nostalgia | 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

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

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

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

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

©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.”

Goodbye

And now it’s my turn to grieve.

My feisty and tough, sassy and kind, determined and hard-headed, funny, sarcastic, and precious mom has passed into the arms of Jesus.

No more pain. No more suffering. No more loss. She is with my little brother, my dad and all those who went before her.

She was tough. She had a tender heart for babies and funny cat videos and jokes.

She helped raise my children and so many others. She thought I was amazing.

She was strong and strong willed.

She peeled and diced the most potatoes of any person and fried up the biggest pan for anyone and everyone.

She was an unsurpassed baker and loved feeding people. She hated her new kitchen appliances with all their buttons and beeps. She used her dishwasher as a file cabinet.

She hated that I used grocery home delivery for her. She was fiercely independent but bound by her dependence on me as she struggled with health issues. I failed to be as gracious as her demands in time and energy conflicted with my time and energy.

She loved tv and evangelists and shows like The Voice. So many phone calls started with “Hey Meliss, are you watching….” even though we told her repeatedly we rarely watch tv.

She was fiercely loving to me and cheered me on in everything I accomplished. Stubborn and determined. Once she set her mind on something she would not let it rest until it got done. She wanted a shofar of all things so made me book a trip to Israel. She hated traveling but wanted me and Savannah to go no matter what and bring her back a shofar. We leave next week for a holy land tour and will bring back her shofar.

She loved her flowers and her yard could never have enough. Just last week adding succulents to a birdbath she was determined was a planter.

She was particular about grocery brands and shopped her thousand catalogs of decor and weird objects for hours on end. She loved her bling, her earrings, her coordinated outfits. Her collections of chickens and all manner of “motifs”.

She could never get enough time with me. She loved our “scenics” — driving all around Skagit County again and again. Especially when I took her in her beloved “Buttercup” – the yellow smart car with eyelashes and a new vanity plate “BTTRKUP”. She loved that people laughed and waved and stopped to ask questions about her car when we would be at the gas station or even driving around town and people will wave us down to ask about gas mileage.

The river was hers. The view of the mountains from her living room brought her great joy. She loved the moon and would always call to see if we could see it too.

She would cuss like a sailor but hated nasty jokes. She could be crude and rude or quivering chin tender hearted.

She worked hard all her life and hated that she had to retire. She gave us a strong work ethic then complained that we work too much! She loved Sponge Bob Square Pants because he taught people to be diligent! Last week she couldn’t figure out why I don’t have more free time. She is just sure that as “the boss” I should come and go as I please and spend more time with her. I tried to explain that “the boss” means you work more, not less!

Saturday afternoons were our usual day together unless I had to take her to an appointment during the week, which was becoming more common as her health failed. She loved the backroads or just sitting down by the river at the steelhead club eating a burger.

She thought I was perfect but I am not. I sat with her Monday night and held her hand, put lip balm on her, listened to her talk about a chaplain at the hospital named Mary who had spent two hours with her that day listening to her life story. She wanted me to lay in the bed with her but I did not.

Last night I laid on the floor with her holding her hand and saying I’m sorry — but she was gone. I had just left her in a hurry last night after bringing her home from the hospital, filling new prescriptions while she sat in the car. I was hungry and grumpy. I sorted her meds and got her some food — I told her I was going to get her on a new kick -/ eating fresh rolls from Little Thailand. She wanted to start eating healthy stuff because the nutritionist at the hospital convinced her to try some recipes. I did a couple chores and told her I had to hurry so I could get back to Bellingham for my workout. I didn’t give her the usual kiss and “love you” as I hurried off and told her to “stay upright” for real– always my parting words after so many falls. I called her right after my workout to tell her to make sure she put on her “fallen and can’t get up” button. And to see if she ate her fresh rolls. She didn’t answer. I went home and called twice more. I called my aunt who went to check on her and found her collapsed on the floor. Gone. She would be so mad that we called 911. She would be so mad that we saw her laying there. She was prideful about that but we all were there and we held her hand and we cried and screamed. Loss. Guilt. Waves of nausea. Tears. Hugs. Numbness. Surreal fuzzy distorted conversations. People coming and going. Police. Firemen. Chaplain. Funeral home people. The cart. The sheet. The final goodbye. Gut wrenching. Nauseating. Overwhelming. Yet peace and comfort knowing that she believed in Jesus as God’s son and she was wrapped in his love and forgiveness. My first best friend, my mother, my mom, and forever known as Gooie.

Five kids. Ten grandkids.

Tom Belinda Anita Angela and Bob

Savannah, Mark, Tanner, Carissa, Nicki, Shania, Vanity, Matthew, Briann, and Talia.

Rest In Peace.

Upright in heaven. No more waddling. Reunited with Bob and dad. 💕💕

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.

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