Memories or Excess?

The move to my little home in this small town should have resulted in a major culling of "stuff". Long story, short? It didn't. 

The collection of paperwork and memories that made the move have been shredded, sorted and organized in a fashion. And this is what remains:

My favorite cozy little room in the house will be the "final resting place" for all of the above. It is my intent to cull what isn't important, display what is (a few floating shelves are high on my wish list) and what is left will be organized in binders which will be easy to leaf through.

The bigger question is why am I holding onto this stuff? My own children show little interest in what feels important to me. Perhaps this will change over the next twenty years but if it doesn't, I hope if all is sorted and organized there may be someone out there who would be interested in the "story" I hope to create.

This is just one small piece of a picture that is so much bigger than all of this. The massive amounts of pictures, paper, letter and memories that are still housed in my previous home. And Mom's library of books ...

I hope to find good homes for all of the above. I have thoughts and ideas.

In the mean time, I do have to wonder - 

am I holding onto memories or is this all a little too excessive?

Hi Mom

I had the privilege of a good night's sleep and with it came a bounty of dreams.

You know how convoluted those dream story lines go. I was all over the map. Literally. 

Driving just outside of the city with a friend who died last year. She just needed a friend and all we did was drive. We then ran into the road that has been closed all year and a battalion of army vehicles drove down the road. We detoured and ventured further out of the city.

The next thing I remember we were driving down country roads that petered out into nothing but a walkable path but we saw cars driving off in the distance so we kept driving/walking (??). 

Eventually we ended up in the south/westernmost part of the city. By this time we were walking but I was also walking a bike. When some scary characters crossed our path, I told them to just take the bike to barter for our safety.

We came upon another sketchy group of characters and by this time I was walking with a friend I haven't seen in five years. Details are fuzzy here but I was aware we had a very long way to walk and in a very lucid moment, I said "We know this is a dream. Let's just dream up a car." And we did.

Just as simple as that, a white Mercury Mystique drove up and we quickly hopped in. Who was in their prime and driving the car? Mom. She looked at me and asked if I would drive (Mom wasn't a big fan of driving and was very often a passenger in her own car). I hopped out of the car ...

... and POOF! I was awake. And ready to drive for Mom. She looked so good! We didn't even get a chance to talk. 

It was still good to see her.

It is also a small comfort to see her car parked safely on our driveway.

Thanks, Mom!

Feeling Reflective

It is a "third cup of coffee" kind of day. I have frittered away my bonus morning hours reflecting and rereading my own words. It is no wonder we find such solace in relationships where we speak openly and honestly and are "real". I find comfort simply rereading my own words. 

I was reading between all the lines of what I wrote, recognizing the truths known only to me that are woven into the general stories I retell here. I am longing to physically remove myself from my reality and put some distance between real life and find a renewed perspective.

I miss my visits with Mom. During her final year, I made the five hour road trip regularly. Five hours to be still with my thoughts. Five hours to distance myself from my regularly scheduled life. Days with Mom where we visited for hours on end and Mom said all the motherly things my sister now says.

It is no wonder I find such solace in my little weekend oasis an hour out of the city. Not as much distance but gas prices have inflated to a point where one hour of driving is nearing the cost of my five hour drives six years ago.

A place to call home and share conversations where I hear Mom's voice echoed back and forth between my sister and me. Ahhh.

I'm planning to go "home" again soon. I have found a place to stay in Mom's old neighborhood. I have enough AirMiles accumulated to subsidize the gas prices. I have accumulated points on my credit card to cover a little frivolous spending and dining out. I am hoping for weather mild enough to wander the streets and back alleys where I grew up. I have family and friends to spend my time with and even the luxury of inviting them to my little home-away-from-home.

What used to be a regular old trip has become a vacation. I am longing for the sense of peace I get when surrounded by my past with a good dose of presence of people I feel so close and comfortable with.

Aspiration

I aspire to be ...

I did not realize the power these words held until I read something this morning. The writer of the post said three things set them into motion: inspiration, aspiration or desperation.

Inspiration does not take me far. It is a spark. But a spark does not ignite without good air flow and a little "fanning of the flame" to keep it burning. Inspiration without a defined goal depletes me. I need to work toward an end result. To dream of something bigger than the spark of an idea.

I would have said desperation my driving force until I realized "desperation" has caused me to wake up and take note of a situation which no longer served me. I have sat in limbo making pro/con lists as I mapped out possibilities of where I could go from where I was at. 

To run with no set destination in mind, one doesn't go far. Once one has a defined destination - something to run toward, endless possibilities await.

I have been navigating my life without a map for a lot of years now. Lost at sea. Aimless. Pointless. Drifting. No future hopes, goals or dreams leads to nowhere.

Suddenly, "retirement" is a goal I have in mind. I have found a home I hope to retire in. A physical change, made with intention. I am moving towards the life I aspire to live.

The timeline is flexible but for the first time since Mom asked me about my 10 year plan (almost four years ago), I have found myself smack dab in the middle of a tentative 5 year plan. 

Mom? I have a plan. It feels good. Drifting aimlessly through one's days/months/years is not exhausting. But it certainly isn't life affirming.

I see the life I aspire to live in the not-so-distant future. 

This looks (and feels) like a very good destination to run toward...

Other People's Stories

I feel like my thoughts are on mute a lot lately. I am on the outside, looking in. Remaining quiet. Holding onto confidentiality. Protecting the privacy of others. Silent.

Every once in a while, I feel the need to talk to someone who doesn't know any of the characters in my story. I just need to hear my words outside my own head so they stop churning around and around. So many words but in reality, very few lucid "thoughts".

I remember feeling this way throughout Mom's last year. "This is not my story" I would tell myself again and again. I was playing a supporting role and thankfully I shared the part with others. We would talk among ourselves, each knowing the part well. We supported, we listened, we had an opportunity to "be real" with each other. We could lean in and be vulnerable, knowing someone had our back. We weren't alone.

Once again, I am cast in a supporting role. This time is different. I don't share the part. I have no other cast mates walking the walk with me. I have strong support systems but I walk this particular walk alone.

I write these words and my thoughts go back to Mom, as they often do.

Throughout Mom's last year, she still played the role of "mom" very well. Strong, as strong as she could be. Fiercely independent, as much as possible. She was still very much a mother. She cast our worries aside, as (I believe) the last thing she wanted was pity. She didn't enjoy conversations that revolved around anyone's ill health, let alone her own. Yet she was dying. She knew this. She spoke of it in a manner of fact way. She didn't like words that veiled the truth. Palliative care. Passing away. Just say what it is. "I'm dying".

She said the words, yet I never felt her falter. She was my mom until the end. 

Though we were there at her side as much as we could be and she would allow, she walked that walk alone. No one knew what it felt like to be her. As much as we tried, we didn't know.

I well remember the look she shot me when I tried to guess what she may be feeling. If she didn't say the words, her eyes certainly did. "Don't tell me what I'm feeling..."

We didn't know. 

We don't know what others are dealing with. Ever. We can try and put ourselves in their shoes. But no on really knows.

As we walk through our days, if we spread kindness, extend grace to those who may be fighting a battle we are unaware of, do what we can, when we can ... if we do our best (and our "best" may change by the minute, hour or day), take the lessons learned along the way and simply keep waking up to the next day and doing it all over again ... it is enough.

The Gift of Independence

Our independence is something we tend to take for granted while we have it.

When we wake up each morning and know we can make our way through the day ahead of us with a laundry list of mundane tasks we can do without thinking, we are fortunate.

When we have the ability to get out of bed with ease and our bodies do what we have come to expect them to do, we are blessed.

When we can remember what happened a few minutes or hours ago, we are rich beyond our wildest dreams.

When life unfolds in a relatively expected manner day after day, we are living the good life.

Mom's fierce determination to live an independent life was hard fought and she won the battle. Mom lived in her own home until her final days.

We were so fortunate Mom's determined self sufficiency worked out the way she hoped and persevered to make happen.

I hear Mom's words within my thoughts a lot these days. She knew. She knew ...

Mom? I hear you. I hope the next roads I follow within this little life of mine lead me to become as strong and determined as you always were.

Throwback Thursday

My only thoughts this morning are "there goes another month".

I wistfully wondered where we will be standing a year from now. Who would have predicted our current state of being?

I have since been scrolling through my blog posts from Septembers in the past. This is the one that spoke to me the loudest. 

A little throwback Thursday post from one year ago with no glimmer of what the next year had in store:

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2019

Look How Far You've Come

While scrolling through the internet this morning, I found a few words that spoke to me:

Credit to: Goalcast

I thought I would reflect on the year and went to check my blog history. September, 2018? Nothing. Not a post.

I then went to look up my 2018 calendar to fill in the blanks. I couldn't find it. I searched through my income tax papers where I always keep my calendar. Not a thing.

Okay, memory. Kick in. What were you doing a year ago?

I remembered September started by a trip with my brother to see my uncle in Guelph. I remember going to my sister's the weekend after that.

I remember feeling a lightness of heart starting to take hold but without the crutches of my blog or a calendar to look back on my memories faded to black. It was a scary feeling.

I scrambled to scroll back on some old texts to find a frame of reference. I found a text where I was headed out to Lloydminster with my son. After reading a few of the messages before and after this trip I was grounded with the knowledge that I remembered what was written in between the texts.

Once my feet were back on the ground and I was thinking clearly, I found my old calendar. Right where I expected it to be.

I flipped back to September, 2018. One year plus six days ago, I received the Final Clearance Letter for Mom's estate. A sibling trip was planned and we officially wound up everything pertaining to Mom's estate shortly thereafter.

We are planning another sibling trip this upcoming weekend. I will be headed off to see my uncle soon. Other events are mirroring those of one year ago.

Two years ago, the loss of Mom was fresh and I felt broken. A year ago, I was picking up the pieces and healing. This year seems to be a renewed version of the year past.

Life has moved on. There is a lot of the same old, same old. Just the way I like it. It feels like the good old days seasoned with the present.

How far have I come? I have a home renovation to celebrate. I am fortunate enough to still be employed. We are all in good spirits and our family relationships are healthy. I'm standing in a very similar place to where I was a year ago but the landscape has changed a little. I am grateful. So very grateful to be back where I have been but feeling better about it.

How about you? What has the last year brought into your life? I hope there have been rainbows after the rain, strength when you need it, courage to keep putting one foot in front of another and the company of those you enjoy to walk through your days.

Back to the present again ...

P.S. I am missing our annual sibling trip terribly. COVID-19, you can leave any time. We have learned quite enough from your presence

The Answer Is

I read Alex Trebek's book "The Answer Is". It's an easy read. It touches on so many aspects of his life-so-far. I put it down and told my son, "He's a real stand up guy." 

I related his struggles with those Mom never vocalized and wondered what Mom would have said of his book, his story and where he is today. Somehow, I sense my sentiments are an echo of Mom's voice. She appreciated people of good character. 

I love how Alex wrote of his upbringing, his parents, the in-between years of graduation and the steps along the way to lead him to where he is today. I admire his honesty, his humbleness, his humanitarian spirit and his humanness. I appreciate the stories of contestants he brought into focus and how he models the appreciation he has for the work he does. 

If you are interested and have the opportunity, I highly recommend reading his book. He is donating all profits from his book to charity.

"The Answer Is" the answer to the question "What book I would most like to listen to the audio version?" Not only is Alex Trebek a real stand up guy, he has a voice I could listen to all day.

Small Wonders

I have not had my fill of rabbit-spotting the past several months. I had almost given up hope and wondered if they had moved out of our neighborhood or succumbed to a tragic demise due to some carnivorous animal's appetite. 

I have since had a few brief spottings and my faith has been restored. The rabbits are still in the area but without a snow covered yard, the evidence of their presence is very discreet.

I haven't seen too many rabbits at my aunt's lately either. Her location is a rabbit's haven (lots of bush, grass, flowers, along with quiet, slow moving people). 

I was craving a little bit of rabbit wonder in my day when I had two spottings. One brief sighting of a rabbit hopping down our street first thing in the morning, followed by a pair of rabbits at my aunt's who settled in for an extended after supper snack of grass and basking in the moment: 

Though they were well aware of my presence, they didn't move from their spots when I headed to my car and they gave me the gift of this photo.

I opened the blinds this morning to spot two rabbits hopping down our street. 

A very good way to start the day.

Rabbit sightings fill the void I sometimes feel within. 

Nature does that for me every time. 

I think it is time to add "rabbit food" to my list. 

I could use a little daily dose of wonder.

What brings wonder to your days? 

How can you attract that which brings you joy?

There is no one size fits all prescription but keep looking for the small wonders of the world. 

They may be closer than you think.

Echos of Conversations from Yesteryear

Whenever Mom came for a visit, we always lingered over our morning toast and coffee. It was a ritual that was as predictable as the sun coming up in the morning.

On more than one occasion, after I had left the kitchen and returned again, Mom asked, "Guess what I did while you were gone?" She had an expression that dared me to guess correctly so I played the game.

I wasn't able to come up with the answer so she would give me a clue: "You can't see it". As I said, I'm pretty certain we had this conversation before. Even at that, I didn't come up with the correct answer.

She would straighten up in her chair (even more, because her back was always straight and her posture was excellent) and wore the expression of a cat who just ate a canary and reply, "I emptied the crumb tray in your toaster". That tray was always full because Mom may have been the only person who emptied it.

Now? Whenever I empty the toaster's crumb tray, I hear Mom's voice: "Guess what I did while you were gone?"

And in a moment, Mom is right beside me, smiling over my shoulder again.

I love those little memories. They find me when I least expect them.

Taming the Beast

After a weekend of sorting, culling and organizing papers, cards, family history and memorabilia, this is the not-as-messy-middle ground I must live with until next time:

I found things I didn't even know I had: 

• souveniers from P.E.I., that could have only come from Mom after her trip out there in 1984
• a scribbler Mom had saved from my "playing school" days, where I made up a day plan, wrote out assignments for my imaginary class, did the assignment myself, then marked it myself, back in the teacher role
• Christmas, birthday and "just because" cards from Mom with little more than her name signed, but the knowledge she had spent time to find just the right card - I have sorted them according to category and plan to pull out a random card to fit the occasion and feel Mom's presence when I miss her
• a forwarded email from my brother, to my sister (who had asked him for their punch recipe):

1. Curl fingers toward fist
2. Be careful not to tuck thumb inside fist. Broken thumbs may occur
3. Now raise fist up
4. Look directly at target
5. For increased power and velocity, twist hip and shoulder toward target as you deliver punch
6. For added joy and effectiveness, follow this punch with another from the opposite hand
7. This is known as the old one-two

Hope this has been helpful.

And I found more. So much more. Buried treasure was found within the massive heap of years worth of collecting that which felt special at the time. 

A new week is upon me and I had to sort myself out of the messy middle and tame the beast until next time. Funny thing is, I am actually looking forward to the next time.

Taking one hard step in a direction you want to go isn't easy, but it is almost always worth the effort. 

Why?

 As I take the first tentative steps into dealing with photographs, memories, keepsakes and other paraphernalia around our home there is one word that comes to mind. "Why?"

What do I have and hold onto that has any value to anyone but me? Is this really worth the effort? Or should I simply dump and shred the vast majority of that-which-has-accumulated throughout the years?

Then I heard Mom's voice quietly penetrate my subconscious thoughts. I believe I was wishing for a quieter, less committed life. "Be careful what you wish for" whispered through my mind. I think it was Mom's voice.

Mom lived without Dad for thirty seven and a half years. My brother was in grade 12 at the time Dad was hospitalized and continued to live with Mom another five to six years (I could tell you exactly, because I kept the first letter he wrote me from his new apartment and I know exactly where to find it). There were various "borders" who came and went throughout the years, but for the most part, Mom was on her own the vast majority of the time.

I think Mom and I are wired similarly. We navigate life solo well. Home is important to us. Family grounds us. We do best when we have a game plan for the day ahead.

I remember one of my very first thoughts when my first son was born. I was 17 years old at the time. Please forgive me. I think my thoughts were a little bit like this: "A boy ..." "Eighteen more years 'til he grows up" (not necessarily in that order).

Then, I kept on having a baby about every ten years. Now, at age (almost) 60, I am still parenting my youngest son who is attending University. I may be 65 before I'm on my own within this house of mine. I have never lived a day of my adult life without a dependent under my roof. But the day will come. Then what will I have?

I imagine myself wandering through my home, appreciating that which I held onto. My brother's first letter of independence. Photographs and albums that encompass Mom and Dad's family history, up until I stopped developing pictures that are stored on my computer or a USB drive. I can picture myself sitting still with Mom's library and going through her books one by one by one. I hope my curiosity for life starts to mirror hers as the demands of life start to diminish.

I see myself combing through the memories I have collected along the way and knowing when to let go and what is worthy of holding onto. I have three sons who are NOT collectors of memorabilia. What I have, will need to find homes elsewhere. It may become a project to re-home some of what matters to me before the day my children have to decide.

I foresee a long life ahead. I will need to re-invent myself and become someone who has something to talk about when in the company of others. I need to keep the air around me fresh, new and alive.

Who will I become when I reach the stage when I am living on my own? I know one cannot hold onto the past but I also know the value of feeling the roots of belonging. 

The need to cull and purge is ongoing. Some of what held value to me at the onset of my day, I was ready to purge by the day's end. Why would I hold onto this? What value does it hold? To me? To anyone else?

As I empty one set of shelves, to fill it with the photographs and memories I have deemed worthy of keeping, I must continue to ask myself "Why? Why is this important? Is it worthy of the space it takes to hold this? If I was not here, would this be of value to anyone else?"

I should "Marie Kondo" this scenario, pull out all my memorabilia and stack it all in one room to recognize the vastness of the task at hand. 

Two Rubbermaid containers at a time is enough for today. I need another extended long weekend before I take on the world. When I accept the challenge, I must ask myself two questions: 

• Does this bring me joy?
• Why am I holding onto this?

Holding onto the memories of the past without letting it weigh you down is a continual process. While there is a time to hold onto and cherish the past, part of the process is knowing when to let it go. 

I have held onto things that held value to Mom. Because they were important to her, it wasn't easy to discard her personal mementos. The question is now: "Does this matter to me?" 

The process continues...

Four Days

I woke up to my fourth and final day of solitary confinement at home. I was up before the sun this morning, so I didn't lose a minute of my last day at home.

Four days. Here are the stats:

• Two days of work, totalling 12 working hours
• One home cooked meal (okay, I turned on the BBQ, charred three hamburgers and four hot dogs which meant I didn't have to share this food fest and my BBQ'd meal lasted all weekend)
• Two outbound text messages
• One, three hour long phone visit with a friend
• One entire day on the couch, watching TV
• One hour long walk (the only time I have stepped off the property)
• One work-related drop by delivery
• One pizza delivery 

Friday was my son's first day back at University. I was home. Alone. The phone rang once. I didn't have to leave the house. It was an absolutely awesome day.

Saturday was a highly verbal day. My telephone conversation with a friend was the next best thing to "being there". We shared laughter, tears and easy conversation that goes hand in hand by knowing someone who has been there through every bump and turn of "life", the past forty four years. This was followed with a highly interactive day of working from home. Lots of phone calls, conferring and putting our heads together.

Sunday, I felt absolutely wordless. I walked with a friend near the day's end but I listened more than I spoke and did not have it in me to prolong the walk with a cup of coffee at the end. I returned from my walk at the same time I normally return home during my work week. I came home, climbed into my pajamas and called it a night.

Which leads me to Monday. Today. A day I plan to spend immersed in photographs and memories. One box is mine; the other box came from Mom's.

It's been three years without Mom. Three years and I still have not unpacked all the mementos I brought home with me. It just dawned on me this morning that perhaps the reason these boxes never got unpacked is due to my duties as an executor. I was buried in numbers instead of memories. It is time. I am ready, revitalized and raring to go.

These four days at home have been just what I needed, when I needed it the most. 

One Day ... But Not Today

There will come a day when replacing my car is smarter than repairing it. Thankfully it is not today.

My car simply didn't start when I turned the ignition five days prior to the day it died. When it happened initially, I gave it a few more tries, panicked slightly as I wondered if that was my last "start", but when it started easily the next time (and the next nine start-ups) I began to wonder if I had imagined the one time it didn't start.

Long story short, it wasn't my imagination. My car died last night.

As I sat and waited for the tow truck to arrive, I mentally tallied how much I have saved and how much more I have to go before I can shop for my next car. I berated myself for believing I was in a relatively good financial position after paying down last years bills to zero. I started to believe I had jinxed my luck.

Then the tow truck driver arrived and had a few tricks up his sleeve.

When the car didn't start by boosting the battery and a little more troubleshooting, he said he had one more thing to try before he gave up. He slid under the car, tapped the starter, told me when to start the ignition and the car came back to life.

He suggested I keep the car running until I arrived at my final destination because the starter struggled a little before it started. So my car spent the night at my friendly neighborhood mechanic's parking lot and a new starter has been ordered. I should be up and running by later this afternoon.

A new starter verses a new-to-me car? The starter wins. I can coast for a little while longer.

Of all the times and places for my car to abandon me, I could not be more grateful to be stranded in the grocery pick-up parking stall, fifteen minutes from home. I quickly assessed my situation. My grocery supply had just been replenished, a long weekend (with an extra day added to it) was on the horizon and I had no where to go. I was dreaming of five days of being stranded at home and I was not disappointed.

Granted, shopping for a different car would have added a dimension to the isolation which would not be ideal. But hey, I was still grateful I hadn't been stranded an hour and a half out of the city, in a spot with no cell service (I know this, because I tried to make a phone call), with my aunt on the day my car first died.

Do I feel like I have a battalion of guardian angels watching over me? You bet I do. Of all the times and places for the car to quit, this was one of the best options. I was on my way home so I had fulfilled my obligations for the day (and just one day shy of getting through the week). The car died on a Wednesday which allowed one business day for my garage to get me back on the road again before the long weekend.

As much as I long for isolation, I am grateful for the knowledge I can go anywhere I need to go by having a fully functional car in the garage.

I am feeling incredibly lucky this morning. My only challenge is in attempting to squeeze both a new car starter AND house insurance out of one month's wages. It's worth a try. 

When I first started visiting my aunt on a regular basis, I remember the sensation of feeling my uncle (her husband) and my dad's presence surrounding us. It was strong and I could almost reach out and touch it. Initially, it felt like a warm hug but as time went by, it felt a little more like someone walking along side me as I made my way through the days. Over time, that feeling diminished and I thought of it less and less. Last night, before I left my aunt's, I looked up at a picture of her and my uncle and my heart skipped a beat as I remembered how palpable I felt his presence over the course of time. I silently acknowledged his presence and wistfully thought of the years I have walked this walk with my aunt. I thought of the idea of all my "heavenly angels" for a fraction of a second.

I snapped back into the real world and as I headed home, I had every reason to feel stranded and alone, but I didn't. In reality, it is because I had a cell phone and all the numbers I needed to make my way back home. It was less of a problem and more of a slight inconvenience. But the feeling I had as I glanced up at the picture of my uncle was still within my subconscious thoughts. My state of well being was more than the convenience of cell service.

One day, my car will not start again for me. It is not today. I am grateful for my handy dandy mechanic at the end of the block, the funds to keep it running, cell service to call for assistance as needed and if there is an angel or three watching over me and keeping life only mildly inconvenient instead of major catastrophies, I am eternally grateful.

Holiday - COVID style

 I invited my aunt to go on a short road trip with me a few days ago. 

Our destination was about an hour and a half out of the city. I assumed there would be a nice little walking path and enough to see to make it worth the trip. Then I made the decision to take the long way home in order to travel on a better highway. 

We left the city about 2:15 p.m.; arrived at our destination at 3:45 p.m.; back on the road home by 4:00; then re-entered the city limits by by 5:30. 

It was a perfect fall day. Crops were ripe and in various stages of harvest. The sky was blue, the weather was ideal and it was a very good day for a drive to no where (which is pretty much what it amounted to, as our final destination was definitely underwhelming). 

Our 3-1/2 hour day trip was enough for both me and my aunt. Both of us were eager to return home and stay home for the duration of the weekend to follow.

We pondered whether it was really worth the drive but I told my aunt "this" was my summer holiday this year. "This is and will be as far as I venture this year. Thank you for joining me!"

I had a déjà vu moment when I uttered the words "This is my holiday ..." Then I remembered. It was my last vacation at Mom's. Initially, I went out of concern for Mom, then stayed on longer than I had anticipated. Mom was worried about me missing work but I told her “this is my holiday” and I treated it as such. 

It was a vacation I will never regret. It was a spur of the moment decision at a time when I knew life as we knew it could change on a dime.

It was the right thing to do. Shortly thereafter, our lives were forever altered. Mom died within the month.

Vacations are a state of mind. The destination matters less than the company you keep and your ability to simply breathe in the moment you are in.

Holiday - COVID style found me on a day trip with my aunt. Something tells me I will never regret this holiday either.

Life

I think of "where I'm at" and I still hear the echo of Mom's words. "What is your ten year plan?" That was three years ago ...

Three years ago today, I headed out to Edmonton for what would be my final visit with Mom.

I still hear you in my thoughts, Mom. I dreamt about you in the wee hours of this morning. You are part of my heart and soul.

So many thoughts ... so few words.

Who Doesn't Love Rabbits?

One of my greatest joys in life is noticing a rabbit hopping through our neighborhood or the park like setting where my aunt lives. Rabbit spotting became a much enjoyed event while I visited Mom and one of my favorite photos is one of a small jack rabbit who hopped into Mom's back yard and settled in for a bit. We named him (or her) "Jack".

I have this 4" X 6" photo on display on the top shelf of  Mom's corner shelving unit in our living room, nestled in with other meaningful mementos which honor my memories of Mom. 

As per our own family's version of Emily Post (who literally wrote the book on etiquette), I followed Mom's rule of not having personal photos on display in the living room. The corner shelving unit holds items which have special meaning to me but its contents are rather generic to a casual visitor.

Never have I ever been more grateful for following one of Mom's rules of decorating when someone I don't know gazed at our sparsely decorated living room and made the comment "I hope you ate that rabbit!" when he looked at the framed photo of "Jack".

Now, I was already having my reservations about this human being. My spidey senses were tingling and I felt like a dog with its hair raising on the back of its shoulders. I just didn't feel good about this professional computer doctor who was in my midst. Then he made this comment and I felt my "inner Margaret" get her hackles up and I thought loudly (in Mom's voice), "I knew I didn't like this guy!" 

Who has the insensitivity to make such a rude comment to a person who obviously feels strongly enough about rabbits to photograph, frame and display on the top shelf of a room that holds no other personal touches? Who continues to have a conversation and debate the worthiness of rabbits after sharing the fact that Mom & I enjoyed watching and even named him?

I am not even certain if I was civil to this human after the above interaction.

Who doesn't love rabbits?! I honestly don't want to know this answer. I am having a very hard time not going off on a rant about this person's customer service. He was hanging on by a thread. It was that thread that hung him. I will not be calling him back.

I cannot trust a person who doesn't like rabbits.

It is Time ...

I have become the world's best procrastinator over the course of the past many years.

There are so very many things to be done. So much I would like to have done and behind me. But there are a list of little just-for-me things I would like to do.

Oh, to take the entirety of a weekend to sift through the boxes of memories I have amassed. On more than one occasion recently, I have been reminded of a few keepsakes I have saved over the years and it has ignited a desire to rifle through my memory box to see what I have forgotten.

I want to empty the shelf of photos, photo albums, loose pictures and organize them and amalgamate them into one whole cohesive collection including the pictures and albums I inherited from Mom.

I want to take the time to cull through Mom's boxes of memorabilia. Sort, organize and decide what is excess. When we were going through Mom's collection of belongings, I felt everything was important, a piece of history and a piece of Mom. Perhaps I don't need to keep two decades worth of her calendars to hold onto a few vital dates and notations.

This weekend I wish for will spill over into days. Days on end. Days where one photograph, notation or piece of paper will ignite thoughts I had forgotten. Thus, I don't want to rush the process.

I want to make the time. It is time ...

The Brave Rabbit

My aunt's deck faces onto a park-like setting. It is a large green space with flowers, shrubs, trees,  a community garden and raspberry bushes in sight. There is a small ravine-like area nearby and even though the city has grown up around this area, it is a little oasis unto itself.

Rabbits dwell somewhere in the greenery and show themselves regularly. We have no idea how many rabbits actually live in the area. One time five of them hopped into plain sight when the weekly lawn maintenance crew scared them out of their hiding spots, so I believe there are many more than meet the eye.

The rabbits have grown accustomed to their neighbors. The average age within this community may be around 85 years, with a vast majority of the residents walking with the assistance of a walker. It's a quiet, slow moving, nature loving group. If I was a rabbit, this is definitely a place I would like to call home.

Last night, there was a group of all ages gathered together to provide some entertainment to the residents. My best guess is they were doing Taekwondo or some variation of the martial arts. 

Three of the younger crowd gathered spotted a rabbit and started chasing it. The rabbit must have been in a state of shock, being pursued by these fast moving humans. Instead of running in a straight line that would have led to a means of escape, the rabbit darted into a corner and had to weave and dodge to avoid its enemy.

One of the adults in the group noticed the rabbit chase and called the children off. The kids quickly heeded the command. I could feel a collective sigh of relief as the rabbit immediately knew it was out of danger.

Then what did the rabbit do? It maintained its course. It stayed in its location and edged even closer to the group. It nibbled on the newly sodded grass, wandered through the flower garden, ate a white petunia and took its merry time before it left the area.

I could have swore the rabbit looked up and watched me watching it. I think this may have been the rabbit I have bonded with recently. I have walked by and made eye contact with a rabbit on this new patch of sod a few nights as I left my aunts. I walked very close to it, it looked toward me with one ear back and one ear fully alert.

I felt a connection to the rabbit on the run. I was amazed it stayed the course and did not run off into the nearby forest to ensure its safety. When it not only stayed in the area but moved even closer to the young, fast moving group I couldn't help but wonder what instincts were guiding it. 

The wistful part of me hoped it was a God wink intended just for me. I had just written about Mom and she has been in my thoughts and conversations a lot lately. Mom. Me. Rabbits. We have a connection. If Mom could find a way to communicate with me in her absence, I think she would choose the language of rabbits.

My brave little rabbit. You may have been protecting your young and just diverting the attention of your pursuers from them. But I choose to think you were watching me watching you. It is wishful thinking but I am comforted by the thought that you could be a little God wink from Mom ...

Tough Love

I feel my inner child resurface when life gets hard - the part of me that wants to sit next to Mom and let her do my talking.

Mom was a fierce ally to have on my side throughout my life. When the chips were down, Mom had my back. She defended me. She supported me. She provided whatever was required to do what had to be done. She was there. Through thick and thin. No matter what.

In the aftermath of Mom's death, there was a void in my life no one would ever fill again. 

Life went on. I grew a little more. I endured. I pushed through. My skin got a little thicker. I longed for the days when I could drive out to Mom's and just be her daughter for a while.

There are the days I just want to be coddled and cajoled and gently urged to push through the moment I'm in. Yesterday morning was one of those days. 

The prevalent morning thought I had was to seek out a TED Talk on feeling overwhelmed to substitute for a conversation with Mom. I thought I needed some gentle urging.

Then I came upon Shia LaBeouf's "Just Do It" motivational speech. One minute and four seconds. Perfect. I had a busy day ahead of me and I didn't want to fritter away the morning. 

Then BAM! The first two words out of his mouth were exactly what I needed to hear: 

"DO IT!!"

Sometimes what we think we need is not what we need at all. A gentle nudge isn't always the best thing for us. I'm going to keep this guy on speed dial (or at least add him to my Bookmark bar).

There is no time to waste. I need to take Shia's advise and do it all over again today. No pussyfooting around...

"JUST DO IT!!!!"