Tag: grief

L SS

Six months ago I sat on the bed where my mom lay. I told her I loved her and was so glad that she was my mom. I gave her a hug and a kiss. And I went downstairs to play the music she had set out on the piano while the hospice nurse remained.

I hope she felt the love that filled her home.

I am thankful I had visited recently and had been able to take so many business trips to visit Folsom and spend the nights at mom’s and dad’s place. I am thankful for others who had also been around her, giving her support and their love.

I’m still figuring out how to live without mom.

Mom’s view

For a little more than a week, I’ve been walking daily with my dad at a nearby neighborhood park. We shoot the breeze, count the geese, and time our steps. Today the weather was so nice we decided to lengthen our route to the park’s eastern perimeter.

As we walked, my dad said, “We’re coming up to mom’s favorite spot.” I was noticing the flowering trees to the right and wondered if they were it, but we walked right on by. Then I saw a bench up ahead to the right of the path. This was her spot — and this is the view.

I have to agree with mom — this is a special place. :-)

Leaning into grief

Pulling into the parking lot of my morning ritual, IZ’s Somewhere Over the Rainbow started playing on the radio. *Sniff!* *Blink!*

If leaning into grief is a good thing, all I need to do is play this. :’-(

The Bustle in a House

The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon Earth —

The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity —

Emily Dickinson

The broom is still in my closet. I’m not ready just yet.

Thanks to a couple of special friends who shared this poem with me. It means a lot. :-)

Treasured memories of mom

Treasured memories
Flow gently into the breach
That cannot be filled.

--Brent Logan (March 22, 2017)

Today I begin to learn how to live without my mom. This isn’t going to be easy. She was a special, spunky person and we are all better for having known and loved her.

Rest in peace, mom.

I Miss You, Ken

This past weekend, I attended a “celebration of life” memorial for one of my best high school friends. Seeing the pictures and listening to his family reminisce made me sad I’d lost contact, but grateful we’d recently reconnected on Facebook.1No fireworks at the Olympics? Boo!

I have one story about Ken I must tell:

Suzi and I wed 26 years ago. We got presents from friends, classmates, friends of our parents, church members, etc. — lots of presents. Of all the presents, I remember only two,2Indeed, I do remember two presents: Ken’s and one other. As long as I don’t identify that other person, you can imagine the other remembered gift is yours. Yes, this past weekend I said I’d remembered only one, but with the retelling of this story, I remembered another. Lucky me. ;-) I’m sure Suzi remembers many more. Hug your family (and friends) — often. one of them being Ken’s. It was in a large box, large enough to fit a microwave oven, and it was heavy. Inside, we discovered 2,000 paper plates, 2 bottles of Martinelli’s, and a note from Ken:

“You’re married now. You have better things to do than dishes. Enjoy!”

We used those plates for years, remembering Ken each time he “did the dishes” for us.

Classic Ken. I will miss him.

  • 1
    No fireworks at the Olympics? Boo!
  • 2
    Indeed, I do remember two presents: Ken’s and one other. As long as I don’t identify that other person, you can imagine the other remembered gift is yours. Yes, this past weekend I said I’d remembered only one, but with the retelling of this story, I remembered another. Lucky me. ;-) I’m sure Suzi remembers many more. Hug your family (and friends) — often.