The kids slept in a bit today, and so did I. My husband awake, already working, and making breakfast.
“I decided to make blueberry muffins this morning!”
He’s the cook in our home. I like to cook, but it doesn’t seem to come naturally, or even with lots of practice, for me. But we’re lucky because he’s a flawless cook. I used to crave eating out, but his meals are so good, I tend to crave certain dishes he makes as much or more than favorite restaurant meals these days.
When we were cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast, he asked, “What did you think of the muffins? I think the recipe from the One Girl cookbook recipe is the best.”
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end of a love or a season?
Who among us has not known the death of someone near and dear? Death can come in an instant at it did at the hands of terrorists, for those who had gathered for a holiday party in San Bernardino, California. Or it can linger painfully long, as it does for so many fighting the arduous battle against cancer. No matter how it comes, the cultural expectation today is that we grieve for a while and then we move on. But that is not the case. At least, that’s not the way I see it.
There is no love as strong and unconditional as that of a mother for her child. For proof of that, we need look no further than the animal kingdom. At the fastidious care and grooming given young chimpanzees by their mothers. At the extraordinary mourning rituals, the sorrow palpable, upon the death of a young elephant, the mother gently tending the body of her dead baby for three days, the rest of the herd disconsolate nearby. It would seem that instinctively elephants know that mourning requires others, that mourning requires rituals to mark the passing of a loved one. Continue reading “In Search of Lost Loves”→
Editor’s Note: I met Dorothy, Charlie and their children in 1984 when our family relocated to Martin, TN. From the very beginning, I knew that the Gillons were a special family; warm, loving and caring. Although many miles separate Dorothy and I today, I am honored to share her story with you. Many hugs, my dear friend.
When Peggy asked me to consider writing an article for her newsletter, I thought what do I have to say about grief that would be helpful to others. But after thinking about it for a while, I thought I have a lot to say about grief and how our family got through it—actually still getting through it. So bear with me as I give you some background about our life.
Charlie and I were married on August 13, 1972. We had a pretty wonderful marriage, easy most of the time, even with our moves to Micronesia; Carbondale, Illinois; Philadelphia, Mississippi (where our son Jamie was born in 1976) and finally to Martin, Tennessee (where our daughter Kathleen was born on our anniversary). We experienced loss along the way with both of our fathers dying very early in our life together and my Nana Dora a little later. We held each other when we cried and remembered our loved ones very often by reminiscing with stories. Continue reading “Twenty Years”→
I was in South America in my senior year, preparing for finals and heading to college to be a surgeon. My mother was 37, and I was seventeen. My father was a pharmacist at the time, but working on a plan for all of us to visit North America after I graduated. My mother was very devastated with the idea. She questioned my father, “How can I be in two places at once (the North and the South)?” God had a plan from the beginning. She was pregnant at that time, and the baby was not due for another month. All the paperwork was completed a year in advance for our trip.
Saturday, May 28, 1977, 9:00AM. My mother gave birth to a healthy girl, her 6th child at home. There was a lot of excitement and happiness, but that was about to change. The private midwife said, “We have trouble!” My mother developed a headache right after the labor and started going into convulsions, her body became toxic, and she went into a coma. I remember very clearly, a few minutes before, the way she reached for my hand and said to my father, “I am scared, please don’t let me die”. We called for an ambulance and they took her, it was the last time I saw my mother alive. Each of her children, ranging in age from 17 to one day old, and my father, were left with little idea of how to manage the grief. Continue reading “Motherless Daughter – A Tribute to My Best Friend”→
My mother would have turned 93 this year. When she died after a brief illness in November 2006, although I knew she had lived a long life, I was bereft. There is never enough time with a loved one.
My mom was my best friend, a reliable loving, comforting, and wise presence in my life.I spoke to my mother several times a day. When there was a lull at work, she was the one I called. When something wonderful happened, I called her. When something challenging happened, I called her. When I needed advice, she was the one I trusted. I could always count on her to be a calm and intelligent sounding board.
She looked at least 10 years younger than she was, and even when the freak cancer attacked her, her mind and heart were still intact. Although I was in my 50’s, I was now officially an “orphan,” my father having died after a long illness a year and a half before.
I was in a funk, going through the motions but not really enjoying it.I was told it would get better after a year and that I needed closure. I began speaking with my friends about how to achieve it and came to the conclusion that there is no closure with those we love deeply. They are in our lives and in our hearts forever, although they are not physically present. Some keep alive their memories through small acts, such as looking at photos and making recipes.Others do big things to carry on the legacies and values of their loved ones, such as establishing foundations. Continue reading “The Living Memories Project: Keeping Memories Alive”→