Dear Mom (Sept 24/17)

Sun, Sept 24/17

Dear Mom,

I came "home" this weekend. I needed and wanted one weekend alone with you, my memories and to soak up all I could before your essence leaves your house here on earth.

There were no rabbits to greet me this time around. I wandered through your home and yard and my heart caught up with my head. I knew you had moved out and moved on in every sense of the word.

I sat on the chair I used to sit in when we chatted and I simply gazed into the air which surrounded me. Your library of books stole my focus and I simply locked my eyes in that direction and set my mind free.

I look and listen for "signs" from you. I truly believe if you are looking, you will find what you seek. My connections from the world beyond what I see in a physical sense seem to come from the radio waves.

The first time I was alone in my car alone after you died, I turned on the radio and the lyrics from this song sang to me:

"How can we not talk about family when family's all that we got? Everything I went through you were standing there by my side ... It's been a long day without you my friend. And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again. We've come a long way from where we began. I'll tell you all about it when I see you again. When I see you again ..." 

Then the same song came on the radio when I set off for work this past Friday. Yes, it is most likely because it is in the "Top 50" playlist, but why does it seem to come on the radio as soon as I set out towards my destination, despite the differing times of day? It soothes my soul to think of you sending that message to me. So I let myself believe it to be true.

I set out on my solo journey to your home yesterday morning and these are the words that came across the radio waves as soon as I left the city limits: "I remember every sunset, I remember word you said..." Then minutes later: "...without you now, this is what it feels like..."

I was entering Alberta when I heard these words. A lifting of my heart came at the thought of letting go of the worries of the past and moving on: "I feel like for the first time in a long time, I am not afraid. I feel like a kid. Never thought it'd feel like this. Like when I close my eyes and don't even care if anyone sees me dancing. Like I can fly ..."

Then: "In the middle of September ... Now it all seems so clear, there is nothing left to fear ... Now the days are so long now that summer is moving on. Reach for something that's already gone. Oh the things I still remember, summers never look the same ... but the memories remain". And finally: "If you fall, I will catch you. I will be waiting. Time after time..."

I set foot in your home about a half hour after that. You were gone. Your house no longer your home. But you are still in my heart, my soul and my memories. And it is enough.

I woke up this morning and when the clock struck "8", I thought of you and your usual comment before you called a night. Each night you would set a time for waking and it was usually 8 o'clock. It was sometimes a little earlier but our last mornings together were later. Until the morning you simply stayed in bed. Life changed on a dime that morning but I continued to hold onto the hope that maybe the next morning you'd rise to greet the day.

Hope is what we hold onto when we are adjusting from one reality to the next. Reality bites you in the back when you aren't looking but hope keeps a person grounded and eases you through the transition.

I sat with my coffee this morning and could feel the tug of my subconscious mind tell me to reread the poem you had written out in longhand, at the end of your "Once Upon a Lifetime" collection of your thoughts and memories:

Miss Me But Let Me Go

When I come to the end of the road

And the sun has set for me

I want no rites in a gloom-filled room.

Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little but not too long

And not with your head bowed low.

Remember the love that we once shared,

Miss me but let me go.

For this is a journey that we all must take

And each must go alone.

It's all a part of the Master's plan,

A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick of heart

Go to the friends we know

And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds.

Miss Me But Let me Go!

~Christina Georgina Rossetti

I felt if you had been sitting across the table from me this morning, you would have been telling me this. My head knows all of this. My heart is not far behind.

"Why cry for a soul set free?" I don't, Mom. I miss you but I'm going through the process of letting you go. I am simply doing it on my own terms and letting my heart guide me through the process.

You are in my thoughts. Now and forever.

Love,

Colleen

Dear Mom (Sept 18/17)

Mon, Sept 18/17

Dear Mom,

A new week is dawning. The week spells "the return to normal" in every way. Though I know this is good and it is time, I am going to miss being immersed in family and the memories that continually wash over me as we tend to business at hand.

We all returned to your home this past weekend. One of your rabbits was waiting for us upon our return. He didn't beckon me forward. He simply acknowledged me and headed in the opposite direction. He's moving on...

It is good to have a purpose and reason to return to your home. I am grateful for the excuses we have to keep coming back for a while longer. My heart is aching at the thought of removing your essence from the home which was such a big part of you.

Your home was an integral part of our "coming together" as a family. It symbolizes so very much. Christmases past. Reuniting in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. The list goes on and on...

Your home was more than a piece of real estate. You put your heart and soul into your house and it sheltered you through many a storm. You stood your ground and stayed in your home when we thought it would have been better for you to move out and into a "simpler life".

Simpler for who (or is that whom?), you ask? Yes, you are right. We had our own agenda. We worried about you on your own and we would have worried less, if you had been in a community where support systems were in place. But in the end, you did it your way. And your way was good.

Your home housed all of us as we came together and walked through the last of your days at home. When you were hospitalized, your home sheltered and embraced us as we walked through new and foreign territory. Your house was a port in the storm. We were surrounded by the essence of "you" and it was good. It was the best we could have hoped for during a time when the ground we were walking on was shaky and unfamiliar.

We brought out the outline you created for and with us (approximately twenty five years ago, when death and dying were the furthest thing from your reality) and we talked about the contents of each of the rooms you had earmarked for us. We used your guideline. It was a good one.

We shared what you wanted shared. We compromised. We acknowledged and respected each other's wishes. We gave more than we took.

We each have our strengths and weaknesses. My weakness showed up in a very big way when it came time to sort through material possessions and forty years worth of living at one address.

Wendy and Donna sent me on my way and I sat alone "with you" in your sunroom. I shed a few tears as I thought of the hours we have spent together with you enjoying your favorite reclining spot. I pictured you there and in my mind, I saw the evolution of your slow decline over the course of this spring, summer and fall. I knew in my heart it was time for you to move on and it is good that your spirit has been set free from the confines of a body which was slowing you down.

My heart may break into a million pieces when we deconstruct the home you so carefully built. I may go and spend some time alone before that day comes. I wish I could step in and preserve the world you built around you but I just can't find a way...

Everything happens as it should. The past year has cemented my need to build upon the world I have created here. A year ago, I would have walked away from it all. But during this last year, life presented opportunities which entails staying "here", in the home I have created over the course of the past thirty years.

I want few of the material possessions you have acquired over the years. They hold little value to me. But an idea was planted within my brain last night as I reflected upon the weekend past. 

If it is okay with the others, I would like to preserve your "library" after everyone picks and chooses whatever books they wish to have. I will create a little oasis within my home and use your library as a starting point. I will let my heart make the choices and create my own little "sun" room, using your spirit to light the way. No one will recognize what it is, except for the people who knew you well.

No one can take away the memories I have collected within my heart. Yes, life goes on. A new family will move into your house, renovate, live their own life and make their own mark in the world. You have made yours.

As important as your home was to you, it isn't where you left the lasting imprint. It is in our hearts where we will carry a little piece of your feisty spirit. We will mix it together with Dad's way and our own, and we will move on knowing we have our guardian angels watching over us.

Love,

Colleen

P.S. Mom, I found the missing plastic end to the heater you had in the sunroom. How in the world did I find it in with income tax papers from late 1980 to the early 1990's (along with cards, notes and letters from in and around 2012)? I will never know. I lifted it up to show you. I hope you know. The lost has been found. May you rest easy in knowing we will find what is important to us, along our way.

P.P.S. Your rabbits didn't show up when it came time to leave. I missed them. I miss you too. 

Dear Mom (Sept 10/17)

It's been hard to write from my heart this last long while. My mom fought the good fight with all her humanly strength, but she lost her battle to stay with us here on earth. She passed away peacefully, with her family at her side on September 6, 2017.

I have been writing letters to Mom regularly since I moved to Saskatoon (almost 30 years ago). I was short on funds and high on ideas one Christmas when I gave her a coupon stating that I would write to her every week "until death do us part".

It was a lofty promise (and one I had wished I had simply renewed each Christmas instead of making this life long commitment) but it was an easy one to keep. 

Mom has had a few health scares over the years which reminded us that she was a mere mortal and her time on earth would come to an end one day. I mourned the thought of her loss many times over. One time, I broke down and thought of my weekly writing habit. "What will I do when she's gone??"

My answer came to me immediately. I would continue to write to her. It was as simple as that. 

As I sat down with my Sunday morning coffee, the words came easily. I wrote my first letter that Canada Post will not be responsible to deliver. 

I am not sure what "connections" Mom may have to us now but on the off chance that one of them may be an Internet one, I thought I'd post these letters publicly. Our family is healing and may find solace in words that come straight from my heart and (hopefully) into Mom's...

Sun, Sept 10/17

Dear Mom,

I know I just got home from your place a few days ago but when has that ever stopped me from having something to say? So I thought I'd sit down this morning and write my weekly letter. I have much to tell you.

We are planning a little reunion in your honor tomorrow. I wish you could come.

The process of preparing for this gathering has given me the opportunity to gather pictures that tell "the story of you", listen to music I think you would approve of, read your memories, hear your stories and speak of you. You couldn't be closer to me if you were sitting across the table from me. Thanks for "being here". In my heart, mind and soul when I need you the most.

You've touched a lot of people, Mom. Your small but mighty presence has left an impact in our world and our lives. I'm quite certain you have even left an impression on the medical team who walked with you during your days in the hospital. You were not a typical patient to say the least. And I AM going to get the final word in here, Mom ... when a medical professional asks you how you are, they DO mean it. "I'm good" was your final answer to that question. We all laughed when your doctor smiled and said, "I'm think we are going to have to rely on your test results". Leave 'em laughing. It's a good way to go.

I have another rabbit story for you. When it came time to leave for home, I was desperately seeking a rabbit. I needed "a sign". A sign of what, I don't know. Rabbits, you, me ... we have a connection. I didn't spot a rabbit the morning we had to leave for home and my heart needed the reassurance those rabbits gave me. "I'm just going to drive around front", I told Donna and Wendy. I never go home that way but I wanted to drive past the front of your house one last time. I didn't want to go home.

I set out with that in mind, then what should appear in the alley I always take home? A rabbit. He was leading the way. He said to me (we have a special ESP connection - your rabbits and me) "Go forward ... don't look back". He enticed me further along our path toward home. I crossed the road and he stayed where he was, so we could enjoy him a little longer. He was a small rabbit, Mom. I think he may have been "Jack" - the little rabbit who adopted your yard as his home. We savored the moment and shared our special connection, but he was going the wrong way. So I had to drive away from him. Then what to my wondering eyes should appear? Yet another rabbit. "Come this way ... go forward ... it is time to go home". The rabbits told me what you would have told me, if you had been here. I listened. And here I am. It was time to go home. Kurt had been holding down the fort long enough. It was time.

I wake up in the morning and forget whose home I'm in. Yours? Or mine? The two have been so intertwined in my mind, that they have become one. I am so grateful I visited you when the visiting was good. My instincts told me what I needed to know. Thank you for "being there". The time we spent together was good.

I have been channelling a little bit of my "inner Margaret" these days. It is a comfort. But a little scary too - you wield a great power. I just need to mesh it with my own way and it may be a good mix. Dale will let me know if I get out of hand. I know this for sure.

I don't know what power you have now that you are not walking with us on earth, but I have a little favor to ask. If you can, do you mind watching over and guiding us through this time? Send us a little "God wink" from time to time to remind us that you are and always will be a part of our lives?

Wes may miss you more than anyone. You were his "everything". If you can bring comfort to him and send "rabbits" to help guide him down a forward path, I would be forever grateful.

In my heart, I hope you are soaring with the eagles right now. Joined together with Dad and all those who found their way "home" before you.

You have left the biggest part of yourself with us. Your heart, your soul and the essence of who you are is interwoven within all who knew you (or is that whom???). Rest easy. All is well here on earth. And I'll write again soon. I promise.

Love,

Colleen

P.S. I am finally picking up that fruit you insisted I pick up for you one short week ago. Trev & his family on their way. We are all here for you, Mom. Always have been, always will be.