?

What thought process do I go through to figure it all out

Minds covered in haze

Hearts filled with grief

Thoughts and decisions covered in sorrow

Heart aching with loss

We all dug in with both hands

Sorting and sorting and boxing and dumping and keeping and tossing and loading and donating and discussing.

Rule number one — tell me what item is important to you and put your name on it

Rule number two — make a box to fill

Questions arise

Pictures? — we will pile all the boxes of pictures to distribute later. We will have a ceremony after the burial where we go through them together. This morphs as hours go by

Documents? Shred? Burn? There are so many. Then so many more. Medical papers. Receipts. Piles and piles.

Another plan is made. We will have a bonfire. Burn all the documents and as we sit around the fire we will sort the photos. Each person will have a beautiful box to fill with theirs. This will allow us to reminisce and remember.

Greeting cards? There are hundreds. Letters. Notes. Notebooks. At least a hundred little spiral notebooks and notepads. Address labels? We are talking a thousand. Piles and piles. And piles.

The notepads are full of lists – bills, groceries, peoples names and addresses and phone numbers. Repetitive. Historical. Facts. Figures. Ideas.

Paper clips? Tools? Batteries. So many batteries. Tassels? That one got us laughing. What the heck?

Phone calls need to be made. There’s nothing like calling government agencies and their 1-800 numbers. Exasperating. Get through. Get on hold. Get disconnected. Redial. Re-enter. Remain sane. Reach one of the kindest people in the world who efficiently cancels the 38 year long pension in about 38 seconds. The VA is highly efficient and friendly as they end that monthly stipend with a “God bless you”. Another thing checked off the list. Meds by mail. Check. Cable. Check. Lawyer. Check. Bank. Check. Phone. Check. Check. Check. The list grows shorter then grows longer. So much to do. So much to think about.

Estate sale. Realtor. Lawyers. Meetings and appointments.

As the list changes everyone else is using the physical energy to load. And box and bag and load some more. Calls are made to donate medical equipment. Four walkers. A wheelchair. Crutches. Shower chair. Toilet raiser- bought just hours before she died. Piles of glucose monitors, blood pressure cuffs and all manner of joint stabilizers and ortho equipment.

Beds and chairs and dishes. Pots and pans and bowls and kitchen gadgets galore. Furniture and furnishings. Toothpaste and shampoo and bars of soap.

Donations to the humane society thrift store. Boxes of clothes. Loads to the dump. A garage filled with estate sale items. Boxes filled with canned and dried food donated to the food bank. Mementos kept and discovered and shared.

Bursts of tears. Bursts of laughter. People stopping by. Nieces. Cousins. Neighbors.

The mind can not comprehend the amount of physical labor, the depth of emotional storm, the ache that’s being covered by action. The knowledge that when the action stops the ache will increase and overwhelm.

Most of my Saturdays were spent with her, sometimes hours on end. Sometimes just a short visit. My calendar is filled with upcoming doctors appointments that will now be cancelled. Our trip to Israel stays on the books but she won’t hear from us about our great adventure. She was going to follow our itinerary daily to understand where we were that day. Nazareth. Galilee. Floating in the Dead Sea. Crying at the tomb of Jesus.

We all have to go through the loss of parents at some point. It’s enormous. As our often dysfunctional family goes through all these worldly goods that sustained her life and lifestyle I pray God’s grace as we patiently and tenderly grieve together, forgive one another, and move forward together.

Proverbs 31

ā€œShe gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family and portions for her female servants. She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard. She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks.

She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.

She makes coverings for her bed; she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: ā€œMany women do noble things, but you surpass them all.ā€ Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.ā€

ā€­ā€­Proverbsā€¬ ā€­31:15-17, 20, 22, 25-26, 28-31ā€¬ ā€­NIVā€¬ā€¬

Ā©belindabotzong2018

90-day Supply

The way my mind works this could be a disturbing art piece.

I am at the police station where you can drop off prescription drugs and over the counter medications and supplements.

They gave me a little paper bag to open all the containers and dump. That full, I went to ask for another and yet another. Then I thought of all the colors and dumped them all out again so I could take a photo because they are so beautiful.

They were to keep my mom going. Blood pressure. Kidney protection. Seizures. Arthritis. Pain. Digestion. Allergies. A 90-day-supply to keep her ticking.

They represent so many things. Years of battling against chronic disease. Years of research and development. Thousands of dollars spent to treat, prevent, or slow down the progression of illnesses.

But there is no magic pill to combat the years and choices and genetics and the design. We are made to deteriorate over time because we live in a fallen world.

The only way to end suffering is to finally die. We can work out and eat right and take supplements and never need to seek medical treatment. But in the end it all leads to the same outcome. Death.

The question becomes where do you spend eternity. It lasts a lot longer than the minutes we spend in this body.

Jesus.

Ā©Belindabotzong2018

Get Over It

She was always waiting for the Lord to return to get us all out of this messy world.

As sick as she was this past week she never said she was planning to beat him to the punch and leave before he got back to take all of us.

Knowing that we are just temporary citizens on earth changes the perspective on loss and death. The sadness and grief and tears are not that she has passed on into eternity but the thought of being separated from her in this life.

To not have that one person who knew you from the moment you were born is the pain.

To not have her demands and expectations is numbing.

She would constantly tell me how she loved my hair, that I was boring because I didn’t live with bling and watch tv, that I was amazing because I’m so sweet (though I’m not).

She found joy in her flowers, shopping for her motifs, buying people things they never wanted or needed, donating to causes she couldn’t afford. She had a servants heart and she hated with a passion being the one who needed to be helped in any way.

She prided herself on being a homeowner, having her hair styled, and refusing to use her walker or the other medical devices.

She was a widow for 38 years– exactly half her life — and she devoted herself to working and raising grandchildren.

Grief is painful and difficult and raw. She hated that people might cry over her leaving. Don’t you dare cry over me, she would say. Don’t worry about it. You can fire yourself from taking care of me. You are not obligated in anyway. She said that! As if it were possible.

A month ago I told her that she was the best mom because she had devoted her life to us but it’s hard to provide that same devotion back because we all have jobs and families and obligations and selfishness. She had just broken her arm and we were leaving on vacation so she was in the care of the home health people. She was very upset by that but ended up really liking the ladies who took care of her. I called her each day from vacation and that was unusual because I hate talking on the phone. She hated that I hate talking (on or off the phone).

She asked me recently why I used to have more time to run around with her. She forgot I work full time and have a family it seems. I told her I’ve been working full time since 1999 and maybe she’s thinking of when the kids were little and I only worked part time. She did not believe me-/

Tears are therapeutic – a cleansing –but very annoying as your eyes swell and snot runs and your head pounds.

I am not crying for her. She is rejoicing in heaven. I cry for myself and the thought of no more scenics with her. We looked at barns and farms and mountains and that perfectly round tree she exclaimed at down by the river. Our times together centered more recently on scheduling doctor appointments and going through the motions of chronic illnesses. The scenics and lunches became part of our ritual.

She took on anything I became interested in. She thought it was funny that I recently became so creative. She started seeing flowers for my petals as paint project. She bought equipment for candle making. She watched for historical info in the paper for my novel. She was always interested in whatever we were doing.

I grieve because she loved hearing stories about my work and she loved my coworkers wherever my career has taken me. When we lived in Arizona she wouldn’t come visit but she turned her whole living room decor into a desert theme/ cactus lamps and all!

When I was a child I can’t remember sitting on her lap or hugs and kisses. I don’t remember “I love you” being tossed about. Maybe she was too busy with five kids. But the last few years she always wanted hugs (I know, right?? All those hugs she despised from everyone else I think she secretly loved) and kisses goodbye. Recently as we went through a deep mental health crisis with my son she begged to have me sit in her lap so she could hold me and rock me in her chair. That wasn’t possible but I appreciated the idea. And she constantly said I love you.

I am not sad that she is in heaven. I am sad that it’s all over, relieved she suffers no more, and thankful for such a devoted mom. So my tears flow and my heart breaks and she would say “get over it. I’m fine.”

First Best Friends

My daughter left today

My very best friend

Moving forward

Life’s journey

My mom is in the hospital

My first best friend

Moving forward

Life’s journey

I cleaned out my daughters room

Childhood memories and piles of artwork mixed with more piles of seventeen years of school assignments

Some I tossed without a care. Others I kept with a tear. Everything from journals to teeth to her final pacifier. Coins from around the world. Paint brushes to hair brushes. Invitations, celebrations. Report cards and note cards. Whispers of a treasured childhood and exclamations if struggles and victories.

She packed her car and drove away with multiple hugs lingering in my arms and sweet kisses on my face. I see her in my rear view mirror as that precious toddler who cried at my leaving for work. Now I lose a tear at watching her drive away a newlywed with big dreams and plans.

I am her biggest fan and her first best friend. My daughter.

—

My mom is medically unstable and poorly responding to treatment, preparing for her journey home to Jesus. Sooner or later.

I imagine soon I will be going through her things and clearing out decades of memories and accumulated items that are profoundly important and those clearly meaningless in the scope of things.

Old bills, photos from a century past, documents and piles of memories and catalogs galore filled with trash and treasures for earthly pleasures.

And I see her in my rear view mirror holding my toddler in her arms and waving goodbye as I headed off to work and she stayed behind to help her grow up.

I will watch her go ahead of me as it should be and she will cheer me on from above as she always has. My biggest fan. My first best friend. My mom.

Ā©Belindabotzong2018

Such is Life

Life – Family – Relationships

Changes

Theirs – Moving forward

His- Stagnant

Hers- Ending

Theirs – Exciting

Hers – Adventurous

His – Struggling

Hers – Suffering

A cycle of plans, dreams, hopes, hopelessness, loss, opportunity, future, past

Youth, newlyweds, bachelors, middle aged couple, elderly woman

Change

Changing jobs, changing locations, sticking it out, sticking together, changing

Loss

Loss of health, mobility, power, choices

Grief, loss, joyous celebrations

–

Time

Mundane days, restless nights

nights filled with passion

days filled with tears

moments filled with laughter

–

Cycles

One turns into the other

–

What’s next is set in motion

–

Decisions, disagreements, consensus, conflict, forgiveness, best wishes, farewells, condolences

Life

Hard, challenging, rich, beautiful

Death

Real, crushing, freeing, liberating

–

Victory