I Feel Your Pain, Little One...

Things have been getting a little too serious around here lately. It is time to change the channel on that line of thinking. The time has come to smile and think light thoughts. It is time to switch over to the Cat Channel within life as I know it.

Let me start with a little introduction to when we adopted our youngest cat "Jet". We went to the SPCA to window shop for a dog. Our most special little cat, Andre, had died a few months prior. We were not looking for a replacement. We were craving a new chapter. We considered and wondered if we could become "dog people".

Long story short, we came home with a little black cat who mirrored Andre's size, mannerisms and looks. This little black fur ball literally reached out to us and climbed from one set of arms to the next. Just like when a baby holds out their arms when they want to be held by a person who is not holding them.

Jet's first day with us - look at that smug expression on his face. He has played his humans well.
Life is about to get interesting...

Spoiler alert. Jet just wanted out of that cage. He is a master at recognizing human's weaknesses and preying on them. He took one look at my son, reached out from the bars that were containing him and tapped him on the shoulder.

We have never looked back.

We brought our new little black kitty into our home. "Ray" (our senior cat in residence) didn't blink an eye when this Andre impostor walked out of the cat carrier and started to investigate his new surroundings. Jet fit into Andre's cat harness like a glove. Andre was a petite black cat and when Jet fit perfectly into Andre's personal harness, it was like finding the missing piece to a puzzle. Our family was complete.

Ray and Jet meet

Jet fit into our home like he was custom made for us. We saw Andre's spirit within him and it was like living with a youthful, healthy version of our precious Andre.

Jet, in Andre's cat harness (he got into some white paint - just a taste of what was yet to come)

Okay. Now you know the beginning of my tale. When Jet moved in with us, he was a small cat. He weighed somewhere in and around nine to ten pounds. We were told he was an adult. I now believe he was only a teen. Because he grew.

Jet is growing comfortable with us and letting us know his "true self"

The last time we weighed our twin black cats, Jet had caught up to Ray in size and weight. They both weighed in at the exact same weight of 12 (point something, I think) pounds.

Our "Black Twin Towers"

I often call them our "twin towers" as they mirror each other's pose even when they are not looking at each other.

Enjoying the only dry spot they can find, after making a "cat escape" from the house

Bird watching in tandem

I believe the last time we weighed both cats was late fall. Perhaps early winter. It doesn't really matter except to drive home the fact that it was after they had become house bound this past winter. Jet likes to jump our fence and make daring escapes into our neighbor's yard. So it is important to remember that Jet was a lithe, lean athletic machine the last time we were outside.

Fast forward to this spring.

Our snow finally melted and we made our first foray onto our deck and Jet came out to join us last weekend. My Middle Son (who has two lean cat specimens of his own) picked up Jet and immediately asked how much he weighed. He was HUGE in comparison to their cats. We weighed both Ray and Jet shortly thereafter. Ray still weighed in at a stable 12.2 pounds. Jet however, tipped the scale at 15.4 pounds. Astounding.

We didn't really think of it again until Jet decided he needed to catch a bird and was ready to make a break from our yard. He bounded for the fence and missed his target by a mile. His jumping abilities hadn't quite adapted to his 25% weight gain.

A picture from the archives, showing our 6 ft fence that Jet cannot presently scale

I then recalled how Ray is now the only cat who will retrieve a toy from underneath the cabinet in our living room. I saw Jet try a while ago but he backed up when he couldn't get past his shoulders.

Just as I finished writing this, Ray snuck under the cabinet for a little "alone time" from Jet
(can these guys read minds?!?)

We all think this is pretty funny as Jet tries to adapt his inner image of himself to his present day body and weight size. Then I took a good, hard look at myself. I too, have packed on some extra poundage. I'm not squeezing through narrow aisle ways quite the way I once did either. I am not one to laugh.

Jet, I feel your pain. You feel the same on the inside but the image in the mirror isn't quite the same as it used to be. Do we adapt? Or do we diet?

I believe Jet is saying "We adapt. I didn't really want under there anyway."

It's All Going to Be Okay. Again.

Here I go again. Rinse and repeat. It is Friday all over again. Except it is Saturday. I have offered to work at my bookkeeping job today. I have an early Monday morning appointment, followed by a Monday filled with commitments. I have re-created the "one day weekend". Again.

I shake my head in wonder. Why do I keep doing this? Here I go again. Recreating the scarcity of down-time I am accustomed to feeling. Except ...

Except it feels different this time.

I am revelling in the fact that I have the energy to make these offers without feeling the deep, sinking feeling that I am depriving myself of oxygen at the same time. I CAN do this.

Accomplishment, commitment and issuing invitations are breathing life into me again. The very thing that has brought me to my knees all winter long is finally revitalizing me. Again.

Life has come full circle one more time. This keeps happening. The ups, the downs, the highs, the lows, the energy, the depletion, the ability to say "yes" to life and the ache of having to be sociable.

This past winter felt endless. As did my cycle downward. I thought this may be the time I just stayed "down". It felt safe and comfortable and easy down there. I've dabbled in the state of feeling depressed before but I never got this comfortable with it.

It scared me a little bit. Enough, that I have made an appointment to talk to someone about this. I was on a waiting list all winter. And now, just as I am climbing my way out and out of this little funk of mine, my name is at the top of the list.

Part of me wonders if there is any sense in going now that I feel "healed" and over the worst of this. The analytical part of me is saying, "Go anyway! You need a road map to follow for the next time. Because there is always a next time. Always."

I have gone back and reread some of what I have written throughout the years. This cycle is not new. I have always had a life which seemed to go from extreme highs to extreme lows. Then life seemed to even itself out and those "mountains and abysses" I battled in my younger years became "hills and valleys". I recognized the cycles, appreciated the fact that my highs were lower and my lows were higher and assumed this was one more benefit to aging. The emotions of life were just "hilly" and easier to navigate as I became older and wiser.

Then came last winter.

It was a tough one. I can write about it now because I've climbed upward and I'm enjoying the view from the plateau I've hit. I'm simply sitting here appreciating the view and resting. There is more of the mountain to climb but I have little desire to climb higher. The higher one climbs, the further one has to fall.

Besides, my feet are sore. I need to rest and repair my mode of transportation before I ascend any further. Then perhaps, I could even dance again ...

Yes, I have an appointment with a podiatrist on Monday, followed by an appointment with a counsellor on Tuesday. I may have a little more climbing to do.

One step at a time. I am doing just fine exactly where I am. Life has been very good at doling out exactly what I need, when I am ready to accept it. It's all going to be okay. It always is.

Challenging Times

Life is hard some days. Yesterday was one of those days. Actually pretty much every day this week has been hard.

I came home last night and was tempted to erase the memory of the day by ingesting the remainder of the coolers I still have left over from last summer. I was pretty sure it would would not work and I didn't want to add a hangover to my list of woes, so I had a shower and washed all my troubles down the drain instead.

"Why is this so hard?" I ask myself again and again and again. Then it hit me. I have hit another parallel with the walk I walked last year with Mom.

There is a sense of antsiness/angst among my senior lady friends.

One is feeling the need to rush into spring clean up. Our snow just melted last weekend and since the moment I walked in the door on Monday, there has been a sense of urgency to get things done. I compare the conversations we had this year to the same ones we had last year.

Something has changed. It is subtle. But it is tangible. It reminds me of Mom's urgency to buy and plant her bedding plants last year. I did what she asked and it all worked out fine. But she questioned that decision as the summer wore on. "It was pretty early, wasn't it?"

Once I recognized the similarity of the situation, I belittled myself for not simply going forward with doing a spring chore slightly ahead of schedule. What does it hurt? It will take the edge off her unease. Just do it. Why in the world did I want to stall? What worked last year isn't working this year.

My heart clenches a little at the thought. It is a small thing. It really doesn't matter. But it is a change that is reminiscent of last spring with Mom. My head is trying to talk my heart out of feeling the emotion...

"It isn't the same. It is different. Just go with the flow. It's okay. It's going to be okay..."

There is really no need to argue. Except when doing a job when working with numbers, the need to balance and trying to get to the bottom of a math puzzle.

I am sorry to say I have stood my side of an argument too many times of late. This goes against my grain. It is everything I am not, nor who I want to be. But being agreeable, nodding and smiling doesn't work when you need to know the right way to the final answer.

"It's good that you challenge me", I was told yesterday. I am trying so hard not to be difficult. Either I don't understand and I'm way off base or I do understand and I can't find the right way to demonstrate it. Either way, it is so very, very hard to have these "challenges" with someone who is hurting, healing, unable to sleep and feeling the anxiety of not being able to do this on her own. But dealing with someone who challenges her? This situation is not comfortable for either one of us.

This is all far too familiar. The worse Mom felt, the harder it became for her to temper her thoughts. The week before Mom died, I wrote an email to my siblings. It was long and wordy, but the sentence I recalled yesterday as I was fighting the emotions I was feeling in the moment was this: "This "state of being certain" about something that has not quite happened the way she remembers it, seems to be happening a little more than I've noticed before. There is really no sense in arguing and I discovered the best way through these little moments is to drop the conversation, don't push the point or feel the need to be right."

I believe my knees may have buckled as I remembered my own advice and tried to re-work my strategy yesterday. I've walked this walk before.

I don't know the right way to navigate this path other than taking what I know and incorporating it into the walk I'm walking right now. One step at a time. One day at a time.

No regrets. The goal I'm aiming for is to forge my way through this time and not regret the way I have handled a situation. I know this is different but man, it feels so similar! The emotions are the same. My concern for my friends is the same.

I am dealing with people who are living within a body that is not working the way they are accustomed to it working. The anxiety I am picking up on is quite possibly the fear they have as they navigate the world in a body that is betraying them.

I remember this well.

I went and reread the email I wrote to my siblings that day. I ended it with this parting thought: "I'm going to enjoy this for as long as it lasts. One never knows what tomorrow could bring."

Mom died eight days later. Make the most of your moments. One never knows how long they will last. When we are lucky, the "challenging" ones are short lived as well.

Creating More of the Same

Am I the only person who seems to be drawn to recreating their world based on the way things have always been?

The first time I noticed this, was when it started to feel as though there may not be a scarcity of money within my budget.

My monthly finances have flip-flopped immensely this year. The end of my trips to see Mom equalled less car expenses plus more income. This, in and of itself has created a brand new situation within my life. There is money left over at the end of the month.

I then examined my spending habits of the prior year and created a budget based on annual car/house maintenance; income tax; house insurance; vet bills; and gifts. Suddenly, the excess income at the end of the month was not enough to cover "all of the above".

"Ahhh! Now this is what I am used to. Bring it on!"

There have been a few unexpected windfalls come my way. I feel uncomfortable with these funds and I simply couldn't relax until I recreated the scarcity sensation which is part of who I am.

I paid off my mortgage and was short $388.18 which I paid from the excess funds at the end of the month. Thus, creating a shortfall with my budgeted allotment with which I was to pay off my credit card. I had to find some creative ways to finance the remainder of the week to keep my budget balanced. The moment I was scrambling for funds again, I felt this huge exhale of relief fall out of my body.

"Ahhh! Now THIS is what I'm used to feeling!"

The calmness which took over the reins of my anxiety was intoxicating. I was content. I was back where I felt comfortable.

I sit here this morning, after contacting Revenue Canada, washing up some strawberries, slicing up sandwich-ready fillers and washing a load of clothes. I am presently gulping down my last cup of coffee for the morning and writing this post, when I should be hopping into the tub and heading out the door.

"Ahhh! Now THIS feels familiar!"

Creating a scarcity of time sensation is tricky within my world, where I could easily have all the time I wish for. The need to feel rushed as I make my way out the door is comfortable and feels "right".

I became accustomed to running out to Mom's. Sometimes with a purpose, other times "just because" but most of all I went out so I could be there as needed.

I walked out the door a few mornings ago with the tools I needed to provide some foot comfort for my 80 year and older lady friends. One needed a sliver pulled out. The other could use some relief for a corn. I packed up my tweezers and moleskin and once again I sighed ...

"Ahhh! I feel needed. All is right in my world."

I have walked along side my Oldest Son as he has tended to an eye infection and we have spent more time together in the past week or so, than we have all year. "You should have a job where you take care of people" he commented.

My heart clenched in fear. It feels good to feel needed. But when the need passes and you will never see the one you have tended to again, it creates a void which sometimes feels impossible to fill.

I step back and evaluate my world where I keep recreating the life I have had. I am good at some things. Not so good at others. My most powerful motivator has been "scarcity".

Last year, I knew in my heart of hearts, that my ability to spend time with Mom was winding to a close. I wanted to be wrong. I begged to be wrong. But I kept filling my time with those trips out to see her. Scarcity motivated me and moved me to exactly where I needed and wanted to be.

It's a hard habit to break but living with the feeling that there is never enough has gotten me to where I am. The reality is, is that there is ALWAYS enough. No matter how little time, money or energy I felt I had, there was ALWAYS enough.

I was always enough. Even though it never felt that way at the time.

Scarcity and me. We are good friends. Maybe I should try to end this toxic relationship. I don't know? It's worked for me. I keep recreating more of the same. It's no wonder habits are a hard thing to break.

Moving On (but I miss missing you)

I've said it before and I'll say it again (and quite likely again and again and again), I feel like I'm getting a grasp on life as I now know it.

Our extended winter mirrored my mood. I wanted to do nothing more than hunker down in survival mode throughout those dark, cold and windy days. The weather obliged.

The state of being alone is nourishing on one hand but it depletes a person on the other.

I have come out the other side of winter realizing I am grateful I had my regularly scheduled life (work outside of my home) pulling and tugging at me, even when it felt like it brought me to my knees at times.

I have listened to my inner chatter evolve from "You can do this"; "You can do hard things"; and "Only twelve hours to endure before I can crawl back into my pajamas"... to a far less desperate cry for help from within, as I lock the door behind me each morning.

The inner chatter within my head is becoming healthier. I still want to be home but my heart doesn't ache at the idea of walking out the door. I still live to sleep but I feel more wakeful within the hours my eyes are open. I still want to numb myself with food, surfing the Internet and sleep but I have tempered all of the above a little.

Baby steps. One day at a time. Quiet moments within busy days. Contact with people. It is all coming together. It's going to be okay.

I write this after going to bed at 8:30 last night. Exhaustion still settles in and overtakes me. But it is getting easier to crawl out of bed in the morning. The ache in my heart is subsiding ...

I remember the stage of starting to move past the extreme grief of losing our cat (Andre). I wrote this thirteen days after he died:

"I walked around "the week after" with a quiet emptiness. It was a sad place but at the same time, it was such an honor to hold onto that ache because it kept my memories and feelings close to my heart.

Life has taken over this week and carried on.

I still miss our little black cat but I know his time on earth was so uncomfortable it was time to let him go.

I miss mourning him. That sad, soulful feeling and the quiet ache in my heart filled the void he left.

We will forever remember you, Andre. I miss missing you so much."

It has been 33 weeks since Mom died. I could replace "the week after" with "the months after"; substitute Mom's name with Andre's ... and the words I wrote describing the process of moving out of the more acute side of grief and into the phase of a quiet acceptance, life moving on and the stage of "I miss missing you so much" describes a little of how I feel in this moment.

The mathematician in me is trying to calculate a formula for grief. Andre was 15 years old when he died. The state of acute grief lasted 2 weeks. 2 weeks divided by 780 weeks equals .... and my mind goes off into a silent wondering if there is any way of calculating the severity of grief for someone I've known and literally been a part of their being since before I was born.

There is no math in the world which can calculate the answers I seek. The honest truth is that I do not want to ever completely "get over" the loss of either Mom or Dad. Dad's death has taught me that one year melts into the next and emotions can overwhelm a person when you least expect them in a completely out of the blue moment in time.

There are times when I have felt Dad close to me. Those times seemed to happen as I was driving to work on a Saturday morning. Other times, on the highway between our home and Mom's. Or shovelling Mom's snow. Another time, while driving home on an old, familiar gravel road I only travelled with Dad or his brother behind the wheel. It is odd how keenly I can remember those moments. How they stayed with me. How emotion came up and enveloped me.

I think of those who no longer walk this earth and I wonder about the "energy" they leave behind.

When two people find a meeting of the heart, mind and soul and each of them has lost a parent, husband or loved one, could it be possible all of those heavenly presences are looking down upon the moments and smiling on what they see?

When lost humanly souls find a connection of friendship, support and understanding, is it possible their angels above have pulled some strings to help co-ordinate that meeting of the minds? Could they be hoping we find peace and acceptance within the life we have yet to live, just as much as we send them on their way wishing them nothing but a peaceful and pain free exit from our world?

The past week has involved some minor miracles in regards to the dynamics within my own little family. Incidents which have brought us together make me look upward and wonder if some invisible force has been pulling some strings to unite and reunite us in ways Mom has done in the past.

Two weekends ago, my Oldest Son called on me for some assistance. I walked by his side through a non-critical health issue but a serious one, none-the-less. He wasn't alone. I was there with him. And it was good.

Last weekend, my sister-in-law came for a visit and united our little family in her own unique way, yet parallel to the way we used to come together and meet when Mom would stay here. Dare I say it was even better?

My sister-in-law is the aunt to my two oldest and she is the common thread between them. They are planning a joint hiking adventure together this summer which has come with the added benefit of some joint weekend "training sessions". The dynamics of this grouping was nothing short of a gift. My youngest son was immediately taken with my sister-in-law's easy conversational ways and simply said, "I like her! She is so easy to talk with ..."

The last time I walked away from a weekend with my own siblings, my emotions took a nose dive I wasn't prepared for or expecting. "I'm on my own now" was basically the feeling I was left with, as I counted down the months until our next family gathering.

Then the next few weekends unfolded. I am not on my own. I have my own family. They don't need very much of me but we manage to come together in times of need. From the outside, looking in, it would appear that my oldest son needed me. When in truth, I believe it was the other way around. I needed the connection and I looked skyward wondering if Mom could have possibly have had a hand in the way things unfolded.

On one hand, I love this phase of being a parent to my adult children. On the other, there are some isolated patches along the way, because each one of them is building a life independent of me, our home and our family unit. That is the way it should be. And it is good.

My new reality is, that I have a little rebuilding to do on my own. My focus was "Mom" for the past long while. That was good too.

I don't have a burning desire to focus that attention on anything or anyone else at the moment. So I am simply grateful for life unfolding in a way which seems to present me with exactly what I need, when I don't even realize I need it the most.

The acute emptiness of missing Mom is subsiding. Life is moving forward without her in it. It is the only way and it is exactly what Mom would want.

We will forever remember you, Mom. I miss missing you so much.

The Learning Curve of Living

It's been a while since I wrote out loud. I'm not sure how this morning's writing will go but I shall give it a whirl.

I've been on a "rinse and repeat" cycle of living and it is going fine. Repetition and routine is my thing and I do it well enough. Not perfect. Never perfect. Imperfection is exhausting.

Yes, it is "year end" in the bookkeeping business. All my sins of the year past are catching up with me. It is a very steep learning curve. Learning exhausts me. Day after day of correcting the errors of my ways depletes me.

Thus, I continue to live for the weekend.

The weekend past, I offered to work Saturday at my bookkeeping job to help meet all the impending deadlines. It is easier to go to work when I get to come straight home afterwards. That was the only upside of volunteering to work on a much anticipated weekend.

Always grateful to be home, I celebrated my homecoming with a Big Mac Meal from McDonald's in my own private mini celebration of a friend's birthday. She is the person who introduced me to the Big Mac. I called to wish her a happy birthday, as soon as I was finished eating. I wound up my working Saturday by visiting an old school friend. And it was good.

I woke up to an empty slate Sunday morning. I had tentative plans to meet up with a good friend but the day wasn't set in stone. I like that feeling. It energized me. So I was up, dressed, fed and ready for the day when my Oldest Son called me:

Me: "How are you?"
Him: "Terrible"
Me: "How come I always get these calls?" [Really?! Did I REALLY say that?? Yes, I did. Because this is how all his calls about 'girl troubles' start. I thought we were going down that road again. I DID say that. I'm sorry]
Him: "What?"
Me: "What's up?"
Him: "I can't see ..."

And so went our conversation from there.

He thought he had pink eye, so wasn't overly concerned. He just asked if I could drive him to the mediclinic when it opened. End of story. Except it wasn't.

Long story short, he has contracted a "bacterial ulcer" (corneal ulcer), most likely from his extended wear contact lenses. The situation can become bad, very fast so it is good he had it checked when he did.

Thankfully, the mediclinic doctor made an appointment with an eye specialist at the hospital, that very day. Sunday. I was impressed the doctor didn't put him off and suggest he wait until regular business hours. It was a wise move on the doctor's part because the ophthalmologist said he could have lost the sight in his eye if he had not acted quickly enough.

He was prescribed some antibiotic drops with the instructions of "one drop per hour", even throughout the night. He was to follow up with the specialist the following day.

He did all that and it wasn't enough. His eye got worse instead of better. The antibiotic had to be changed and the frequency of the drops, doubled. All day and all night. Along with the instructions that he would have to come back daily to have it checked. Or ... he could be admitted into the hospital.

With the welfare of his vision at risk, I did not stand up at this point and offer to nurse him through the every half hour drop schedule throughout the night. When it comes to eye health and vision, I felt inadequate to take over his care.

Remember, I am still working through fixing all the errors of my ways within my bookkeeping job. Numbers and accounting are tangible, fixable and one can go back in time and fix things to the way they should have been done.

Added to that, I am still a small bit haunted by "the errors of my ways" throughout The Year of Mom. I could have done so many things better. I tried so hard but I was (am) still an imperfect human being.

I waved my white flag and hoped with my heart of hearts, my son would choose to be hospitalized. And he did.

I was grateful to be the person my son called to walk this walk with him. We really thought the walk would only be to the mediclinic, the pharmacy and back home. But instead, we spent the better part of Sunday and half of Monday together.

In the time between appointments on Sunday, we came here so I could work on his income tax while we waited until it was time to go to the appointment. I finished his taxes. He rested on the couch in the living room. Soon enough, he was snoring.

He said he felt so peaceful in those moments in the darkened living room. We were still assuming best case scenarios so his mind was at rest. I felt relieved to have him "home" and to be available for him.

Once again, the errors of my ways continue to rise up and beg to be noticed when it comes to my Oldest Child's growing up years. I made so many mistakes. I believe I could forgive myself for them, if only he did. But he hasn't. So we walk a very tenuous walk, my Oldest Son and me.

As it is with my bookkeeping job, it is with life. My bookkeeping boss is very kind and reminds me often that I have learned so much and in reality, I haven't done all that badly while left on my own with her books. Making an error is the best way to learn. I keep telling people that is why I'm so smart [surely, I jest!😉], because if there is a wrong way to do something, that is the way I will do it. 100% of the time.

Numbers and books and accounting are one thing. Perhaps this is the reason I am drawn to a world where there are checks and balances; right and wrong; balancing to zero. One can attain perfection in math. Parenthood, daughterhood and being human? Not so much.

I just have to remind myself that errors are teaching tools. In bookkeeping and in life. The key is in learning. I am very open to learning. Forgiving myself for being imperfect? Not as easy. But I'm working on it.

Life is a learning curve. We never stop learning. I am grateful the lessons just keep on coming. One of these times, my son will forgive me. When he does, I will start to forgive myself.

There is always a silver lining in whatever life hands us. Always. Imperfection is actually a gift. If it gives us the chance for a do-over, we are fortunate. Very fortunate indeed.

I am feeling very fortunate. Very fortunate, indeed.

Happy Birthday, Mom

I know birthdays were never really your "thing", right Mom? Mother's Day was your holiday. Your birthday? I don't think you really enjoyed bringing attention to your age. This one would have been another milestone. There could have been a party in your honor...

I'm so very grateful for all the gatherings, celebrations and reunions we had, when we did. Upon your request, your 65th birthday surprise was never to be repeated, so your 80th birthday reunion was done on your terms. It was a marvelous day. I recently leafed through those pictures...

Ten years ago and so many people who were in those pictures with you are gone. Whispers of memories of you, of them, of the day and all the collections of stories before, during and after your birthday "extravaganza" waft peacefully through my mind as I write these words.

Your clock is chiming 8:00 as I sit here with my second cup of coffee, writing to you. I can hear our good-night conversation in the hallway from all the times I slept over at your place. You would always suggest, "Shall we say 8:00?" as we set our wake up time for the next morning.

I thought of you when the clocks turned back in the fall. I smiled as I knew you would be pleased you did not have to endure another winter of daylight savings time. Last winter you said you went to bed on Saskatchewan time and woke up on Alberta time. You had "beat the system". Or you were simply tired? Either way, you endured.

Speaking of "endurance", I do believe we are (still) enduring the longest, coldest winter season in history (they do say it's been the coldest winter in 100 years). Our first snowfall was on November 3rd and here we are. It is April 4th and there are still snowbanks all around us. It's -16 degrees at the moment (feels like -23 with the wind). The wind has been so cold. The snow has been around so long.

It has been the longest, coldest winter I can remember.

I smiled and thought of you when the clocks moved forward this spring. I think of you and the many conversations we had about the lengthening of the days, even when it still felt like winter all around us ...

I spotted two rabbits yesterday and they were in no hurry to disappear from view. They frolicked and played together in the snow for a while, then each of them went their separate way and found something to nibble on, in their own separate patch of grass. The tips of their ears were dark and there were a few splotches of brown on their back. The rabbits appear ready, willing and able to usher in the spring weather.

Your mom must have been pleased to have a "spring baby" when you made your way into this world 90 years ago. Although things still appear dormant, there is a stirring of "things to come" underneath the snow banks. We will blink our eyes and soon enough our world will be restored to full technicolor once again.

That is exactly how I am feeling, as I type these words. I feel a stirring of life within me again. I lost it for a while. The long, cold winter has mirrored the way I have felt inside. The blanket of snow that has enveloped our world these past five months has insulated the world in this dormant state, much in the way I hunkered in close to home and "insulated" myself from the world outside these doors.

I think I'm starting to thaw. As I watched one of those rabbits rolling around in the snow, shedding some of its winter layer of white fur, I felt the desire to shed some of my protective coat as well.

It is spring. Whether it looks like it or not. New life is on the horizon. It is time to shed our winter coats, find a spot in the sun, look up and beyond the winter behind us. Things will look a whole lot different by Mother's Day. Your day.

I felt you and Dad all around me this past Easter weekend as I tended to your taxes. Easter was traditionally the weekend Dad chose to come home to get his taxes done. Easter became synonymous with "income tax time" and through no plan or design, it quite accidentally ended up being the day the accountant asked me to drop by and pick up your completed tax return. Life has come full circle.

The circle has brought us to your birthday. All of your children will be meeting up this weekend and I'm pretty certain your name will be brought up a time or two as we reminisce and reflect upon the life you and Dad gave us. Thank you for giving us "each other". We couldn't have done this any other way. We have leaned on, guided, supported, listened and shared so much together. Mom, I would be absolutely lost without "family". They have been like oxygen to me - necessary to support my existence.

Although I miss you, I wouldn't have wanted "last year" to go on any longer than it did for you. Thank you for staying with us for as long as you could. Thank you for everything, Mom. Don't stray too far from me, okay? I'm so grateful for all the memories I have to sustain me. I still feel you "have my back". Thanks for that, too.

Happy birthday, Mom ... wherever you may be.