Dear Mom (Oct 30/17)

Mon, Oct 30/17

Dear Mom,

Well, it is happening. A sense of normalcy is returning to life as I know it. It's hard to explain, but it is good in a sad kind of way.

I remember when my heart stopped missing Andre (will you ever forgive me for continually comparing you to our brave little kitty?). I missed the quiet little ache in my heart when life started filling up and moving on without him. I am feeling a little bit like that with you.

I still talk of you a lot and think of you even more. But (thankfully) "life" won't let me sit still in this limbo. There is much to do. And (finally) I am starting to do that which has been neglected for a very long time.

My world stopped in its tracks when you were hospitalized last November. The ambition that was driving me to clear out the clutter in our home and make room for a new life stopped cold. The box of items I had ready for my "next week's auction" sat untouched. For almost a year. Until last week.

I hauled out every little thing I was ready to sell last year and added all of my daycare supplies to the mix. The daycare toys that held value and could have been available if I felt the need to restart my daycare; the daycare toys that would have been great to have around if I ever became a grandma; the daycare toys which would have provided entertainment for any more daycare reunions ... they are all gone.

It was like ripping off a bandage. I did it without thinking (if you can call procrastinating a year not over-thinking). I put it all up for sale. It is gone. My old life has found new homes and will provide endless hours of joy for children I will never know. It is the end of an era.

I'm letting go ...

I should have done this months ago but I didn't have the time, energy or focus to see the job through. I needed a push. The push was the arrival of your belongings. You were instrumental in nudging me back into moving in a forward direction. There was not room for my past life, with "you" moving in with me.

Sigh ...

I would have done this for you. I was ready, willing and able to clear out the top floor of our home so you could move into our upstairs. But you wouldn't have it. It is good that you stood your ground and found your own strength and determination to stay within the comfort of your own home. It was the only right answer for you.

Instead, I have "a piece of you" with me which has been shared equally by all of us. A piece of you has moved in, creating the need for me to rid myself of some of the old and look towards the future. A future without you in a physical sense but a future with you woven so deeply into my heart, mind and soul that I will never feel like you are entirely gone.

As it was with Andre, it will be with you.

Life moves on, voids are filled and your essence will be forever entwined in my being.

A short little cat story for you:

When Andre died, we knew "there would never be another Andre", so we went to the S.P.C.A. with the idea of adopting a dog. The dogs didn't speak to us. But this little black cat reached out and literally climbed into our arms, our lives and our hearts. We adopted Jet and his spirit was that of a young, healthy Andre. Jet has an identity unto himself but he still carries the essence of Andre. It warms my heart.

This weekend, as I readied the daycare belongings for their final trip out of our door, I sat the umbrella stroller out as its new owner was soon to be on their way. I heard a little rustling in the living room and what should I find? Jet had found his way into the seat of the stroller and was nestling in. I smiled as I thought of Andre...

Jet (this weekend)

Andre (in his kitten days)

Andre (his second last visit to to the vet)

As I was in the process of letting go of the past, Jet hopped into that stroller and reminded me that even in the letting go, the spirit lives on and we can be transported back to the joy of when times were good, hearts were happy and it is the good stuff that sifts to the top when we relax, let go and move on.

I bought a treadmill this weekend, Mom. I need to start focusing on becoming a healthier me and this is a beginning. I needed to find an excuse to "move" and a bet with Dale (he thinks the treadmill is going to become a clothes hanger and fodder for next year's purging due to disuse, and I plan to prove him wrong) is going to inspire me to follow through on my goal. I am starting a new habit of waking up and moving every morning.

I put in my time this morning, came upstairs and had a drink of water and looked up. This is what I saw:

Hope. One word. And it encapsulated the spirit of the weekend past.

I'm looking up and past the year gone by.

I'll never forget it, but I'm purging now.

I'm keeping the good stuff and letting go of that which no longer serves a purpose.

I'm feeling braver than I have for a while.

I'm looking up again.

And when I do, I see "Hope"

Thanks, Mom. I like to think you may be nudging me along the way as I walk through this new life. I know I'm strong enough to do it alone but I'd really rather share the credit with you. 

You are a good role model for the style of life I want to create in this leg of my journey. I want to be determined, self sufficient, strong and healthy. I want to be a brave little warrior like you and Andre. 

I remember you saying with disbelief, "Are you sure he's sick? He doesn't look sick" ... followed with, "If I'm ever sick, I want to be sick like Andre". You were, Mom. You were just as brave and just as feisty as our little black cat. And that is a compliment of the highest regard.

I hope I have a little of you and Andre within me. It would be nice to think the two of you together. Kindred spirits seem to find each other. You will never be alone ...

With love,

Colleen

Dear Mom (Oct 23/17)

Mon, Oct 23/17

Dear Mom,

Well, Mom? I hope you don't think less of me for it, but I completely chickened out on facing up to this weekend.

Emotions were coming from nowhere and everywhere and I didn't trust myself to be with people. I was going to forge through and face up to it. But (long story, short), I didn't.

I don't think I have run from anything yet. I've walked forward through thick and thin. I've done hard things. I've done easy things. I've done necessary things. But this weekend? The weekend the contents of your home were emptied and divided among us? My heart was not up to the task.

Instead, I stayed home. In every sense of the word. I didn't take one step outside of the door. But I still invited people in. I visited on the phone while I faced the monumental task of going through your books, papers, pictures and miscellanea I have brought home with me.

It was overwhelming. I had no idea which way to turn for a little while. "Your" room looked like it had exploded.

I had no direction to go but forward. So I forged ahead, rifled through papers, pictures, kitchen/bathroom accessories and after one full day, I found my way through and created a semblance of order within the excess.

Before

After

I was somewhere near the end of this process when Wendy let me know I had only a few hours before they would be delivering that which would become "mine" from your home.

I panicked. I stopped in my tracks and made a light lunch for my brave and strong warriors who took on the lion's share of my work this past weekend and packed up what Wendy felt I should have. Honestly, I would have been content with your sewing machine, ironing board and a mirror. But Wendy had other ideas.

As they emptied the trailer, it felt like there was no end to the furniture they moved into our home.

Once again, I simply panicked. I spun in circles. I moaned and thought "This is too much. I don't have room. It is too much!"

Wendy said (something to the effect of), "Trust me. This is 'you' and you will be glad. I know I'm right. Trust me..."

I begged them to stay for sustenance and thankfully they did. I needed to hear the story of the weekend I had missed. Wendy assured me that I wasn't needed and it was good I had stayed home.

As I spun in circles within the room that contained boxes and suitcases full of your belongings, everyone else dealt with your furniture - your life's accumulation of "wealth" that brought you pleasure within the home you were so insistent in staying in. 

Wendy (of course) insisted that we at least place the furniture in its proper room and I would tweak things later. There was little "tweaking" that needed to be done. Other than moving my excess downstairs (I now have a LOT of excess), there were only minor adjustments to be made. Then the magic began.

I stood and gazed at my new/old home. I hadn't made the time to de-junk, move things about, paint &/or rid myself of my own excess before your belongings arrived. I honestly thought I would simply store your furniture downstairs until I had time to clean up and make room for the new. But I didn't.

Even though I did absolutely nothing in preparation for the onslaught of furniture which found its way to my home, once it was arranged all I felt was a warm embrace. I felt "you" within our home. It was peaceful. It was comforting. It was the best I had felt in a good, long while. You were here with me.

I immediately sent off a message to Wendy to thank her for "being right". She knew. I was so grateful she insisted I take in more than your ironing board and mirror.

And do you know what? Wendy was basking in the same "glow" as I had been. "I see Mom everywhere", as she had placed your furnishings within her home and she sounded exactly as I felt.

I hope you can feel the peace that came along with the gentle embrace I felt when I found myself surrounded by "you" and that which you had carefully chosen and enjoyed over the years. I trust I am not alone in this feeling. I hope this has been "divided in four" and each one of us is feeling the sense of having you close to us, as we adorn our homes with that which was carefully selected and special to you.

This house of mine needs a LOT of tender loving care, but it has been accessorized by that which once belonged to you and it feels good. It feels very good. Thank you, Mom.

I wish you were here, sitting at your table and sharing a cup of coffee with me. But this is the next best thing. Sitting here, writing to you, enjoying my second cup of coffee before I take on the week. It's what we've always done, isn't it? This is our way.

I feel you in my head and in my heart. It is much more peaceful, now that this weekend is behind us. This would have been hard on you too, wouldn't it? I hope you stayed here with me and didn't bear witness to that which could have been hard for you to watch. I hope you found your way into each of our homes with that which you wanted us to have.

There is a peace within me that I haven't felt for a while. And it is good. It is hard to break apart the life and home you so carefully constructed and nurtured. It is my hope it will continue on within the homes of your children.

Thanks, Mom. Wendy is a lot like you. She is right an awful lot of the time too. Thanks to you, Wendy. I'm glad you insisted and "knew" what was right.

With love,

Colleen

P.S. Here are a few pictures of my newly revamped old home:

The cats LOVE this room!!
It promotes good conversation as well, as Kurt and I had a good, long chat on your magical love seat.

Check out the China cabinet. Full of your crystal and all that reminds me of you. You do realize that I must now take up drinking wine now, don't you Mom?
I love the table (and see how perfectly your stool fits under the "side table"?). It's kinda like it was meant to be...

Your corner shelf feels "right", right here.
And the cats will certainly appreciate their new table so they can sit and watch the world go by from the living room window.
Your table from the sunroom may find a new spot one day, but for the moment your lamp is creating its own "sun shine" so it isn't uncomfortable in its new surroundings.

Dear Mom (Oct 15/17)

Sun, Oct 15/17

Dear Mom,

It happened without me thinking. I saw myself pulling out the chair at your dining room table so I could sit in it and I thought "Oh no! It's happening. I'm not honoring her space..."

I get very testy, very fast when others do it. Patience? I think I have a lot of it. Until someone crosses a line. Then I have none.

This has happened more times than I care to admit since you died. Almost every time, I have been in your home. My thoughts come out of nowhere and I don't even feel like myself.

It is then, that I feel your spirit in and around and through me. This is not how I thought it would happen.

I thought I would hear wind chimes on a windless day. I thought I would find you in nature. I thought I would feel you close to me at your graveside service. I thought for sure I would feel you at the farm.

But there are times, especially when certain lyrics from a song reach out and touch me, it is as if you are speaking directly to me. Then there has been "this week". This week? I have felt "the universe" speaking to me. Loudly. The messages are hitting home.

I spent one very mindless day in front of the television set. It has been the first time I have sat still and not thought for a long time. I watched TV show after TV show.

I found my way to a program about a mere mortal who has become "chosen" to save the world or some such concept. It isn't a serious show, but I kept coming back to it because at the end of the episode there was a nugget of something solid to have and to hold.

One particular episode, the "chosen one" refused to acknowledge the signs and prods that were urging him down the path he was meant to take. The signs kept coming and he refused to listen. It was then, when the episode's message was revealed. "The universe is always sending you signs. It is up to you, whether you notice them or not".

Then my signs started revealing themselves to me. This is not new. I often wake up and find my early morning motivational email speaking directly to me. It was eerie how close to the heart those messages were during your last weeks and days with us.

Your last day at home, this was the message that found its way to me: "Letting go of something precious may be as simple as saying, 'Thank you for the journey'."

The day you died, I found this: "The waiting .. the meantime ... the in-between ... it all serves a purpose. Trust your process. Even the delays and plot twists" and "Honor the space between 'no longer' and 'not yet' ... it all serves a purpose."

I was weary with exhaustion when I found this message one Sunday morning: "Take today slow and give your soul a chance to catch up with your body".

Then this week arrived. The new week dawned and there was a subtle change to the way I was starting to feel and the messages that found their way to my consciousness started becoming a little less kind and subtle. It was as if "the universe" was shaking me by the shoulders and telling me it is time to move beyond the past year.

"Your new life is going to cost you your old one" ... "The person you're becoming will cost you people, relationships, spaces and material things. Don't give up on that person you're becoming, it's OK to choose your growth over everything."

"Let it go. Something beautiful wants to grow in its place." "We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us" ~ Joseph Campbell

Last year, I focused on creating a life where my work schedule did not govern my actions. Flexibility served me very well. I was where I wanted to be and my life felt in balance because I was simply available to do "the next right thing".

This balance resulted in a life I enjoyed. I was in a "pick up and go" mode at all times. It sounds more unsettling than it was. There was a richness that money can't buy, that was gained by simply following my instincts and my heart. I stockpiled thoughts and memories like I was saving for a rainy day.

I love how those thoughts and conversations waft through my mind. They seem to be on a never ending loop. And "the universe" is prodding me to move forward.

Where do I go from here, Mom? I don't know my way right now. I don't want to build a life around work. I want to create a life where work is secondary to a world I want to wake up to and enjoy.

What I have is close. I am doing "things that matter". The people I work with and for, are like mothers to me. This is a comfort. But it is also a little scary.

I relistened to the last "real" conversation we had, when you leaned forward and solemnly asked me, "What is your ten year plan?" You asked me that, because the life I have built is heavily reliant upon those who are over the age of 80 years old, didn't you?

Which brought you to wonder (and rightfully so), where will I be in ten years?

No one knows what tomorrow will bring. I can't obsess about the future. I just need to keep creating the best "todays" and "tomorrows" that I possibly can. When that no longer revolves around the leg work of dealing with your estate, I don't really know where I will place that energy.

The universe is telling me to start building a new foundation. "Let go" ... "Something beautiful will grow in its place" ...

Those are pretty vague messages, Mom. If you have any control of such matters, do you think you could find a way to knock me over the head with it? It sure beats this irritation I feel when I see your home being dismantled and boundaries being crossed.

I'm crossing a boundary right this very moment. I'm sitting in "the best seat in the house". And it's yours. I can see why this was your spot. You can keep an eye on everything from here.

Now ... if you could just send a rabbit my way, I would know you are listening.

I'm starting to miss you a little bit, Mom. Thankfully I have a lifetime of memories (and a closet full of paperwork to deal with today).

My heart is full. Thank you.

Love,

Colleen

P.S. Accolades and credit for the messages and inspiration which have been coming to me daily are thanks to ProjectHappiness.com

Dear Mom (Oct 9/17)

Mon, Oct 9/17

Dear Mom,

I thought this may be an easy letter to write. But I was wrong. With each forward step we take, we are walking further away from this "Time of Frequent Family Connections". We will soon run out of excuses to gather together. And here we will be. Standing in the middle of life as we know it. Without you.

We gathered the family together in your honor one last time yesterday. The day was nothing short of amazing. If you had been with us, I think you would have enjoyed watching three generations of your family lapping up every moment and memory of the farm where Dad and you started your lives together.

We walked around and explored. We climbed "the big hill". We checked out the old buildings and the fallen down playhouse (even more meaningful because it was part of your very first home). We tried to find the shortcut through the bushes to the school. Donna and Wendy told stories of "remembering when" and I heard their inner child with every nuance, the subtle change in their voice and the look in their eyes.

I am beyond grateful to have the memories I have of the farm. They aren't as plentiful as Donna and Wendy's but they are so much more than Trev had. But by being able to go back and revisit your old home place, we all have so very much more to hold onto.

How do we hold onto all of this "greatness" and still move forward? Dale is reminding me I must look to the present to create my own future. Not a future that revolves around my trips out to see you.

I cannot lie. I can't look that far ahead. I am stuck in the moment. I am revelling in the "now". Now? Is okay. Tomorrow? I can do. I can look a week ahead. Maybe two. But I see a vast panorama of emptiness in the weeks that are in the not so distant future.

In the meantime, I shall simply revel in the small things. Boiling eggs in your new pot, slicing aforementioned eggs with your handy dandy egg slicer and ensuring the candy jar is filled with ju-jubes for the family. 

Packing up your old picnic basket and taking it out to the farm soothed my heart. I'll just keep doing those "little things" that embody my memories of you and take it a day at a time. 

Thanks for the memories, Mom! And the picnic basket too. 😊

Love,
Colleen

My meagre contributions to our Family Thanksgiving Potluck at the farm

(transported with care, in a picnic basket that brings back memories of harvest time on the farm)

Dear Mom (Oct 2/17)

Mon, Oct 2/17

Dear Mom,

Where do I start? What do I want to say the most to you right now? I must begin with gratitude. "Thank you". That covers it all and it is only the beginning. Those two simple words encompass most everything I have on my mind.

This past weekend was yet another gathering of your children within your home. We know this time is winding to a close and it hurts our hearts a little. Your home has been the family gathering spot for ... forever. For that, we are grateful.

We sorted through cards, letters and pictures. I found a few of my old English assignments. Thank you for saving them. It took me back to where I was when I was sixteen. This was neither entirely good, nor entirely bad. I believe we all stepped back in time as we sorted through the time capsule you created within your hidden treasures.

We laughed, we reminisced, we talked of recent past, our shared past, individual memories and sometimes of a past which is best forgotten.

You held onto a little piece of everything, didn't you? How do we honor and hold onto all you have left behind without losing ourselves in excess?

I gravitated towards holding onto the history because of the memories I have of you continually telling us the story of your life. Your words will fade over time and I am scrambling to find a way to hold onto them. I want to preserve this feeling I have in my heart when I think of you and your stories.

I am so grateful for your memories which have been collected, recorded and shared. I love that they have been intermingled with recollections of your siblings, for it is somewhere within that entire mixture of stories where a true picture starts to emerge.

I am fearful of what we may not find as we sort through your lifetime collection of papers, pictures, documents and the miscellanea within a seemingly endless supply of boxes, envelopes and paper galore. 

Your essence is still here but it is fading. I don't know for sure what I believe about the hereafter, but I feel that if there is a place for you where you could have one foot on earth while the other was taking a step away from us, it would be a hard step for you to take.

If your spirit is wafting somewhere in and around and through us, I hope it is at peace. I hope you can witness the family you and Dad created. The harmony, the ease in which we decide amongst us how to sort through and divide "your worldly belongings" is a gift I hope to pass along to my own children.

It is hard to disassemble and dissect your home, your belongings and all you left behind. But the task is made so much easier by hearing a sibling say "You should have this!" The statement is echoed and reiterated in every variation, time and time again.

We have turned a time which could have been unbearable into a time we are cherishing. We know we will never have "this" again. This time when we step together as your children and gather as your family within your home.

I think you would be pleased to know your home has become a haven to us throughout this time. It has given us a "bridge" from life with you to a life we must navigate without you.

It is a busy time. My emotions are at bay right now. I'm going to really, really start to miss you when this "Time of Family" is over. My head is in total control right now as we deal with the realities of moving ahead and through this.

Thanks, Mom. I could not have chosen better siblings to have at my side. I'm grateful for the memories we share of our "spunky Mom". Stubborn? Yes, that too. But you were true to yourself. We heard your "inner Margaret" throughout the years, shared by those who knew you then. You wrote your own thoughts down twenty years ago and your voice came through loud and clear. Right to the end. You stood your ground and you did things your way. And it was good.

Your way has given us the gift of spending time "with you" in your home. Home is where your story begins. But it will not end there. You have left with us your biggest gift. Your spirit is interwoven within all of those you have touched here on earth.

With love,

Colleen

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.