Mom

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Tonight it hit me.  Tonight the tears fell.  

It’s been three days since my mom died.  

I finally realized why I haven’t  gone through my photos to find the perfect picture for the reception.  Why I haven’t decided on a caterer.  Why I have told people it was “for the best” that she wasn’t suffering anymore. Why I have gone to work and kept busy.

It was because I didn’t want it not be true.  I didn’t want it to be real.

I didn’t want my mom to be dead.

But she is. My sweet, feisty, occasionally inappropriate, mom is dead.   Not passed away.  She hated that expression.  She always used to say.

“People don’t pass away.  They die.”

The first time I walked into the apartment after she died I was shocked to find that she wasn’t there.  Where was she?   Why wasn’t she sitting at her desk?  Why didn’t I hear her voice?  Why was I only making one cup of tea with honey?

I have lost my comfort person.  The person I call when life sucks.  The person who always picks up and knows that something is wrong before you even speak.  And right now I need my comfort person.  Because right now life sucks.

She was so brave in these last weeks.  She tolerated the imaginable and still kept her sense of humor.  

At one point my brother, bless his heart, was trying to get her to take a sip of water from a straw.  On the fourth attempt I could see the exasperation in his face.  He really wanted….needed her to take some water.  She was having none of it.  Without even opening her eyes she put her hand up and said “Piss off”.   Classic mom.

I know that she is still here with me in her own special way.  Telling me that it’s going to be okay.  Maybe she’s right.  She usually was.  

The Best Thing in Life is that I will have eighty four years of memories to keep me company.  But tonight, the tears will continue to fall.  

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TBT – Love

B&W kids

Yes, it’s that time of year again.  Valentines Day is just around the corner.  Little kids at school are preparing their paper valentines.  Young women are hoping (or praying) that this is the year they get that sparkly ring on their finger.  And guys everywhere are still talking about the Super Bowl.

Love is so many different things to people that I don’t feel that it can be shoved into one Hallmark holiday day each year.  Love is different for everyone because it is personal and cultural and familiar and personal.  Yes, I said personal twice.

Love is crazy and calm

Love is hard and soft

Love is scary and comforting

Love is warm and cold

Love is physical and emotional

Love is color and love is black and white

B&W Everett

This is my love.  These pictures were taken seven years ago but the feelings they evoke in me are so strong that every time I look at them my heart gets all mushy and I need to hold my breath.

B&W Liv

My daughter was about eleven months old so my son must have been almost twelve.  Babies, both of them.  My husband and I had been married for seven years.  Four of which we had spent living 3000 miles apart.

B&W me and Don

So much has happened since then.  I’ve learnt and grown with these three humans right beside me.  It’s been ugly and it’s been beautiful.  Often on the same day.

Love is family

Love is memories

Love is growing together

Love is learning from each other.

Love is never having to say you’re sorry but saying it anyway.

The pictures say so much.  My sweet sensitive son.  My crazy adventurous daughter.  My thoughtful handsome husband.

The Best Thing in Life is Love.  Mushy, hold your breath love.

 

 

The Bubble

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I live in a bubble.  It’s a lovely little bubble.  Bordered by mountains, the ocean and the city.

I live in a bubble that is a twenty-minute drive from the downtown core of an international port city.  A thriving metropolitan city that has hosted world events.  A city where we can experience diversity in food, art, and social events on a daily basis.  We could experience them if we chose to venture out of the bubble and go *gasp* downtown.  But it’s really just easier to take our kids to the local pub for a burger and a pint then walk home.

I live in a bubble where there is only sunshine and puffy white clouds. Okay, maybe a little rain, but it only serves to water the towering trees and feed the babbling brooks.  And the sunshine and rain grow berries and fish that feed the large black bears that supplement their diet by cruising the streets in search of open garages offering up tasty garbage snacks.  The “wildlife” we have in our bubble includes raccoons, skunks and cougars.  But only the feline ones.

I live in a bubble where kids can walk to school.  They don’t.  But they can.

I live in a bubble where I can go days without locking my front door.  Who would know?  If, by chance, a stranger were to spend any time casing our street the sweet little old lady in the pink house would be able to give the police a full description of not only them, but their car and their dog.  I’m just assuming they would have a dog because we live next to a great park for dogs.

I live in a bubble where the clerks at Safeway know my kids names and ages.  And not in a creepy “I’m watching you” kind of way.  They know them because I’ve been known to lose my kids in the grocery store once or twice and have had to enlist the clerks to help me find them.  They have then listened to me tell my kids that they are old enough to know better than to wander away.  But then again if they did wander away, say to the juice bar, they know them there too.

I live in a bubble where the worst crime of the year was a group of “thugs” skateboarding past the No Boarding signs in the library square.  Where a drive by refers, not to a shooting, but to a quick trip through the cove to see if the tide is in or out and if there’s actually a parking spot to unload the SUP from.  Where the thought of a real crime happening is, well, unimaginable.

So when bad things happen say, south of our border, I  can only stop and hope – that my bubble never bursts.