Roland
brought some corn into the house the other day.
He had picked it from our garden.
I took pictures of the produce and went out to the garden to take
pictures of each bed and started a post on the progress (or lack thereof) of
our garden. I stopped my thought flow
around 2:30 as Jenna gets home from school between 2:30 and 2:45 and wanted to
be in the front room to greet her when she returned.
She asked if I could drive her to
the youth center which she hasn't gone to for over a year. I knew
I would have to fill out paperwork as the center requires that the
information be updated each year. It appears
that the paperwork packet increases in size each year. This year felt like a small book.
Roland and I were in the middle of
slicing apples for applesauce and apple pie.
I chose to take the paperwork home rather than to take the time filling it
out at the center - besides I had the entire weekend. For the most part Roland was okay by himself,
but would call me in to assist for a few minutes here and there and so I sat on
the couch and started to fill out the forms.
Though the packet seemed thick
enough to write on without something underneath, the surface was too flat and I
needed for the forms to be at an angle so that it would be more comfortable to
my arm, thus I grabbed a binder that seemed closest to my reach. Now, I don't create these posts in memory of
my mom's death - the binder I had grabbed turned out to be the scrapbook we had
given to mom for her 70th birthday.
My brother, Corey, does not believe
in coincidences. Perhaps my subconsciously grabbing mom's photo album was meant
to serve a better purpose than a temporary desk for the paperwork I had. Certainly these posts now are much more compelling than the topic of our unbalanced garden. Perhaps this will trigger memories for others
- if not my mom, perhaps your own.
Of course I have gone through the
album as it was already in my lap, and have read kind words and have smiled knowing
how much my mom was/is loved. My aunt
had enclosed a few pictures from the past.
She said that when she met my mom, she reminded her of Jacqueline Kennedy. Until then I had not known that anyone had
ever made any kind of comparison between her and "Jackie".
Some of the same values that she
instilled into her children were also expressed by former co-workers. Roland drew some illustrations with captions
"It seems like the older you get, the younger adults and professional
become. Children seem smarter . . .
technology goes by you . . . But best of all, you have seen it all" Her traits were addressed:
compassion,
humble, enjoyable visits, great example,
service, devotion, blessing, giving, memories . . . Each letter indicated that each had been so grateful
to know my mom. I am grateful to have this great treasure in my possession. The last page contains a card from my mom's brother and his wife. He passed away the year that we put mom into assisted living. His wife also had some sort of dementia and was put into an assisted living also. She passed away just this year. Of those who had come to the party or had sent letters, there are at least eight who have joined mom on the other side. I am grateful to have known them all and to read how much they loved my mom.
