grief | Belinda Botzong

Every Day is Mother’s Day

I was thinking of writing a profound blog post today but I think I’ll leave it at this.

My mom was my first best friend. I don’t care much for holidays where guilt induced giving of cards and flowers might occur— and I believe every day is Mother’s Day for me –and true love is when someone goes to the grocery store for me! But since today is my first Mother’s Day without my children here with me and with my mom in heaven, I will just say it’s a little different than usual and bittersweet.

My daughter has been away at Mother’s Day more times than not – travels to Italy, school calendars and adventures that bring her joy are far more important to me than having her here on a specific day. Every Day is Mother’s Day when Nicki is my joyful daughter.

When my son was diagnosed with bipolar disorder many years ago, we focused on getting him home and well by Mother’s Day – and he made it. Several times it’s been so. This year the focus is just on getting him adjusted and doesn’t matter it’s Mother’s Day- I will celebrate any day he is stable and will wait for him to come home to make me laugh like no other. Every day is Mother’s Day when Mark is my brilliant, hilarious, and nutty son.

As for my own mother, my husband and I will go to the cemetery and place flowers on my moms grave today. We will go on a scenic drive through the Skagit Valley and go out to lunch .. that is what my mom and I would have done.

Every day is Mother’s Day for me. I never knew true love until I looked into the newborn eyes of my babies. It is profoundly beautiful and humbling to know that God delights in me more than I delight in my children.

©Belindabotzong2019

Happy Birthday – Belated

Yesterday was her 77th birthday – my belated mom. Happy belated birthday takes on a whole new meaning.

Today I take the beloved shofar to the funeral home where they are preparing her headstone. I will visit her unstoned grave afterward and tell her she missed her birthday.

We would have gone to the Big Lake Bar and Grill for all you can eat prawns. She ate 20 last time we went! We would have taken a drive in the snow. The mountains are beautiful with their powdered sugar tops.

Last Saturday she would have loved my breathtaking scenic out to Everson. She always liked going along for the ride even when she didn’t feel good. She would have enjoyed my venture to pick up a load of old picture frames that a guy donated to the Art Guild. His mother is an artist who is too shaky to paint anymore. My mom would have said, “Me too!” Though she never made a painting in her life. She was shaky though.

She would have loved stopping by the side of the road to listen to the Canada geese and trumpeter swans. And the Canadian mountains covered in thick snow looked close enough to touch set against an azure sky. And Mount Baker and the Three Sisters looked just like a painting- definitely designed with a steady hand.

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She would have liked the guy who gave me the frames and she would have cracked up that Siri took me to the wrong house first. I got out of the car and a guy was out working in the yard in the biting blustering wind. I got out and assumed it was the guy. I said “I’m here to pick up the frames.” He seemed a bit confused but I let that go as he led me into the carport without a word. “So your mother is an artist?” He says “yep”. Something seemed awkward but he was determined to get to his back door. The yard was filled with my kind of treasures – rusty things that make me happy – milk cans and old things. “Is she still alive?” He turns and says “No”. Man of few words I decide to follow him (my mom would now be freaking out – a guy online leading me into his house…and me following). Thankfully as he opened the door his wife is there and he tells her I’m there for some frames. She is at a loss and I tell her about the message on Facebook to the art guild. She says it’s probably their neighbor! Oh my gosh. I look around their property and the frozen pond with the rusty things in the yard — I tell them they have a beautiful place and sorry to bother them. I’m sure they think I’m crazy.

Anyway, my next stop got the frames. Kind people with a beautiful fat Dalmatian. Frames nearly too big for my car, covered in ancient spider webs. But a couple real treasures we can sell for the scholarship fund. A good find!

Back to the birthday girl. She always enjoyed my adventures and lived vicariously through each of us who traveled or worked or took on a hobby. She didn’t want to travel or make things but she always wanted to hear all about us.

Yesterday Savannah started texting out her last voicemails. I sat in my office and listened to mine as well and that’s when it hit me. Especially the final one .. the one where she sounded sick and wanted me to call immediately. And I cried.

I’m sorry she missed her birthday. I miss her.

©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.

Three Months Later

Three months and nine days have passed by like a vapor. I only cry in unexpected moments now. I still almost call her, which maybe she would like to know since she said I never call her. But I did.

The house has sold and is moving through the closing process. I went to get a few plants and a chair from her house last Friday and decided I don’t want to go back again. She’s not there. When I come in the door my hands are empty. Before they were full of groceries or errands and I always had to pee after driving down to see her. And all the time I’m in the bathroom she’d be chatting away. And then first thing – “fix my hair” would be her first request. But not this time. No TV blaring. No chatter. No hairbrush and VO5. Just silent echoes.

I dropped off one of her yard ornaments for a lady who had done some yard work last summer. She had also sat with my mom and did her dishes when I was out of town and needed someone to be there with her broken arm. This lady I’ve never met asked for a memento so I gave her a rooster. She put it in her “Momorial” garden – the place she made to honor her mom and now mine. That blesses my heart immensely. Praise God.

Praise God for a buyer. Praise God I know she’s not hurting anymore. Praise God for giving me a mom who loved me so much. And that makes me cry.

©Belindabotzong2019

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

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

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.

©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

“She 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: “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” 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.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭31:15-17, 20, 22, 25-26, 28-31‬ ‭NIV‬‬

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.”