Saying Goodbye

This does not seem like it’s going to be a very encouraging story, on the surface. There is grieving for a mom who, physically, is still here, but yet she is gone. This has been different than our dad’s story-end — we were blessed to have 2 years to say goodbye. That didn’t make it better, just different.
There is only one place that brings light to this right now: thankfulness for a life with these two parents who were characters in their own right; an odd juxtaposition of out-going fun and self-captive anxiety, howls of laughter and battles with depression, a fierce attendance to responsibility and a throw-it-all-to-the-wind philosophy, acceptance of the unique and strange parts of life and humanity, while still adhering to a set of morals and rules. Sounds like confusion. At times it was, but mostly it was wonderful. There were times of learning together and figuring it out. Leaning on one another. Sometimes this could be a pain, but mostly it was a loving-bond foundation being built that would out-last the years. There were lovely times. There were complete downfalls. There was survival and thriving.
But, what now? The landscape is changing. We see the “next generation” emerging, taking their place, and there is hope that some of the bits and pieces were passed on to them. In the meantime we will find a way to say goodbye to the family we once were.

The Last Book

DSCF0301I found the book, one day, just where she had left it — in her lovely white wicker chair, next to her bed with the yellow and white flowered quilt. “Waiting For Autumn”. It was, most likely, the last book my mom held, the last book she tried to read, her place still marked.  She would have run her fingers over the embossed decorative cover, contemplating the dragonfly printed there.  I pictured her squinting, eyes watering, trying to make out the blurred words.  I wonder if she liked what she read?  I wonder if it made her dream?  She had picked up this book, from my sofa by the window, on one of her visits and started reading it.  I gave it to her to take home.  So when I came across it a few years ago, while we were packing up her bedroom, I needed to have it back. It was, most likely, the last book my mom tried to read, the last book she held.