Tag Archives: the challenges of end of life caregiver

Dreaming of Beauty…

I look up to the woman before me. With wide eyes I see such beauty.  Her textured hands full of beauty and grace, the small black watch fitted over elegant lifted wrist bones. She smiles at me and it reaches her eyes.  The wrinkles in perfect form on either side of her mouth.  She laughs and it fills my soul. I know behind that laugh is beauty.  It is strength.  It is long searched for and missed in its absence.  It’s her eyes though.  The beauty and strength that show in each and every burst of bright wide blue light.  The presence of love in every tiny pixel.

It’s her hair.  Fixed or unkempt but her color makes me feel joy.  Even when the roots grow a little long, I don’t see them, I just see her and just how she wishes her hair looked every single day.  She has the perfect figure.  It’s soft at times but her hugs are magic.  Healing…happy..wonder. She is class.  She’s beautiful.  Like a magic star in a unicorn sky.  She…the most beautiful woman in the world.  One day…I hope..I pray…I wish…I believe…I can be just like her.

How I feel about my Momma.

How my daughter feels about me.

Genetics are strong…so is love….

Why doesn’t our vision stay the same, unmasked, untainted when focused inward?

Hoping to see what my daughter sees…for me…for my mom…for my daughter…to show her that today and always she is beautiful. A magic star in a unicorn sky.



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Adventurer in Pearls

Today while driving Sidekick 1 asked me this question, “Why is God taking all of our people right now?”  I didn’t know how to answer her.  It made me feel very sad.  I don’t like posting all things gloom and doom but it has been a very rough month at our house.  We are currently in the process of sending one more very lovely lady to Heaven.  It’s hard not to ask why God is taking all of our people right now.  It’s hard not wonder if there is something that I have done wrong.  It is hard not to question my own strength.  It is even more difficult to watch the ones still here with me grieving and struggling.  The hardest part..is watching others suffer and not being able to help them.

I am personally thankful for all of the time I have been able to spend.  All of the lessons I have been able to learn.  Thankful for the memories, the stories and the time.  The greatest of generations is moving on.  What lessons can we take with us? What can we learn from them to make a better tomorrow?

I just keep thinking of my time spent, and I am so thankful that I spent time with loved ones, eyes open, heart open, and embracing the moments.


This grandma of mine has come to me through marriage.  She is the one and only that I got to meet in my time as a Boxall.  She has brought so much into my life and I feel blessed to call her mine.  She is a woman of grace.  A woman of class.  She is the woman who when I was young I would have looked up to in awe. I still look up to her in awe and hope that some day I can have just a smidgen of her in me.


She was always presentable. She woke each morning and dressed in fashionable clothes.  She kept up with times and ensured she dressed it.  She always had jewelry on and most often a scarf.  Nice shoes and perfectly curled hair. If you really paid attention you could smell her fragrance, always clean, always floral.  Her nails and hair were done weekly and it showed.  She was beautiful, stunning, a woman through and through. Even my sidekick could see it.


She had presence and beauty.  She stood and walked tall.  When she entered a room you saw her.  Beauty and grace.


I loved sitting with her.  She loved having the kids come to her place.  She always complained that it was too small, and she wanted more room. What she would do with more room, I have no idea, but she always wanted it.  I think it was because she was accustomed to things and liked them that way.


She loved having the kids come and play.  She loved to hear their chatter.  She always thought they were the smartest and “so advanced” for their age.  She loved watching them dance and play.  I love how proud she was of my children.  My children were proud of her too.  They love her.  They loved to visit and spend time in her tiny place.  They loved drawing her pictures on post-it’s.  You would think grandma thought they belonged in a museum the praise she gave them.  I am surprised they didn’t end up on her wall.  She had a talent for displaying items as art.


An example…In her room there was displayed a cow bell.  I loved having her tell this story because she would laugh the whole way through. On the night of her wedding their friends took them out for night.  They lived in Yuma, AZ so they were close to the border in Mexico.  They spent much of the night across the border.  She said she danced and had fun but her husband was anxious to get home.  She too, but in her story it was always her husband who was begging to go.  They were kept out the entire night by friends.  She said when they got back home to bed the next morning they laid in bed and found themselves itching.  Their friends had put some powder in the bed that made them itch, so they decided to turn the mattress over.  Upon turning over the mattress they found a cowbell had been securely fastened to the springs in their bed.  She goes on to tell how difficult it was for her husband to get the cowbell off of the bed because it was wired on tight.  She laughs and laughs.  Hanging in her room still to the day is the cowbell and the memory of the wedding night to the love of her life.  I love that sass, that charm.


As fancy as she was she always knew how to enjoy a party.  She loved her Chardonnay.  She also loved beautiful old music. She was funny.  She would make jokes and razz people.  She always made me laugh.  One night when we went to visit and sat to have a talk, she tapped the top of her knees and said, “It’s a girl party, now what should we ladies talk about.”


She had a beautiful home surrounded in my favorite things…real leather bound books.  They were so beautiful and she was so proud of them.  This is just one way we were kindred spirits.  I spent a lot of time with her one week when I went up to check in on her when her daughter was on vacation and we talked about those books in length.  She showed me her favorite and even offered for me to borrow them.  That was a sure sign of trust.  I didn’t, as I knew the love she had for them, but the honor I felt that she would have let me take one of her precious books was something I will never forget.  She told me so many stories that week. I wish I would have written them all down but I was too busy laughing.


She was a top realtor in the state of Idaho.  She worked hard and was really good at her job.  She loved it and wasn’t ready to retire. Her business sense, her understanding of people, and her work ethic made her successful.  She truly listens and watches.  I can’t remember a time that she ever interrupted me when I was speaking. This is a talent and something totally genuine about her.  I would guess that her skills in this area led to her success.  That and her honesty.


She adventured in life.  She is the adventurer in pearls.  She traveled with her husband, she spent time with her family. My husband spent a lot of time with her in his youth and I am thankful for her influence on him.


She is quite the competitor though too.  I saw this in her stories, in the way she lived her life, and in the way she related to others.  She always wanted to “give” the best.  She didn’t realize that she already did.  She gave me my mother-in-law.  She gave me my husband.  Through them my children, one of which is named after her.  Really maybe they both are.  The way she lived her life and her last name.

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I am so thankful for her example.  She showed me that I can be bold and beautiful.  Smart and humble.  Kind to others but care for oneself.  I want to be just like her when I am older.  Lucky for me I have my Mother-In-Law.  A lady rich in class and kindness.  One that I am so blessed to have and lucky to learn from.


So to all you classy ol’ broads.  I know the best!  Take a lesson.

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The Wonderful Lady

I am currently in the process of a long goodbye.  I’m losing my grandmother.  The mother of my mother.  The last tie I truly have.  You see, there is an order.  Parents should never lose a child.  I have always understood this looking at it as a parent myself, but I never took the time to really think about the other end of things.  I am losing my grandmother. A wonderful woman.  A motherly figure in my life. It is at times like this I really miss my mom.  I should have here now.  We should be leaning on each other.

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I laid next to my grandmother today and I swear I could smell my mother.  The curve of her chin bone could almost have been hers too.  They are a piece of one another.  A piece of me.  I am going to miss her.  I am going to miss the small piece of my mother that was also still her lingering with my grandmother.  There are so many things I will miss.


I learned so much from this wise grandmother of mine.  She loves so deeply.  She is a truly, genuinely, good person.

She had such a strong love.  We were her dolly’s.  We were her precious darlings, so loved.  We were the best at violin, the best at sports, the best at plays…the best.  She was our biggest fan.  She came to every sporting event I ever had.  She and grandpa would sit up close and cheer ever so softly.  Yet the softness of her voice, would reach me and I knew she was there.  She came to every play. Whether it be in school, a talent show, or just in her basement with the cousins she was front row.  She was a whole audience all to herself.


She was the very best storyteller.  She would read us stories when we were younger and she had a thousand voices.  She could also tell a story about grandpa that would light up the very room.  The time they first met when he gathered her hat.  The time on the bus where he pretended to be asleep on her shoulder and she all but held her breath so she wouldn’t move and make him stir from his pretend sleep.  The time he made her wait for a wedding ring because she hadn’t been sure, but then she was and he was not taking her back.  But then he did. About the times he held  her hand and sang, “I love you, a bushel and a peck.”

Grandma was a hard worker too.  Everything in her house ran like a well oiled machine.  It’s possible that this was because everything was used a minimum of 10 times. This goes for plastic bags and foil too.  Things knew what to do because they were well-worn in. Like her coat and her boots and every single turtleneck. She didn’t waste.  Not a thing.  She ate everything on her plate and only served what she could finish.  She was in charge of feeding the whole cattle crew in the desert.  She pulled off the meals while watching the little ones and keeping the camp clean.  That is no easy chore.

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My sidekick would use this term, but it fits best for grandma.  She’s the cheese on the pizza that keeps all the toppings in place.  There is something about grandma that she can make everyone come together and stick together even when this is the last thing they want to do.  There has been a family reunion every year.  Every single year.  For grandma.  She knows whats going on with everyone too and can remember every reason for every one that couldn’t make it. She not only knows and remembers all of her great-grandkid’s name, but she knows what they like, their favorite color, and things to say to make them smile.


My “sisters” and I sat today and talked about grandma.  We talked about how sleepovers were the very best.  She would let us have two vitamin c’s before bed.  Just two because any more than that would overdose us.  Then she would take us downstairs and let us jump from bed to bed about four times.  She would have us lay down on her feather pillows, tuck the blankets around us tight then lift just a corner so she could put the hair dryer in there to warm us up.  She would tell us just to lay still like that and we would stay warm.  Then she would read us only 1 story, then come back for at least one more before we finally went to sleep.  Then we would wake to the best pancakes ever.  She also makes the best wheat bread and sugar cookies.


We also decided that grandma is going to have a few black marks against her in Heaven.  She is a fibber.  This grandma of mine can tell you a story so tall you would think it is a tree and not even change her face.  Such as: “I feel great.” “It was a wonderful, just wonderful day.” “You are the very best at that.” “You are the most beautiful.”

Although…now that I look at it.  Maybe she wasn’t really fibbing all these years.  Maybe she really believed those things because she just has an incredible perspective and outlook on life.  I hope to be like her someday.


We spent hours spitting seeds from frozen cherries and peeling rhubarb so we could put salt on it and eat it. Grandma could spit the farthest every time.  She taught us how to roll the legs of our pants up to wade in the river and showed us that you can be down to earth and classy at the same time.   A few months ago I went to her house and she was just feeling frumpy.  I gave her a quick trim and set to work for a quick manicure.  I never knew that my grandma was very particular about her nails, but I learned pretty quick that day as she made sure I did them just right. I realized then, more than any other time that she was more like my mother than I think she ever knew.


She loved looking out her windows and playing with the kids.  The noise didn’t bother her at all and if she could, she would be up with them every step of the way.  Like playing swords and pirates with my wee child because that was important to my girl so it was important to my grandma.

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She made the best special blankets.  She always had juice and ice cream for the kids.  Ice cream bars or vanilla ice cream with chocolate powder.  She cherished every drawing, colored page and picture because they were treasures and just so precious.


I think that is the greatest lesson I learned from my grandma.  I matter.  Everyone matters.  She sees the best in everyone.  She blocks out the bad and only sees the good because that is what matters.  Everything else…well…”it’s just whatever, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

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Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

It has been three years since you left me. Three years since I last talked with you. Three years.  So much has happened in these three years.  So many things.

  • Your grandson was born.  He’s incredible Mom.  He’s funny and sweet.  He was born without you.  He had his first bath without you. He crawled, he walked and he is finding his words.  He had 2 surgeries and one very scary time in the hospital with an illness.  I needed you.  He needed you. You weren’t there.
  • I quit my job.  The one that I loved.  I am home now, with my kids who need me more.  You would be so proud of me.  You always told me that I would be able to make it work and I do.  I work a lot of a little jobs but we make it and my kids are happy.  I figured it out now, even though there were so many times I grabbed the phone to call you, to discuss, to talk.  You didn’t answer.
  • I’ve run hundreds of miles. I’ve flown thousands. I have taken lots of classes and read lots of books.  I would have loved to share my journey with you.
  • I’ve written more books, and have a story that is actually published.  You didn’t get to read it.
  • I’ve learned to cook so many things that you would have loved to eat.  My small one loves to cook too.  You never got to try them.
  • I’ve moved.  I live in a home that I love, in a place that I love and that you would have too.  You’ve never been in my home and I have no memories of you here.
  • My Honey Cuffs are helping kids.  You helped me make the first one, but you didn’t get to see the patent in my hands.  You didn’t get to hear all the people they have helped.  You missed this.
  • Art has  new job too.  He’s good at it.  I am proud of him.  We would have even more in common and something to talk about.  We can’t share this.
  • Your granddaughter can read now.  She dances lovely.  She loves to sing and is so sweet mom.  She would make you laugh.  She hasn’t got to hear your laughter in three whole years.

I haven’t got to hear your laughter in three whole years.  People say it gets easier.  People lie.  I have learned to adapt my life.  It’s just my life now, with a piece missing.  A mostly complete puzzle.  I notice the piece is missing. I imagine what is there and I put that forward, a whole puzzle to the world. That piece is still missing. I always miss you.  Some day’s it is easier than others.  But there are times, Mom, times when I want to scream. Times that I feel are just so hard that my soul seeps right out through my eyes.  Times when my heart misses you so much that it balls up in my chest and I realize in those times that life just isn’t fair.

Sometimes the hard times come when I am least expecting them.  Sometimes it’s when I am cleaning my house.  When I am dusting off your ashes.  Keeping them clean so that somehow in my heart I can feel like you are watching over me, over my kids, but sometimes it just feels too hard.  There shouldn’t be dust on you.  You should be here.  I am thankful I have that memorial in my home.  My most treasured place includes you, my mom.  But then I miss you, we circle, and I just feel like crying again.

It happens every time my sidekick makes a wish.  Pennies, stars, eyelashes, and candles. Every one is a wish for Mimi to come back.  Every single one ends in tears.  How can I teach about dreams and hopes when I always have to say, “try again”.  How can I say it’s a beautiful world when she remembers everything. She remembers you and she misses you.  We all miss you.

It happens when I smell something that reminds me of you. It happens when I read a good book that I want to share with you. It happens with I get worked up and angry over something someone said and I know you would have a reasonable suggestion for interpretation that isn’t evil.  It happens when I drive, when I used to call you.  It happens on the boat. It happens when I sing, dance, or play your guitar.  It happens when my kids do something awesome that I know you would have liked. It happens today, on your birthday, on mother’s day, on my birthday, and the whole Christmas season.  It happens all the time. I miss talking to you. I wish I could talk about you more.  People skip the subject, they don’t want to see me cry.  They don’t want me to be sad, but the reality is, I like to know others remember  you too. I need to talk about you.  Three years gone. Three.  Where have you been?  I still need my mom. You have missed so much and we miss you too.

I love you Mom.




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My Grandma in a Book Review

I should be visiting my grandparents today, but instead I am home, with my kids with a cold.  Instead, I am finishing a story about my grandma, well a grandma at least but she sure seems a lot like mine.  This story made me reminisce about the wonderful lady that she is.  It made me think of the life lessons that she has taught me.  It made me laugh, it made me cry, and mostly it made me wish that my grandmother was not starting to get tired.

Without further ado I introduce my grandma and the book: A Long Way From Chicago by Richard Peck.

I spent near as many dinners around her kitchen table as my own.  She was quite the cook. I asked her one day how she became such a good cook and she said, “I just wanted to really bad, so I worked at it.”  That’s how she lived life.  If she wanted something she worked for it herself.  She put in the time. Nothing was free and nothing was owed to her.  She cooked to feed her family (and the neighborhood kids, and the people from out-of-town) not for show.  I would put her pies, candy, bread or cakes up against anyone in town.  One of the only things I see differently than the grandma in this book from my own.  She would never cheat another.  It didn’t matter if he was a “no good rascal”.


Grandma made us work.  Sometimes we didn’t like it, but looking back now I am grateful for the time I spent with her.  I spent many afternoons helping her bag and deliver “Peggy’s Ice”.  I helped in the garden and in the yard.  I learned some basic cooking skills and learned that dishes get cleaned right after dinner, “they are harder to clean if you let them sit and people will hang around anyway so you can still talk after your done.”

Grandma said what she thought.  It took me a long time to learn that she didn’t mean to hurt others, she just didn’t like what they were doing.  The thing is, she was so respected and well liked that they valued her opinion.  Gossip didn’t often happen around her kitchen table, yet she knew everything about everything.  I guess those were just conversations in honesty.

I remember one time when I ran away from home. I have no idea why, but I headed up to Grandma’s house.  My mom quickly followed and I remember when my grandma opened the door she said, “She’s here, but I think she just needs a minute. I’ll bring her down the road in a few minutes.”  She didn’t say anything to me, just gave me a few minutes, then she patted my back and said it was time to go home, and I went. I knew I could always trust her, that I mattered, and she would do anything for me.

We spent many nights at Grandma’s too.  Sometimes it was planned but sometimes it was unexpected.  On those nights, Grandma would pick out each of us one of her silky shirts and put them on us to sleep in.  She called them “twirling shirts” and would have each of us a give her a good spin before she tucked us into bed.

I can talk to my grandma about anything.  One time after I was telling her about a particularly selfish person, she said, “You don’t need to make room in your life for people like that.  Really all that matters is family and love.”


She knows a lot about love my grandma.  She tells you she loves you, but she also shows you. Most often this comes in the form of food at her table, but she also would sew things, or ask you to help her grab something from the storage so she could just talk to you and tell you she loves you.  She always had ice cream and I can’t count the number of times she held my sprite while I took a sip through a straw when I was sick.  If you were leaving town, she expected a call to know you got home, if she didn’t get one, she’d call you and remind you that “I was in a dither because I didn’t know how you got on.  You make sure to call me okay.”

She also taught me about love in the way she loved my grandpa.  She was always there.  Always.  She supported him, in the best way she could and that was in taking care of him.  Grandpa said she didn’t like the tractor much, but that she liked to be with him, standing next to the fence watching him work the field.  She helped drive the truck to get the cows on or off the mountain and she always made sure his belly was full.  The ultimate care-taker.


Grandpa would do much of the fishing and hunting but I would not have put it past her to put on her overalls and take us illegal catfishing if it meant that we (or another) would have food on the table.  She would just chalk it up to taking care of her people.

She taught us the broom trick in her kitchen when we were young.  She did it then and showed us, not just told us.  A few months ago when showing our own kids the broom trick in that same kitchen, she said, “well I think I can still do it, maybe I ought to give it a try.”  We convinced her otherwise, but I wonder if probably she still could.


She loves animals, she hates them, she loves them.  She always complained, but she is the lady that feeds the neighborhood cats.  She still talks about Benji the weiner dog she had when we were young.  She always let her kids rescue animals even though she said she wouldn’t this included dogies, goats, chickens, cows etc. etc. etc.  She has a cow in her field that she can see out her back window that doesn’t have a hoof on one leg.  He is a resilient cow who is still doing just fine.  She tells me how sad it is to see that even in the world of cows, those that are different are left out.  This black cow waits to eat last, often lays alone and just goes through life trying to get by.  The cows in the field will one day be meat on the table, but grandma says, that one has to go to someone else because there is no way she can eat him.

I learned to play poker with buttons at her kitchen table.  Spoons too.  and hopscotch. She also showed me how to climb trees and what real sun tea tasted like. I learned to make candy in her kitchen.  She fired me once, but last time I made taffy with her she said, “I am done firing people,” but she reached her hand over and took the spoon from mine and said, “but maybe I better take this right here.”


She’s a tough old bird.  If I ever needed backup in a fight, Grandma would be the one to call.  She loves me fiercely and wouldn’t hesitate to “box their ears” if she thought they deserved it.  She’d pull out a paddle cutting board and pound it on her hand and say, “that’ll end that.” Sometimes I thought she was going to box my ears too.  I had a hard time seeing disappointment from my grandma.  I thought sometimes she was too hard on me.  I think she just really saw that I could do so much more and that I should.  She expected that of me, because I was hers, her genes made me after all. She didn’t want me hanging out with “rascals” and often asked “well why didn’t you do something else?”  The older I get the more I understand.  The more I love and respect her willingness to say the hard things.  I admire her strength, her courage and her toughness.  Too often I think I worry about how things will make people feel without realizing that the true honesty in life is just another form of love.


I love when she says, “Oh Hell.” Or when she says, “I love you.”  She has been known, with her hands aside my face, to say “You are special, a very special girl, a very good mom.”  She will say, “I am so proud of you, proud you are mine,” and most recently I even caught a “She can eat my shit” when someone made her feel sad.  Like I said, she always says what she feels.

So to my grandma-World’s Best-thank you for your wisdom, your wit, your all around funny, loving, kindhearted self.  I am so proud you are mine.


If you want to laugh at a grandma like mine, you really need to read this short, very quick read A Long Way From Chicago by Richard Peck available here.


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Old Love

He sat upright in his chair.  Cancer causing pain to pulse through his bones.   If he just held still, he could keep it at bay.  She came to him, aged beauty, and fluffed his pillow.  He patted her hand.  Years of care-taking, years of love.  When he looked at her he saw babies, family, and meals in the kitchen and from a cooler on the mountain.  When he looked at her he felt whole, seeing more now with his heart than his eyes.  She was unwell today.  She was his wife.


His body said there was nothing he could do, but his soul reached for her.  The love in his heart was stronger than the pain crushing him now.  He should call for help but instead he held her hand and walked her to car.  He drove blind to the Doctor.  He was her man. She his responsibility.  This old farmer had one more ride.  One more time to care for his bride.  The cancer made him angry, made him mean, but his heart still pulsed for her and when she needed him most he answered the call.


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A Day With An Angel


A Day With An Angel

I pick up the phone and dial your number

On this special day I always remember

I wish you would pick up the end of the line

So I could tell you how grateful I am that you’re mine

But all I have left of you now

Are the memories and lessons that you handed down

The pictures I have of your beautiful face

Are all memories now, another time, another place

I’d give almost anything to hug you once more

I wish there was a way to knock on heaven’s door

Just know that I love you my beautiful mom

And I’m very sad, that you are really gone

There are many who say you are always by my side

But I can’t see you, so I’m afraid you must hide

I wonder if somewhere there a magic concoction

A visit to heaven just might be an option

But until I find it, this will have to do

A make-believe day, just me and you

We’ll sit in the sun and drink our sweet tea

But when others will look, they’ll only see me

While you are dancing all around the moon

I will dance with you, in my living room

I’ll sit in the hot tub with my bottle glass of wine

And tell myself stories, “remember that time”

You take a ride on your horse to the sunset

I’ll tell my kids of the cowgirl they’ll never forget

We’ll talk about books and have a good time

Even though the only voice I’ll hear will be mine

But mostly I’ll cry and I’ll swallow my pain

Because I know on this earth I won’t see you again

I’ll forever enjoy these days with you, Mom

For inside my heart you’ll forever live on

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God Don’t Make No Mistakes

My daughter was born with a cleft lip.  When I found out, I was terrified.  It was the unknown and the concern for her happiness, not just her health that kept my heart in my throat for months.  I am embarrassed to admit that I found myself asking, “Why her? Why me? Why us?”  It was so huge.

I am now on the other side, and here, I carry power.  The power of knowledge that everything is going to be okay.  That we can do this! But in that moment, before the knowledge, I doubted my own strength.  There was a time though, that I finally realized something amazing.  “God Don’t Make No Mistakes.”


I have a very dear friend that is going through something very similar right now, only bigger.  She is such an amazing soul.  She has been my friend forever, from the time we were in diapers.  I love her.  It is through her that my message has truly been confirmed.

She, I will call her Tammy,  was always the person that chose others before herself.  She was always kind even when she didn’t agree.  She was one of the first to call me and check in after Sidekick 1 was born and always has kind words of encouragement.  When we had different friends and different groups, I could still call her my friend and I know she would agree.  She has friends for days with good reason.  She is beautiful and smart-the whole package.  Why her?  Why her baby?

Life isn’t fair.  But one thing I know for certain is that her baby is one lucky little angel.  What better place for that child to be than in the arms of my friend Tammy?

Through her, my friend, and the angel my life has already been touched.  What an amazing soul.  Thank you for reminding me.

I may not be perfect. I may have some bad days mixed in with the good.  I may doubt myself and my ability to be the best mother for my children.  Sometimes I may find myself asking the question, “why me?” when things get hard.  I am realizing even more every day though that I was made just for my children.  Every choice, action, and even hardship has made me the person and mother that I am.  I am one of God’s perfect choices.  I was made to be the mother of my children and that is powerful.  It is with great honor that I say, “Thank you for choosing me.”

My friend Tammy: There would be no better place. I believe that.  I’m here for you.

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It’s a Physical Thing

I recently had a conversation with a dear friend of mine, that is really sticking with me.  This amazing woman, and truly she is, just became a grandma.  How great is that?  It’s wonderful and fulfilling and something that she has always wanted, but something isn’t right.  Her baby, and her grand-baby are thousands of miles away.  It happens.  She thought she was prepared and was ready to catch a flight, but as things happen, the baby arrived early.  Grandma can’t go just yet-even though she wants to.  In fact, a part of her is already there.  I am sure just as much as her soul is longing to be with them, their souls collectively are reaching for her too.

I promise I am going somewhere with this.


I miss my mom.  I think of her everyday.  My daughter went through a little something when she was young and it was very hard on me.  I called my mom, just to talk.  She called me back only a few minutes later to tell me that she was on her way to my house.  After urging her that she didn’t need to come she said to me, “I know you are okay, I hear you, but I need to see you both, with my own eyes, and be able to feel you.”  It’s a physical thing.  It wasn’t enough for her to just hear from me that we were okay, and we were, but she needed to physically see us with her own eyes for her to feel at peace.

I hear all the time that our loved ones that have passed on are with us.  I believe they are and even had my own experience with John Edwards the psychic Medium, but for me, it just isn’t enough most days.  It’s a physical thing and I just need to see her, to feel her.  I know she is “in a better place” and “no longer suffering” but those are for her-her blessings, they just aren’t mine.  When I was the daughter about to have a grand-baby, I really needed my mom-and she couldn’t be there for me as I needed her to be.  I felt (and still do) that empty physical space, a black hole in my galaxy.

I am learning so much as a mother, I find that there are many times that I just need to sneak in and check on my babies so that I can physically see that they are okay, just like my mom.  At the end of a difficult day, I want nothing more than to just see my husband so we can check in, to know he is okay and safe.  A phone call would work, but there is so much more face to face.

When there is so much distance between you and the ones you love, does your soul feel truly at peace?  For love becomes a physical connection, even more than just a longing. I believe this.  I am not looking forward to the day when my previous soul tenants find themselves venturing further into the world. I will miss them. I know it already.  What’s a mother to do?  I guess I know…I get in the car and I drive there, so I can see with my own two eyes that all is well (at least when I can).  After all, it’s a physical thing.

For now, I will treasure, the best that I can, the moments I share with others.  The connections and the time I get to spend face to face.  I will take pictures and create memories hoping to hang on, just a little longer.  I need to fill my physical well, taking in others presence without loosing the connection by always filling it with words.  Time is so short.

As for my friend.  That plane will get you there faster than a bike, but your soul is going without you.  You’ll make it-hang in there!

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In Pursuit of Motherhood Perfection

As mothers, we will never be good enough.  Historically, and I know this from my mother and grandmother, they too felt inadequate.  In their time, the expectation was that they have a clean house, good food on the table and well behaved children.  The way they achieved this was through time spent cleaning, cooking, sending the kids outside, yelling and discipline, and a spank now and then.  They now wish that things would have been left and they would have spent more time with their children.

If I am to believe what all of the blog posts are saying, the expectation today is that it’s all about the kids even to the extent that we should have dirty houses, quick meals, constant playing, and absolutely no yelling.  Cherish every moment, and allow them to express their individuality.  Not all, but the pattern of children now is a large group of entitled and disrespectful children that our elderly population just doesn’t get.

What are we to do?  Well as for me, I am just going to do the very best that I can.  I am a firm believer in all things in ration.  Every day there are things I wish I did differently or better.  Every night I accept my imperfections and forgive myself, starting tomorrow anew.  What I know about myself and my raising of my children is this: If my child doesn’t listen, I might yell.  If they misbehave, are disrespectful or rude, there will be consequences.  They will know right from wrong, and know that God exists, watching our every action-but that there is great forgiveness.  They will learn to play on their own, outside and in-this may include tv or a video game now and then-all things in ration.  They will learn please and thank you and to send a card in the mail when words just aren’t enough.  They will have a clean house and a good meal and it may take me all day sometimes.  I will work and will sometimes text and be on the computer-there are others things important too, even if not as much.  Through this, when they are older, they will realize how important it is to work hard, and also that they need to call each other and their friends once in a while to say hello. In high school, they won’t have large holes in their ears or tattoos on their arms, and their pants will cover their underwear-they can show their independence elsewhere.  They will know they are loved, they are important, and that they are amazing souls that I am so blessed to be a part of their lives.  They will know what it feels like to dance in the kitchen, and run around on hands and knees playing horses with me.  They will know that my Barbie likes to flip her hair, and that my truck runs into a lot of things.  They will know they can tell me anything and that I will help them, without judgment-but hopefully with advice.  I will hug them every night and every day. I will drop everything to come to their rescue when they are hurt or need me.  I will kiss them when they will let me and through my relationship with their dad, I will show them what love and friendship looks like.  They will laugh and will know the meaning of family and that it is the most important thing above all else.


I will know, in the future, when I am doubting my decisions and full of “I wishes” that in the moment, I just did the very best that I could, and hopefully, when I pick up the phone to call them, on the other end will be a well-rounded, confident independent child that loves me  (even a fraction) as much as they know I love them.

Originally Posted at: http://becauseiamamom.wordpress.com/2013/12/16/in-pursuit-of-motherhood-perfection/


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