It is hard to believe that ten years have passed since we said good-bye. This time of year always surprises me. How does the body know what month it is? How does my heart always remember before I see the date?
Not a day goes by that I don't think of you and your memory. Each time I make a loaf of bread or sit down at my sewing machine, I think of you and wish you were here. But life does not stand still and moments are lost wishing to change the past, and so as I have racked my brain with ways of celebrating your memory, and your life. I have chosen to remember on this 10th anniversary of your death, ten lessons I have learned from your life.
1. Serve others with love. You did this so well. Through work, church serving friends and family, you served always with love. I remember the hours you spent creating props for "Children and Worship", making gifts for loved ones, and the endless miles of driving us kids to our activities. I remember the stories of your patients who would ask that you be their children's god parent or even your hospital roommate in those last few days, who you were making sure she got out of bed, from the other side of the room. I am grateful for the 5 months you arranged your schedule and faithfully woke up early to take care of your grand baby, so that I could go to my teaching job before JJ got home from his night shift...
2. Have faith in God. There are so many times that I feel weak, and full of doubt. When you've been raised to believe that it takes only the faith of a mustard seed to move a mountain and you believe with all your heart that God is going to heal your sick mother because He has the power to do so, and He doesn't, then where do you turn and how do you learn to pray with faith again? In those moments, I remember you. I remember how you sang "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus" so strong in that hospital bed, with the tubes of oxygen in your nose, and a smile on your face, when the rest of us could barely finish the song-even when you knew your life on earth would be ending too soon. And I remember the story of you seeing angels when they first put that breathing machine on, after you'd gone too long without oxygen and your lungs were so full of fluid. And I remember how you returned from wherever you were just to say goodbye to my sister and Grandpa in those last hours. In my darkest hours, I cling to your faith, because you were strong and I know you knew where you were headed next.
3. Be free to laugh and laugh often. I admire this quality although I don't follow your example nearly enough. A few weeks ago, the kids and I watched Dennis The Menace, and I could still hear your laugh each time Dennis was talking. I could imagine the tears rolling down your face as you laughed-much harder than anyone else-but not embarrassed to stifle the joy you felt. I remember how you would tell us stories about something that happened at work and how you could barely get through the story because you were laughing so hard. I wish I could laugh like that.
4. Love others cook them good food. You always made such good food. Although I have to admit I never liked the cheese strata and to this day I cannot eat eggy casseroles with bread, you inspired me to make food from scratch and taught me that homemade is always better than store bought. As a kid, I remember thinking Kraft macaroni and Butternut bread was a special treat (thank goodness my kids are smarter than I was at that age!) As I come across new recipes and have perfected oatmeal I wish I could call you to tell you about it, or better yet, make it for you. And I'm so grateful for that cookbook you made me of the "Bonga's Best." I will treasure it always.
5. Don't worry about what others think about you. I love that you wore Birkenstock clogs before they were cool, or did yard work in your stretch pants, and wore a nose plug to open swim. I love that you wore a bikini and laid out in the sun when it was barely warm, because you loved to and I love that you took piano lessons as an adult, and didn't worry about what others might think of you. I think we could all use a lesson about that.
6. Play with your kids. Another lesson I need to take to heart. I know you didn't always have time with a full time job, but I remember many times that you came out to play kickball with us. I remember coaching soccer with you in high school and playing soccer with you in college. You went on bike trips with Kendra and David and always encouraged us to be active.
7. Love your husband. I think that this lesson I learned equally from you and Dad, but I always felt secure in knowing that you loved each other. I only remember 2 disagreements between the two of you and they were such rare occasions, that they stuck in my memory. I remember you both being very affectionate when greeting one another, and no matter how much you hated watching tv, you often would take some time to sit and snuggle with him in front of it, just to spend time with him.
8. Have some discipline. Although you were a carefree spirit, you realized a need for balance and order. Saturdays we cleaned the entire house. You exersized regularly but also took time to sit and relax-drinking your coffee on the porch each afternoon. Although there was always flexibility with this rhythm, discipline was important for a happy home.
9. We are not exclusive. I remember your friends came in every color and race and so did ours. I don't remember noticing a difference until having a conversation with friends at church who could count the number of nonwhite kids in their school on two hands. I remember having a conversation with you as you were ironing, about my friend that I had grown up with, who had announced he was gay, and how you said that if we had been that way, you would love us the same. I remember how our home was always open to anyone and became a home for many outside of our biological bonds. You taught us to see people as people and nothing else.
10. Life is short, so live well. This is the hardest lesson you've taught me, and I'm not sure I've grasped the live well part yet. I have spent too much time over the past 10 years worrying about the expiration date of our time on earth and not enough time living the life. I have learned from those you confided in, that you always suspected you'd die at a young age, and yet I never suspected you had those thoughts. Some people say there is a reason for everything, perhaps there is truth in that. I think there could have been great reasons for your life to continue, many people may have gained faith or kept their faith, but that was not the way things worked out. Through your death, I learned a great lesson in loss, and I am grateful for who I am now You lived life well and I am thankful for the example you made and the legacy you left.
I love you mom.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Sunday, February 3, 2013
The transition continues
It's been a few months since my last post. In the last 2 months we traveled 4,000 miles to see family and friends in Michigan and Oklahoma, JJ was deployed to assist in the aftermath of the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting, we've fostered 2 dogs, and have endured the unexpected cold of northern Arizona. JJ spent a whirlwind weekend adventuring in Mexico on his motorcycle and has returned for the second semester of his doctoral program. The kids and I are now preparing to go on our own adventure, this time to Michigan for a Gunson wedding, then continuing on to Virginia to visit with friends and meet the newest member of the Skipper family and finally through North Carolina to visit with my sister in-law and nephews before the return trip to Arizona. All in all we will be 3 miles short of 5,000 when we return, if you don't count any driving we do in each of our destinations.
I'll be honest, life in Kayenta hasn't been easy. True, it is an adventure and there are beautiful places to explore here, but the unexpected, frigid temps of the winter, combined with the shortened days and the lack of friends to share the times with have been tough. We knew, going into this that it would be a difficult transition and possibly difficult couple of years, but no matter how you prepare yourself for reality, it's always different than you ever imagined.
Each time we have moved, I have had to relearn the lesson that life isn't about me being happy. I do pray that my children are happy, and will have great memories of their childhood, but I often have to remind myself, that it is not what each "home town" has to offer me, rather what do I have to offer each new "home". It is a difficult lesson. I know that once I begin to involve myself in a meaningful way, I will feel more at home.
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