Rainy Day Happiness

It’s what most would describe as a dreary, drizzly, cold northwest day. I say praise and glory to God for such days. It soothes my soul like nothing else to see the bay blanketed in low-lying sky that makes the world monochrome shades of silver and gray.

To get off work early, drive along the waterfront, find a parking spot and run into the art market for a quick inventory check is happiness. To hear someone was just there asking to see me was pure joy. To sit in my favorite new cafe where everything on the menu is tasty AND healthy is blessed.

Planning to spend this dreary afternoon immersed in creating my next design, wearing my baggy shirt and glue pants – picking the next flower petal to place in just the right spot.. ah what blissfulness. To plan a weekend of reorganizing my space and installing new storage bins– oh my what a glorious time of year!

©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

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

90-day Supply

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus.

©Belindabotzong2018

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.

©Belindabotzong2018

Such is Life

Life – Family – Relationships

Changes

Theirs – Moving forward

His- Stagnant

Hers- Ending

Theirs – Exciting

Hers – Adventurous

His – Struggling

Hers – Suffering

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

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

Change

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

Loss

Loss of health, mobility, power, choices

Grief, loss, joyous celebrations

Time

Mundane days, restless nights

nights filled with passion

days filled with tears

moments filled with laughter

Cycles

One turns into the other

What’s next is set in motion

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

Life

Hard, challenging, rich, beautiful

Death

Real, crushing, freeing, liberating

Victory

Glorious Sunset Moonrise

The shoreline is quickly crowded with viewers rushing toward a dazzling sunset

Cameras snapping over and over as others sit quietly basking in the glow of red, orange, and yellow streaks across the sky

There is a holiness to the hush as the sun dips into the sea and as if on a pulley, the full harvest moon arises in sync with the sunset.

Without realizing, the crowd is being awed by the creator of all things —

light, darkness, seasons, change,

even the ability to appreciate the gift of nature’s art

All created by a living, loving, masterful artist.

He is the Lord God who has lifted the same moon over centuries.

He has pressed the same sun into the same ocean of millennia.

He has painted the same sky over and over for time infinitum.

He has turned the pages of the seasons repeatedly over generations.

And still his most beloved creation, you, me, the homeless, the wealthy, the weakest, the strongest, the worn down and the high and mighty, all stop to acknowledge the stunning beauty and majesty of a sunset. A moonrise.

Who ever said, “how boring” as the sun blazed brilliant colors across the sky?

Who ever didn’t gasp at the enormity of a harvest moon in all its glory?

Who says it’s all just a monotonous routine, the rising, the setting, the brilliance, the tides, the change of seasons, the ebb and flow of life?

The stunning beauty of it all should ignite a spirit of praise within us that leads to complete devotion to the most high God, to the most magnificent artist, to the creator of heaven and earth.

©Belindabotzong2018

Garden Fireworks

Garden fireworks ignited by radiant sunset beams

Bursting with vibrant arrays of red, pink, yellow, and orange

Garden candy sweetened with nectar for the honeybees to engorge their striped bellies, intoxicated

Dahlias delightful celebration of summer ending. Welcoming fall with flamboyance

©Belindabotzong2018