Tag: symmetry of life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”