Weighty Matters

I've been feeling the weight of this day for a long time. Dreading it. Hoping maybe it could slip by unnoticed while I'm working myself to a frazzle in Room 15. No such luck.






 For weeks, anticipating, I've worn your death like a heavy yoke around my neck.

You know what I wish?  I wish you could have just one post visit after moving on from this earthly space.  Just one hug that says, "Hey, it is all good!"  Well, actually, I'd like to hear, "You just can't believe this, it is so wonderful, just can't even tell you why I ever put off leaving that old, sad sack, infection prone vessel that had me all bound up in pain and sorrow."
I guess I know the answer.   We wouldn't let you leave  without us.
We have too many in this brood having trouble hanging on as it is.
Life is so weird Mom, but you knew that.  On one hand, you are so very gone, but on the other hand you are never far.  I don't think I'll live long enough for 59 years of you to fade away.


You are impressed on every fiber of my being, so somehow I feel lost and undone without you, even though I was more than ready to not have to watch your continued decline.

You loved to cook and feed people and you loved to eat.


You never leave me because that same compulsion drives me and every thing reminds me of you.
Onions- I love raw onions, cooked onions, every kind of onion because you did. So tonight, even tired and not really caring what I ate, when I warmed up a cup of bean soup, I had to have an onion.

Anything warm and cheesy makes the thought, "Mom would love this," float unbidden through my mind.

Dark chocolate, coffee, bread and butter have your name written on them.

Seafood, especially lobster, screams, "Mom" at me.

 

 And Thanksgiving and Christmas and family. Christmas was your most favorite. You planned for it all year long.

 And prayer.  I'm a bold prayer because I learned it well from you.  When things go wrong all around like our spring and summer medical crisis and things that are other people's story to tell, but cause my fears to rise up and choke me, I choose to remember and believe your prayers for us went before us to our Father, into eternity,  and will not fade or disappear.

Your love of song.  When I think of pedicures or showers, I remember all the baths I sang us through, when I was terrified of dropping you and you were cold and miserable. Those old sweet hymns warmed us and got us through.  Even new songs, like Chainbreaker that you loved me to sing to you.

And there's this head of gray, crazy witchy-poo hair that is ten inches longer than it probably should be, but you had some strange love of my hair and I'll likely never cut it short. Your vision had gotten poor enough, perhaps my hair was all you saw clearly, but those last months, every time I came you told me how beautiful my hair was that day.  You were not happy when I dried it straight and would let me know about that too.

So, clearly you are so with me and clearly you are so very far away.

I will try to allow all my creative mind to imagine you in the splendor of heaven and shake off this sorrow.

 Tis hard.

Playdating All Around

We've been having our regular Playdates, but I haven't taken many pictures.

Last Saturday I had an early date for coffee with my principal, just sharing my take on my second grade experience.  It really has been an experience.  I went in it to with the desire to know how kids work and how learning works at the second grade level.  Today's kiddos have a lot going on. It is no small task to engage them in way that gives a good result. I found a new read- Train the Brain to Hear with some interesting ideas. It is hard to believe how much I still learn about teaching after so very many books and so very many hours in the classroom 

In a highly unusual turn of events, Ol' Mother Hubbard and I were both able to get out and about together after my meeting. 

 Good thing since a couple of new stores opened locally.  I really enjoyed having some time with her as well.  At most family affairs, we barely have time to nod at one another.

 The Captain is learning some new tunes he brought to share last Sunday.

 It was the first time this year we had a fire.  Just too hot and dry and crazy this summer.

 Still we often return inside at some point to see what interesting things we can drag out of the playroom.

 The playroom, oh my.  Once again I've set out to give it a complete cleaning.  With our youngest headed toward five, it was past time.  As I've shared many times, this is a chore I generally fail at.  Every little thing I pick up has some big memory written all over it.  It is a very emotional ordeal to part with their toys.
We've had dog visitors this week that did in our Speckled Sussex hen and was after the bunny when Pap arrived to save her.  My big dog failed in his security duty.

Today was just beautiful. Tomorrow sounds dreadful- quite cold and wet, so I couldn't say no to the creek.

 This big mulberry got me thinking. Thinking about all my littles who sit in her shade and feast on her purple berries and make creek paint to adorn all their exposed parts. About the laughter and the joy. Now she looks bare and stripped to nothing. Kind of the way this November has me feeling. I needed to remember that all of her life is still there, just under the surface. She's just resting, letting go. That perhaps I won't always feel this melancholy and tired.

 I love the sun on my face.  I love to watch the boys turn rocks and sticks into fun.

 While Pap and I were doing errands yesterday, he ran into another bit of boy fun- slingshots.  Oh my, they were thrilled!

So, a busy weekend not quite done. Headed to school to make casseroles and cinnamon rolls for tomorrow's Veteran's Day Program. While my move to 2nd removed me from the serving part, I'm still the cook.  Better get 'er done!

November

“November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.

The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.”

― Clyde Watson

But for me, November brings too many memories and too many tears.
Spent the wee morning hours the same way I did eight years ago, awake and sick.
Miss you sister girl.