Tag: death

Closure

I had a short day at work and took the scenic route to have lunch with myself. Pouring rain made the landscape of azaleas blooming that much brighter. It was Closure Day. I needed some calm.

I headed to Sedro-Woolley and stopped for coffee at the Woolley Market before heading to the bank to get cashiers checks. The bank ladies reminisced about my mom. “Sweet”. “Sassy”. “Funny”. I told them how much she had loved them. I always thought it was silly that she loved the bank ladies but they really are all so nice.

Say what you will about Wells Fargo as a corporation, each person I’ve dealt with in their entire system has been truly kind and compassionate with maybe one or two minor exceptions.

Next stop was The Flower Shop where I selected a big pink bouquet.

I showed the flower lady my art – the rendered photo of her shop that I have available in my Etsy store. https://etsy.me/2GibjAc. She loved it!

I drove out to the cemetery and told her I had finished everything. I had followed all the rules and kept all the records.

We closed THE ESTATE. Fitting it would be on National Siblings Day. I met with my siblings at our brother’s business and signed our releases and collected our Residual.

I drove to the law office and dropped off the final paperwork and went on the ultimate scenic, one my mom and I had done umpteen times.. through the tulip fields all over West Mt Vernon. I drove past my first full time job – Food Services Inc. it looks the same. My mom loved it when I worked there 35 years ago. She baked and spoiled the warehouse guys and truck drivers and so did I.

I tiptoed through the tulips .. the mud and muck .. so much stunning beauty. I stopped a million times. I talked to the cows. I declared to the Lord how absolutely beautiful his creations are. Oh my gosh he is the most amazing artist!

I stopped at the nursery and came so close to buying a camelia! That was my moms aunts name – one no one had ever met because she died at the mental hospital in the 1930s – of tuberculosis- where she was housed for having epilepsy. My mom got epilepsy in the past decade and I will definitely get a camelia in the near future. The petals will make the most amazing paint strokes!

I finished up with a stop at Tulip Town where they had Locals Night! Hadn’t been there in many years so this was a lovely surprise! Art and flowers galore!

I headed home and went out to dinner with my ever patient husband to recap my day. I am truly blessed and thankful for a bit of Closure.

©Belindabotzong2019

Headstone

What do you do the day you pick out your mom’s headstone? She didn’t want to do that part when we went to the funeral home a few years ago to make her arrangements. She said I would have to figure that out. At the time you’re talking about a thing that can’t be comprehended. When you take your mom to the funeral home in the first place it’s a surreal idea. We went to lunch. Shopped. Went on a scenic. Selected a casket. That was strangely matter-of-fact. The pink one of course. And now that we have reached the headstone part I was wishing we had already done that. But who wants to see their name engraved on a slab of marble? It’s incomprehensible. We deny that we are that vulnerable to this life. To death. To eternity.

So today I took the day off work. I met my beautiful niece at the funeral home. We were assigned homework by the funeral director — he says go out to the cemetery and see what you like or don’t like. We declined.

We know pink stone might appeal to her but somehow it didn’t look right. They use inks on those. We looked through catalogs. Talked about options. Sizes. Shapes. Colors. Embellishments. We made jokes. We didn’t cry. We talked about Bling. Rhinestone? Bedazzling! We looked through stock photos and how to incorporate the shofar.

We picked fonts and scripts. We picked a butterfly, a rooster and hen, and an eagle. We picked black granite filled with sparkles. We chose an oval inside a rectangle for In Loving Memory Janice “Gooie” Brown March 6 1942 – October 16, 2018. And there will be a concrete base where the shofar can be placed.

We dropped off keys to the house for the new owner. I headed back home and so did she. I drove in the bright blue sky sunshine along roads edged with snow, Lake Samish a picture postcard.

I went to the Art Market to get some of my pieces to show at the Art Walk Friday. I went down to the bay and picked up rocks and shells and kelp and feathers. When I got too cold I went to my favorite cafe and had matcha and açaí bowl. I’ll head to hobby lobby and try to get everything for the art show. I’ll go home and prepare my art for showing.

I’ll go out to dinner with my husband and work on my Etsy store.

That’s what you do when your mom dies and you have to keep on living – without her. And you have to breathe and love and live and experience it all.

©Belindabotzong2019

Closure

One step closer to closure. The house is sold and today escrow closed. She would have been so happy to know a single young guy is moving in, a man who works at the refinery, so likely a hard-working guy with dreams for this house. Does he know how proud she was to be a homeowner?

That a widow of over 35 years, left with five children to raise, could successfully own a home was a source of great accomplishment for her.

She would be proud that she left no debt behind besides what she owed on that house. This, too, was a huge accomplishment, given the years of overwhelming sacrifice, credit card debt, and struggles to stay afloat.

She would be proud that my sisters and I have made it through this part of The Estate without losing our way with each other. The civility, support, and love that we have shared through this four month part of the journey is a miracle.

She would be very happy to know that the “residual” is enough to allow us to do something special for our families. It isn’t life-changing money, but it will be a blessing to the four of us, though we would all rather have our mom.

It seems ironic that we closed on Valentines Day. This would have been the day when she would have gotten corny cards, marshmallow filled heart candies, and maybe flowers. She always loved the idea of the giant heart-shaped box. One year she bought my kids those chocolate lips that made her laugh. Instead, this year, we mourn our loss and still struggle with the reality of it all.

She would be mad about all the snow, the branches of her giant pine trees touching the ground. It’s been a long, hard week getting everything done and trying to make it to work, meeting the deadlines, getting paperwork to the right place, getting delayed by the storms.

So, blessings on the guy who has taken on a new project. Blessings on my sisters for powering through one of the most trying experiences of our lives. Blessings on Casa Brothers, the amazing guys who helped with The Estate Sale, listing and selling and closing. It has been miraculous all around. Still another month before the estate closes officially. I miss my mom. She would be proud.


Copyright 2019 – Belinda Botzong

Junk Mail

Her mail comes to my house now

I thought that would mean I get the bills

Apparently the junk mail is included

She didn’t think it was junk mail though. She loved her catalogs.

When I went to see her – or anyone who came through the door, the first task before entering the house was checking the mail.

The mailbox is across the street so she was afraid to go in case she had a seizure or fell. God forbid she take her walker.

On my way in with the pile I often just stopped at the recycling bin and tossed her junk mail in to keep her from spending too much on the strawberry fairies (for me because I have a strawberry theme), the colorful skirts with watercolor pencils (for my daughter the artist) or for any number of household amazing items you can’t possibly imagine.

Sometimes she placed orders on the phone then made one of the grandkids go get money orders to pay for it so I wouldn’t know.

Only I did.

Sometimes she said “go on that button pushing thing and order these,” meaning go online. Whoever got the shotgun shaped plungers for their toilets, I’m sorry.

Then all the requests for donations. Oh my goodness. She would put the requests for money to Israel, starving children, paralyzed veterans and homeless. I would tell her she is going to be starving and homeless if she sent money to all those people.

God sees her heart. He knows she is more generous than what he has blessed her with. She always told him (me, everyone) she just needed more money. There’s so much to buy! I just wanna be rich.

They say money can’t buy happiness but I’m pretty sure she would have been happy being rich and buying everything in those catalogs and giving thousands to those charities.

I gave up telling her to stop buying junk for us. It made her happy. I paid her bills. It’s only money. Every now and then I let her donate.

So the junk mail has been trickling in over the past three months. Then yesterday ..

Oh my. So hard to resist those free shipping offers. The sales. The abundance.

Recycled.

©Belindabotzong2019 g

Eating Out Memorial

I saw an ad for a new pizza place today and my immediate, fleeting thought was that we would go try it out. Only we can’t.

Most Saturdays for the past few years involved going out to lunch somewhere with my mom. When we first started the routine of course we didn’t know it would be our routine. It was sporadic st first. She wasn’t one for anything fancy to eat. Often it was a cafe she’d worked at eons ago or something simple like Red Robin. She wasn’t adventurous in eating and of course no food was as good as her own.

She’d get on kicks and we’d repeat the same place or same meal for weeks in a row before we moved on to the next great thing. For awhile it was artichoke dip. Always prawns or shrimp. Sometimes the roast beef open face plate. Then pizza. Then Thai. Then you never knew. She’d love it or despise it. She told us about a commercial for coconut lobster at a certain restaurant and we took her. They denied such a thing existed on their menu and she insisted — she saw the commercial a thousand times and coconut lobster was her destiny. We were at a loss and the waitress was so rude it added to the dismay of no coconut lobster! Much later we found it was at a different restaurant that we don’t have here. So funny!

When she was right there was no arguing the point!

A few months ago we took her out to a nice restaurant and she was so mad. She wanted to go to the other one down the street. She complained the whole time. She was rude. She was disgruntled. Halibut with crab Hollandaise. Too fancy. Not enough crab. Oh my gosh! I said it’s the last time we all go out together. It was.

When we were little we were quite poor. Going out to eat was unusual for us. The very few times we did were so exciting. There was a place called the Princess. My parents had gotten their disabled veterans benefits instated and suddenly a splurge.. we ate at the Princess. I was very young so not sure what we had but it was so exciting it didn’t matter.

Once we had to travel to a wedding. We got to have breakfast at a restaurant- hot chocolate! Sticks in my mind as a novelty at the time.

As we got older of course ordering pizza became a thing. Going to McDonald’s after church became a routine. Or driving to Bellingham to Dickinson’s family buffet was our most favorite adventure in eating out.

And now it’s a common everyday thing. We travel around the world eating all kinds of things my mom would hate and going out to dinner or lunch is an everyday occurrence. And now she is gone. Two months. And the two months before that we couldn’t go out but I brought her whatever she wanted. Fish and Chips from Bobs. Ribs. Pizza. Corn Dogs from Hal’s. Egg Rolls from Asian1. And finally Fresh rolls from Little Thailand. And she died. And I miss her.

©Belindabotzong2018

On The Market

Multiple Listing Service realtor agreement signed

Cleaning ladies did their best

Sisters worked like Hercules to clear the last of the “stuff” – remnants of a life

The listing posted and a bittersweet flood washed over me. As usual I have two roles in this whole business. On one hand I am called The Estate Manager- what used to be The Executor (feels like executioner) of The Estate. I have decisions to make. I have things to do. I have papers to sign and records to keep. I have rules to follow and jobs to finish. I am, as The Estate Manager, detached from my other role. The grieving daughter, the heir of the residue, the former caretaker/caregiver, of my first best friend.

There is no way to describe certain feeling and emotions except that it rolls like a tide- sometimes gently ebbing and flowing, a little misty maybe. Sometimes crashing like a tidal wave drowning my soul in tears.

This process is at times extremely frustrating. The waiting. The expectations. The bitterness. The disagreements. The pressure. The loss. The duties. The longing.

Yesterday was a day of frustration. I had to go to the bank for a couple things. There was the deposit from the estate sale. It wouldn’t go through without some glitch because it’s an estate account and it hadn’t been used yet. Then there was the mortgage payment. Fiasco. When I got frustrated and said “I just want to pay the damn mortgage”, the little fella told me not to use such language. Hahahahaha. Does he have any idea the language of this world? Not to excuse myself but in the past month I’ve had angry patients call me everything but a white woman (as my mother would say) as they, in their own distress, used profanity to cope with their own issues.

After much back and forth with the account I finally got the mortgage paid and left with a handshake with my new friend Ruan.

And then the realtor announced the listing on Redfin. And it washed over me. And I pray that a sweet family, a brilliant entrepreneur, or a group of people who just need a place to live, see that and decide it’s the perfect place for them. They can’t see the Chilean fire tree in bloom that will knock their socks off in spring. They don’t see the labor that went into the recent updates or the prior updates. They don’t see the pride she had at being a homeowner as a widow with five children. But I hope they see their future as being blessed by their own proud purchase and that they will fill it with their own collections and memories and tastes in decor.

I sent the Casa Brothers a message. They are the Realtor/Estate Sale team who have done such a great job through this ordeal. I have an idea for a new reality show with them as the stars — :

Hi guys

I just thought up a new reality show and you guys could be the stars— like property brothers except with the estate sale twist.. Casa Brothers – and the drama part would be the family melt downs and such that happens as people grieve and move thru the process of parents dying.

The vision is to my end — “save the adult children” from all the STUFF accumulated by the person who passed.

I think this is an idea that would resonate with this generation as all the baby boomers start passing and leaving the minimalist generation upcoming with all this stuff to dispose of.

I’m calling Hollywood .. get your makeup team together and get ready to be a star!!!!

Have a beautiful day
©Belindabotzong2018

The Estate –

So “The Estate” cracks me up. According to The Will, “The residue” of The Estate is to be divided into four even parts. Isn’t that such a funny visual? He gets 1/4 the residue. I get 1/4 the residue. They each get 1/4 the residue. I used to tell her leaving me in charge of three crumbs and expecting us to split it four ways is a silly venture.

Anyway, The Estate now has its own bank account after my great adventure from the last post.

I called, as the Manager of The Estate, Wells Fargo last night. Lots of 800 numbers. Much punching of the buttons. Several redials. Spelling and reselling my name. Giving account numbers.

I started with the first number I found and that got me to a sweet girl named Natalie. Now that I cry less I am usually able to get through the sentence, “my mom passed away and I need help with The Estate” without melting down. Made it through that and Natalie, being maybe in her 20s, awkwardly asked, “Was it too soon?” Not sure what she meant but my reply, “I suppose when a mom dies it’s always too soon.” More awkward silence and then we move to why I’m calling. Mortgage. Credit card. Natalie gives me the phone numbers and transfers me to mortgage since that closes at a certain time but credit cards is 24 hours. Good to know. And they are on Central Time so time’s a wastin’…

I get through to mortgages where a sweet lady pours out her love, blessings, and prayers for me and my family in this time of loss. Sincerely. As if I called the crisis line she expresses how deeply saddened she is to hear about my mothers passing. She takes all the information I have and gives me a new department to call with the official title of Life Events. It isn’t open this late but she is extremely kind and lets me know that Life Events will be privileged to help me and suggests I wait until after the holiday. Her kindness almost steals a tear but I managed to thank her for her support. She transfers me to Credit Card guy. I get disconnected but since they were so smart to tell me all the numbers I’d need I redialed with only a few seconds on hold.

Then Nick in Consumer Credit answers and again I make it through the introduction and again I am consoled and comforted by a young guy who cannot quite imagine a loss like this. Nick is helpful in explaining that I will need to speak with someone in the “Deceased department”. It is actually called that! Of course it’s after hours but he says someone will “reach out” to me most likely after the holiday.

The goal in these calls is to find out what to do about two debts I’m not personally responsible for but are my responsibility to manage for The Estate. I explain that The Estate has no money, the house will be sold to satisfy those debts, and the Residue will be split evenly amongst The Heirs. In the meantime what can they do to help? And what MUST I do to protect The Estate and The Heirs. And myself. The lawyer says loan The Estate the money to keep the payments on time to avoid fees and penalties. Easy for a lawyer to say and exactly what I would prefer to do. Most people I know, however, do not carry around that kind of cash. It can be done and it will be done but if Life Events and Deceased Department can alleviate some of the pain–suspend interest, etc. that will make it much easier on everyone.

So until next week The Estate is not in focus. Thanksgiving is! Sometimes she came to Thanksgiving. She brought a ton of food, complained about my stuffing, wanted to go home right away. The past few years she preferred a TV dinner in her own house. Sometimes with a friend. Sometimes alone. She always wanted what she wanted and there was zero use in trying to change her mind. Cranberry sauce- not whole berries- in SMALL CANS ONLY- and don’t get any if there are no small cans. I say “you know it’s ok to not eat the whole can, right? If I get you a big can you know that you can save or toss the rest. You’re not required to finish it.” But no! SMALL CANS ONLY!

When the holiday is over I will contact what I suspect will be a few more compassionate people who, after I tell them why I’m calling, will bless me and commiserate with me and console me in my loss. The Life Events and the Deceased Department will be my project along with getting utilities transferred into The Estate of Janice J. Brown, Belinda Botzong, Manager.

Thank you for listening. It’s very encouraging to get a like or a comment. Follow this and you’ll be notified when I post if you’re interested. Share with others who might benefit. Or who might lose a tear or two with me. I love my mom. She was cranky and bossy and adored me. Sometimes I was not as patient with her as I’d like to remember being. Sometimes I was hypocritical at the end because I always tell people if there is no joy in your service then you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. Don’t sign up for something you are going to complain about. Do everything out of selflessness. Do everything to honor the Lord and he will bless you. It was getting harder to follow that wisdom as she was getting weaker and leaning heavily on me. She would tell me “You can fire yourself you know”. And I would roll my eyes at her and say – that’s not an option. I do everything for you just like you did everything for me. You are my mom and I love you. And now I do everything for The Estate.

©Belindabotzong2018

Moving Forward

I made it two days in a row with no tears. I even told my story twice with no tears. I think that’s moving forward. Five weeks have passed since I sat by her bed at the hospital holding her hand.

Today was a different day. Another day off work to handle the estate, as we are now calling it. Official. Judges orders. I’m the manager– what the heck is my deal with managing everything except those dang tears.

I drove down to meet the amazing team from Irongate Estates. They helped organize an entire garage full of her stuff which includes a minimum of a thousand chicken-themed items. Coasters. Figurines. Magnets. Hats. Figurines. More figurines. Chickens in every size and shape and outfit imaginable. Some not imaginable. Crazy chickens. Anyway, I would say that these are the nicest people in the world. RB, Carol, and Luke. I’m so impressed.

After a couple hours working with them I abandoned them with a promise of pizza as I headed to Mt Vernon to the lawyers office to pick up judges orders.

I got back to Sedro Woolley via the back way my mom and I always preferred – through the Nookachamps- where there were surprisingly only a small flock of snow geese or trumpeters. But still one of my favorite drives. The barns. The farms. The beauty of the Skagit Valley. And that’s when I lost a tear.

I stopped at the bank. I know most people are down on Wells Fargo as a corporation. But the ladies at this branch are so dang sweet. And Good at their jobs. And my mom adored them which I always thought was weird. Anyway.. couldn’t do the account without the official death certificate. Which I thought was in the pile from the lawyer but as part of my educational process I learned that the court keeps the original. And the only other original I have. At home. 35 miles north. Grrr. This wouldn’t be so annoying but guess what? Last week when I took everything to the lawyer to file I didn’t leave her the original will. I had made this double trip already due to all these requirements so today I was a little mad at myself.. and I still had to get pizza for the crew back at the house — so I placed an order online with Dominos and called in fresh rolls for me –and I had to pee so bad my eyes were floating. So I managed to make it across from the bank to pee, stopped to take a few pictures because I am always looking for another creation, then picked up the pizza. I must say here that the guy at Dominos in Sedro is the happiest guy. Last time I was there was to get pizza for my mom on a stressful day and he was so nice and cheerful both times. I told him he needs a raise. Good job!! (See that’s what I like– great customer service). Had to wait for Thai. But it’s worth the wait. It was what I got for my mom the last time I saw her. Fresh rolls with shrimp. While I was waiting one of my uncles friends finished lunch and was walking past me on his phone. I waved and he nodded. Then turned and handed me his phone. I said hello and it was my uncle. Haha. Small world. Small town.

Dropped off food and that lovely crew was flying through their well-rehearsed arranging and pricing …and had moved the biggest furniture without breaking a sweat. Such absolutely great people. I think I might have to change the title to Great Customer Service in times of grief.

Made it back to Bellingham, ate my fresh roll, even shared one with my son, then hit the road south — back to the bank where all went well.

I’m telling you all the details because it’s been so long since I blogged this grief experience. I had considered the past few days not sharing any more of this but for those of you who haven’t gone through it, you will. And maybe it’ll help you. Maybe it helps me.

At the end of the banking visit I had to walk to the post office down the alley behind Main Street and I did a photo shoot of all the amazing brick walls. I had to mail the letter to the lawyer agreeing to follow the rules and do my best to carry out the will of my mom.

Then I got a text from my sister just as I was heading home. Dinner! Yes!! Mexican food. At the last place my mom and I ever went out to eat. And one of my best friends mom came in with a group of ladies. The same group of ladies who were eating there that day with my mom! The Lord is good to let me hug my friends mom who was also my moms friend. Small town. Everybody knows everybody.

I came back home and organized all the estate paperwork into my fancy new binder the lawyer gave me to keep all the paperwork in.

I worked on my latest creations and now I’m going to pass out on my pillow. For some reason I’m a bit weary. But I feel blessed. Everyone I dealt with today was kind and the weather was perfection. I am thankful to be a little closer to moving forward.

©Belindabotzong2018

Recovery

I’m in recovery mode.

Recovering from international travel. While I didn’t suffer from jet lag, there is a return to “normal life” transition that has to take place as the gears get switched. From traveling daily with a large group of people, eating on a different schedule with different ingredients, and long days on a bus, in the heat, and sleeping in hotels … back to work, my own smoothies, and my own pillow!! And now processing all we did and saw and experienced. It seems a bit unreal in light of normal life!

Recovery from the trauma of grief and loss.

This, of course, will be an ongoing process of months and years. At times surreal and other times raw and wretched. Today is my first day of unplanned time since my mom left us on October 16. I have a day to do nothing if I do choose. 90 percent of the Saturday’s for the past several years involved going to see her, running errands for her, going out to lunch with her, picking up groceries for her, going on scenics with her.

This past Thursday I had to go to Sedro-Woolley to sign a paper and get a massage. As I came down Cook Road the snow geese caught my eye and tears poured down. We loved seeing the snow geese in our scenics in the fall.

Normally I would have then gone to get her and do any of the above with her. Or might have taken a nap at her house. But her house is empty and she’s not there wondering what time I said I’d be there. She’s not confused about why someone would pay good money to get a Massage. She’s not anticipating my arrival. She wasn’t holding her hairbrush in her hand when I walked through the door, saying “check my bald spot”. There was no envelope laying on the coffee table with my name written in felt tip marker with a heart over the i, filled with her bills, newspaper clippings, obituaries or sales gimmicks.

There was just an echo as I said “mommy mommy mommy why”. And I turned and left with my shattered heart.

And today I will do the mundane things that need to be done when one is recovering from travel and death. I will read the letter from the lawyer and gather the proper documents. I will pay bills and sort through papers. I will go to Whole Foods and buy almond butter. I may walk with my son at the harbor. I will work on my art as I am the featured artist this week if all weeks. I will prepare my demonstration of Petals as Paints for next Saturday when I also have no date with my mom.

Recovering daughter.

©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 🚗 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.

©Belindabotzong2018