This week, my coworker lost her Mom. It was not sudden or unexpected but that really didn't change anything. After all, we are never ready to lose our Moms.
When we got the word that her Mom had passed, my heart sank for her. I, like most of us that have laid our Moms to rest, naturally thought back to the day we lost our own Mothers and what its like to live in a world without a Mom.
Love them or hate them, you know most Mothers love their children in a most unique way. For the majority of us it was our Moms that rocked us and cared for us and hugged us and kissed us. They took care of us when we were sick and made sure we had what we needed and sometimes what we wanted. Right or wrong, they did their best for us. No Mom is perfect, they are human. They make mistakes. Lots of them. So do we.
But in our lives, we are given but one Mom at birth. We were paired up by some guiding force and when we were born, the life of our Moms changed. For a time, she lived a selfless life, putting her child first and her own wants and needs secondary. She made mistakes and more mistakes. But she never gave up on her child. She loved her child with uniqueness that is unmatched.
This week made me think about Moms. All the Moms, the new ones and the old ones. I thought about the bond that exists between Moms and their children. How all their hopes and dreams were bundled up in a noisy, messy and very demanding package. Yet, when it came to their babies, there was nothing more beautiful, more inspiring or more heaven sent in this entire world.
The journey a Mom travels is long and exhausting. It is also filled with indescribable love. There a moments of joy that make all the sleepless nights fade into some distant obscure memory that leaves barely a trace as the years go by.
Love them or hate them for all their faults, they are our Moms. And when they die, a huge part of us dies with them. That part is our childhood and the anchor which grounded us to this world. We are left to pick up the pieces of a life that seems foreign in many respects. If we are lucky to have aged gracefully before letting go of our Mom's hand for the last time, then the road our Mom's traveled seems clear and understandable. If we are lucky enough, we can forgive them for their mistakes and embrace the best part of what they gave us.
Without a doubt, Moms shape and mold us into who we are today. We remember what they taught us and their mistakes taught us how to avoid pitfalls in our own lives.
The world has one less Mom this week and that is a sadness we can all share.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Day 5 and Those Magnificent Blue Skies
When your town is small everyone knows everyone else and they probably know where your grandparents went to school and everything about everything. These people in My Town have been together for generations. They have watched the town grow from a two lane road to a highway, from Lock's Drugstore to the super Walmart. They have seen it all. They have been through so much through the decades that helping one another is not just for funerals, its for anytime someone is in need. I'm not originally from this town and I'm envious of the connection they have to one another. Of course, their kindness and generosity isn't only for the natives of this town. They give freely, its just how they are.
The skies were clear this morning for the second day. The beautiful blue sky was brilliant and the sun was shining bright and warm. I had almost forgotten what that looked like. A cold front brought fresh brisk winds back to our area. Instead of smoke and fire this time, we had lovely breezes and crisp blue skies. Five days and finally we are seeing the light at the end of this tunnel. With the region still primed for more fires, we hold our collective breath but we are feeling less anxious and more hopeful.
I returned to work for several hours to help place and receive calls as we urgently tried to find our students and their families. Many were safe in their own homes and just as many were displaced and scattered across the numerous surrounding counties. The total count of lost homes now stands at just under 1500. I have 1500 students that attend my campus. Those numbers boggle the mind with its enormity.
Part of our campus was turned into a donation, collection and distribution center. The outpouring of donated clothing, toiletries and household goods was heartwarming. We soon had so much that is was open to the public. Everything free just come in and select what you can use.
Some homes untouched but in the areas affected by the fire will be without utilities for as long as six weeks. Families are having to relocate even though their world is still standing. So massive and complete was the fire that half of our town is now gone. Gone is the magnificent State Park that was the cornerstone of this town. Gone are the neighborhoods that surrounded the town. Gone are many of the families that made up our community.
All that may be difficult to imagine to those that live here and are still here. But something really wonderful is happening here in My Town. As I mentioned before, the outpouring of generosity simply left me speechless. As I manned the phones on my campus, I took call after call after call, people saying "What can I do to help?" They were so thoughtful, even asking if I was OK, if my home was OK. I'm also seeing the young people of this community busy helping, distributing, collecting, moving, being extra hands and using those strong bodies to help those weakened by the fire.
This fire, while it stole so much from so many, left in its path more than charred land and broken homes. It left a tender, caring spirit in its wake. I see people caring for each other on a level I've never known before. It is genuine and it is real. Its as if the hearts of each person here reached out and grabbed the closest hand to hold.
With the smoke gone and the fires farther away, every new day brings new healing. Soon we will open our campus doors,the school bell will ring and we will find our way back to the new normal. It will be OK, we will all be OK because we have each other along with tremendous love from people and places we never even knew existed.
I am blessed to have seen the worst and the best all in a single week.
The skies were clear this morning for the second day. The beautiful blue sky was brilliant and the sun was shining bright and warm. I had almost forgotten what that looked like. A cold front brought fresh brisk winds back to our area. Instead of smoke and fire this time, we had lovely breezes and crisp blue skies. Five days and finally we are seeing the light at the end of this tunnel. With the region still primed for more fires, we hold our collective breath but we are feeling less anxious and more hopeful.
I returned to work for several hours to help place and receive calls as we urgently tried to find our students and their families. Many were safe in their own homes and just as many were displaced and scattered across the numerous surrounding counties. The total count of lost homes now stands at just under 1500. I have 1500 students that attend my campus. Those numbers boggle the mind with its enormity.
Part of our campus was turned into a donation, collection and distribution center. The outpouring of donated clothing, toiletries and household goods was heartwarming. We soon had so much that is was open to the public. Everything free just come in and select what you can use.
Some homes untouched but in the areas affected by the fire will be without utilities for as long as six weeks. Families are having to relocate even though their world is still standing. So massive and complete was the fire that half of our town is now gone. Gone is the magnificent State Park that was the cornerstone of this town. Gone are the neighborhoods that surrounded the town. Gone are many of the families that made up our community.
All that may be difficult to imagine to those that live here and are still here. But something really wonderful is happening here in My Town. As I mentioned before, the outpouring of generosity simply left me speechless. As I manned the phones on my campus, I took call after call after call, people saying "What can I do to help?" They were so thoughtful, even asking if I was OK, if my home was OK. I'm also seeing the young people of this community busy helping, distributing, collecting, moving, being extra hands and using those strong bodies to help those weakened by the fire.
This fire, while it stole so much from so many, left in its path more than charred land and broken homes. It left a tender, caring spirit in its wake. I see people caring for each other on a level I've never known before. It is genuine and it is real. Its as if the hearts of each person here reached out and grabbed the closest hand to hold.
With the smoke gone and the fires farther away, every new day brings new healing. Soon we will open our campus doors,the school bell will ring and we will find our way back to the new normal. It will be OK, we will all be OK because we have each other along with tremendous love from people and places we never even knew existed.
I am blessed to have seen the worst and the best all in a single week.
Monday, July 18, 2011
The Silouettes
My mom and dad, Liz and Ken, were decent people. Mom was born in Michigan during the year of the great Market crash of 1929. Dad was born on a rural farm in Kentucky three years earlier in 1926. Completely different people, somehow destine to live a life together. They raised three children and died 17 yrs apart. They lie side by side now in a small cemetery that has been engulfed by progress.
When we laid them to rest, the cemetery was small and quiet, located on a large parcel of land. It was surrounded by pastures and fields. Two lane roads running on either side would often find farmers hauling produce or animals to their next destination. Today, it seems like such a small place, crowded in the landscape like someone crammed in an overfilled elevator. But its their home now. Its also a place we seldom visit. I see their graves as a place where their unneeded bodies are housed. The essence of them, that which made them who they were left at the moment of their death. Where they went, I do not know. I just hope its beautiful, peaceful and that they are enjoying their second life.
My dad, Ken, was a farmer at heart. As far back as I can recall, he had a garden. Not just a place where he grew a few tomatoes and squash. His garden was a work of art, an edible masterpiece.
Never having much money for food, my dad provided a bounty for our table. Never once did we go hungry and they are the best meals I can remember. Ken was a simple man, honest, decent, hard working and a bit of a prankster. He was also very quiet.
Most of my memories of my dad are of him sitting silently outside. He had a studder which I'm sure inhibited his desire to talk. I guess he learned to listen more than talk because of it. But his silence was a wall for me as a child. I never really understood why he didn't say much and I think I always wondered if he really liked me or the rest of the family. Why else would he remain such an island apart from us?
Liz, my mom, was different. A very strong willed woman, the oldest of seven children, seasoned during the depression and second world war. She often told us about how at age 16, she had quit school to go to work to help provide for the family. She was working in that Dime Store when she heard on the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked. It was a "do you remember where you were when it happened" moment for her. We all have them.
Their relationship was complicated. There were many times when I was sure my dad was outside to be away from his wife. It wasn't until after both their deaths that I learned their "love story" and how I came to be. At some point I will dive into that tasty morsel but I will need my older sister's help. She was the witness to that period of time.
Not a single parent comes without a story or baggage from their journey through life. Its riddled with mistake and triumphs. It is human and expected. It is also the story of each old man and every old woman. Their wrinkled faces etched with the joys and sorrows of their past.
I loved my parents and all their faults. I loved them for never leaving me until their bodies failed. I love them for providing me with a home, food, security and support. They did their best and that's more than enough for me.
I am the middle child. I am the peacemaker. I am a little of my mother and a little of my father. I am the product of all they gave me. I am constantly learning how wise they were and how much I should have learned if only I had asked the right questions.
With them gone and the contribution of generations silenced, I am learning all those answers on my own.
Savannah
When we laid them to rest, the cemetery was small and quiet, located on a large parcel of land. It was surrounded by pastures and fields. Two lane roads running on either side would often find farmers hauling produce or animals to their next destination. Today, it seems like such a small place, crowded in the landscape like someone crammed in an overfilled elevator. But its their home now. Its also a place we seldom visit. I see their graves as a place where their unneeded bodies are housed. The essence of them, that which made them who they were left at the moment of their death. Where they went, I do not know. I just hope its beautiful, peaceful and that they are enjoying their second life.
My dad, Ken, was a farmer at heart. As far back as I can recall, he had a garden. Not just a place where he grew a few tomatoes and squash. His garden was a work of art, an edible masterpiece.
Never having much money for food, my dad provided a bounty for our table. Never once did we go hungry and they are the best meals I can remember. Ken was a simple man, honest, decent, hard working and a bit of a prankster. He was also very quiet.
Most of my memories of my dad are of him sitting silently outside. He had a studder which I'm sure inhibited his desire to talk. I guess he learned to listen more than talk because of it. But his silence was a wall for me as a child. I never really understood why he didn't say much and I think I always wondered if he really liked me or the rest of the family. Why else would he remain such an island apart from us?
Liz, my mom, was different. A very strong willed woman, the oldest of seven children, seasoned during the depression and second world war. She often told us about how at age 16, she had quit school to go to work to help provide for the family. She was working in that Dime Store when she heard on the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked. It was a "do you remember where you were when it happened" moment for her. We all have them.
Their relationship was complicated. There were many times when I was sure my dad was outside to be away from his wife. It wasn't until after both their deaths that I learned their "love story" and how I came to be. At some point I will dive into that tasty morsel but I will need my older sister's help. She was the witness to that period of time.
Not a single parent comes without a story or baggage from their journey through life. Its riddled with mistake and triumphs. It is human and expected. It is also the story of each old man and every old woman. Their wrinkled faces etched with the joys and sorrows of their past.
I loved my parents and all their faults. I loved them for never leaving me until their bodies failed. I love them for providing me with a home, food, security and support. They did their best and that's more than enough for me.
I am the middle child. I am the peacemaker. I am a little of my mother and a little of my father. I am the product of all they gave me. I am constantly learning how wise they were and how much I should have learned if only I had asked the right questions.
With them gone and the contribution of generations silenced, I am learning all those answers on my own.
Savannah
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