July 9, 1928 was Monday

...and the day my mom was born. I wonder what my grandmother--my mom's mother-thought when she held her new baby girl in her arms. Sad to know I outlived both my mom and my grandmother. 

My mom was a discinplinarian. Yep--Mom could spank--and spank REAL good--yet I never once doubted her love for me. She called me her "Angel."

Lots of life lessons missed since Mom and I were on Earth together for just a little while. However, I do smile when I think of us getting ice cream at our town's version of a Dairy Queen, then drive all over who knows where in that old blue Chevy Mom named Daisy June. 

We'd sing to songs on the radio, laugh and have our 'girl talk time.' I hate the fact my mother died when I was barely into my teens.  I try to remember eventho our time was not long, what we had lasts a lifetime. 

I am blessed. 

Happy Birthday, Mommy.

Saturday

Today I attended the memorial service for the mother of my chum, Van. Her mother actually passed away two Saturdays ago. That Saturday was our scheduled writers' group meeting and I was in charge of the treat.

As I arrived at the home of another member, Viking, with a chocolate fudge cake in hand. Viking ran out to my car and told me what happen. Van' s mother had collapsed at home, taken by ambulance just a few hours ago. She had been resuscitated and was on life support.

Viking drove us both to the hospital and we stayed for awhile. I returned after Viking took us back to her house. I must tell you, Viking is an 80 year old woman of style and grace, and a breast cancer survivor. The rest of the afternoon, I stay with Van. It wasn't like our usual 3 hour coffee chat at our favorite haunts, La Madeleine's--yet we did sit, she tried to laugh, and had her tears. It was just the two of us. Family, including Van's husband, arrived later, including her 13 yr old niece, who was so mature.

I said good bye at 6 Pm. I found out Van's mom did not regain consciousness and passed away about 6:40 PM. Van was at her mom's beside.

Today at the memorial, I met more of Van's family. Listened to Viking read a poem Van's mother had written in 1967. Van needed a poem for her 3rd grade class and forgot to find one. This was WAY before the Internet. So while Van readied for school, her mom WROTE the poem and Van took it to school.

It was was good, yet bittersweet day. The service was held in the chapel of a funeral home. As I left, I struck up a conversation with a young lady who actually was the funeral director. Also a man, who would be licensed next month--I enjoyed talking to them. They said I would be a great speaker for a grief group they have, plus the compassion to be a funeral director. Well, I don't about all that--yet was nice to hear.

Saturday. How they all differ. Just how life is.

October 18, 2001 was Thursday

....and the day my dad died.

I can't believe Sweet Big Daddy Don has been gone almost a decade. Seems like forever, yet then seems like yesterday I got "the call" that afternoon. Just an awful day at my job. I so wanted to quit. I'd even gone home for lunch, since I lived close. I thought about calling my dad just to hear his voice. Yet, I thought I just bothered him so much about my work troubles.

Little did I know it would have been my last call to him. Dad was in a nursing home/rehab because of his blindness in July. He was learning to take care of himself even tho he couldn't see. It really wasn't going as well as they'd hoped.

My dad was so use to doing everything on his own. Now he couldn't see and had to so depend on others. It was sad. I still had him pictured walking down the street, Iowa Hawkeye jacket on with a King Edward cigar dangling from his mouth.

So on that Thursday, I think my dad just had enough. I know he never wanted to leave me--after all, I was his 'prettiest girl'--plus, he missed my mom and tired of waiting. Dad went to sleep and just didn't wake up. Just the way he wanted.

For me today, it's all bittersweet. How much my life has changed since his death and what has remained the same. I still hear Dad's laugh and times I think I smell the cigar smoke...

Especially when I look at his Iowa Hawkeye jacket that hangs in the closet.

September 24, 1971 was Friday

Just like today.

I recall that sunny 1971 day very well.

I was in 8th grade-the highest grade in our junior high-

Rough and tough, our class yelled the loudest

Our first pep rally for our junior high football guys--

We were in 8th grade and next year HIGH SCHOOL!

Couldn't wait to race home and tell my folks-

My mom tried to listen, so did my dad.

Mom lie in bed. Dad sat in a chair next to the bed.

I knew Mom hadn't felt well, I just didn't know how bad-

Until one of Mom's friends came to the house with her

Daughter who was my age, and shortly thereafter

An ambulance arrived.

As my Mom was strapped to a gurney to leave our home,

She pet our Siamese cat, Minglee, who I held

Hostage in my arms. and I leaned over to kiss her--

"Mama love" she said--like she did every night.

Then Mom told me I was to be the woman of the house

When she wasn't there.

I bit my lip. Didn't want Mom to see me cry.

That was the last time I saw my mother alive.

Three days later Mom was dead.

I was 13.

And I cried.

My Mom

September 27 1971 was Monday

..and the day I became a motherless daughter.

I cried in Dad's arms five times and probably at least another five times by myself. At one point, during that longest day ever, I stretched myself on Mom's side of their bed, where she'd been just three days prior. I wanted to be close to her. I wanted her to come back. I didn't know how sick Mom was or maybe I did and just in teenage denial.

On this day in 2009, Pastor Rickie Rush, of the Inspiring Body of Christ Church, spoke of shame. How things of your past are great canidates for shame. How Satan reminds you of these things and tell you how you're not worthy. The shame occurs when you believe the words Satan's spews. Yes, you will always have struggles as you journey to your blessings, that's where Satan's really wants to latch on, so you can fail. God wants to see how you react. If you can handle what HE has instore for you.

After Mom died, I felt so unworthy of many things. I trace alot, if not all, back to that 1971 day. As an adult, I realized when I was a kid, didn't think I was as special as somebody with a Mom. My Dad adored me, as did the rest of my family, but I wonder since I missed out on something--was I worthy enough? Satan had a grip on me. I know that now. I felt shame over my Mom's death. I carried guilt that I could have prevented it--if I just opened my mouth.

Mom wanted to have weight loss surgery. She wasn't a Half Ton Mom, like you see on TV, far from it. Yet she wanted it, to escape her 300 pounds yo-yo dieting, especially due to the success her sister and my 17 year old cousin seemed to have. On a June day, the doctor gave the final OK for surgery. Mom was euphoric. Mom held me close as she nearly skipped with joy from the doctor's office. Mom shouted how this time next year, how thin she would be.

A boulder slammed in the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to scream "NO! Don't do it!" But I didn't.

Three months later, after several complications, Mom died of yellow liver atrophy.

Our family doctor told me he advised Mom not to have it. My dad told me over and over, how Mom wanted this surgery and it didn't matter what anybody said. Dad, also said through the years, to not to feel guilty--how Mom wouldn't want me to. That's alittle easier said than done.

In service today, Pastor Rush said how words from those that are suppose to love you causes shame too. Explains alot. Especially when my step-mother would inform me how I didn't quite measure up to being the best daughter or that a man would want me because I didn't cook enough. After Mom died, I so longed for a mother figure. I settled for hurtful words to get what I thought I wanted.

I didn't wait for God to work it out, as Pastor Rush said. God had to put me in quarantine as He did His work on me. I skipped that step--ALOT, and tried to do it myself. In those cases, Satan roasted his marshmallows and had a good time. I know that now.

I'm not perfect, yet I see things more clearly now. I try to remember more memories of Mom---the good and the bad (she could spank in blink of an eye!). I was 13 when she died on this day in 1971. I think of how hard it was for Dad to wake his daughter and tell her Mommy was gone. So much we missed out on--our entire family.

Yet, I realize I am worthy. I always have been. God waited patiently for me to get there, even tho I wasn't so patient on myself. I still make mistakes. Sometimes I hear Satan whisper in my ear, but I don't hear him as much as I do. The beauty of being born with no left ear (microtia) so I turn to my left and all I 'hear' is hot air.

I celebrate Mom's life and continue with the dance our spirits still do today.

I am blessed.