. . . with a little help from my friends

As I marked the one-year anniversary of my Mother's passing, I'm pleased to say that I felt happy. Happy that I know she is alive and well--vibrant and healthy, happy to be safe in the knowledge that she is not far away and that I will be with her again, and mostly happy that it is not one year ago. And one more thing I know for sure: Mom would want me to be happy.

I have also felt the strength of the Savior's injunction to "mourn with those who mourn, and comfort those who stand in need of comfort." Knowing that many of you were joining me in the Bread Brigade (so dubbed by Jessie) was strengthening to me, as were the many kind expressions sent by friends and family alike. I was touched by how many of my friends remembered the anniversary of her death and reached out to me with loving arms; it makes me want to be more mindful of and kind to others who need love and comfort.

Susan sent me this darling framed piece--a happy reminder of Mother's artistry in the kitchen--

that I placed in my kitchen here:

I made Buttermilk Bread on Thursday night and my Dad and I delivered it to three of Mom's close friends. Regrettably, I forgot to take any pictures. I made another batch on Saturday and we delivered loaves to a few ward members between General Conference sessions.

On Friday, after buying some beautiful roses, we drove to the cemetery to place them on Mother's grave.

Karen, Daniel (her husband, not pictured), John, and Sarah came along, too.

On the way home we had to pull over to take a picture of this sign we had spotted at a high-class establishment on our way to the cemetery:

Apparently, there wasn't enough room on the other side of the sign for the whole word.

Mom would have laughed, too.

I love you so much, Mom. I miss you terribly, but want you to know that I'm getting by--with a little help from my friends.

one year ago today

March 28, 2010 was the last time I had a coherent conversation with my mother. I was with my sister Susan in Pennsylvania; I had arrived the day prior (a Saturday) to celebrate Susan's birthday with her. We called Mom after church on Sunday, the 28th, to tell her about our fun shopping day together the day before. We told her about our birthday purchases, talked about what we were making for dinner, and what we were planning to do the next day--all of the everyday details we so enjoyed sharing. Mom said she hadn't felt like going to church that day, saying that she was just oddly tired and didn't feel well. I expressed my concern, said my usual I-Love-You goodbye, and hung up after promising to call again tomorrow.

The next morning my mother suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage. Later that evening I was told over the phone by her attending physician that there was nothing more that could be done to save her and that I should get home as soon as possible if I wanted to see my mother before she died. She never regained consciousness. By the time Susan and I arrived home the following day, plans had been made to move Mom to hospice, where she died two days later.

As the anniversary of my mother's death approaches, I feel anew the sharp pain of missing her steadfast physical presence in my life. I long to talk to her about all of the things we used to share, and I can't tell you the number of times I've wanted to phone heaven for a quick answer to a recipe question.

In thinking about how I want to remember or mark the anniversary of her death, I remember that Mom always thought that spending ponderous time at a graveside was rather pointless and overly-sentimental (she was not the sentimental type). So--while I do plan to visit her grave and leave flowers (despite the fact that I can hear her in my mind saying, "Oh Honey, you don't need to bother with that!") I have decided that the best way I can honor her passing is to give service. Mom was always looking for ways to serve others. Even in her later years, with failing eyesight and aching joints, she would bake treats for her neighbors and friends, and for me. She was the true embodiment of the Relief Society motto, Charity Never Faileth.

On April 1st I'll be making homemade bread, using one of my mother's favorite recipes, and delivering it to people who might need a little cheer. I love you, Mom.

farewell teenager

Twenty years ago at this very moment I was waddling the halls of Lutheran Hospital in Wheat Ridge, Colorado (pausing every now and then to breathe my way through a contraction). Emily was preparing to make her grand entrance into the world and despite the fact that I was having regular contractions, the nurses were not satisfied with my progress and suggested I walk the halls to speed things along. Suffice it to say that I am really glad it's 2010 and not 1990.

Little did I know at the time that the Lord was sending me one of His most amazing children to call my own.

Two years ago, before Emily left for college, I made a "10 Things I Love About You" book for her birthday. Though there are way more than just ten admirable, lovable, and endearing things I love about my second child, here are the ones I documented in her book:

• You are one of the hardest-working people I know. You don’t mind doing dirty jobs, and you do what it takes to get the job done—be it cleaning a bathroom, finishing a school assignment, or canvassing the streets of downtown Denver passing out flyers.


• I love your sense of humor! You’re not afraid to be a little goofy sometimes, and that just makes life all the more enjoyable.

• You’ve got a great sense of style. I love the way you combine textures, pattern, and color to come up with just the right outfit. I also love that you sometimes plan your outfits first on paper.

• Your priorities are in the right place. I love that I never have to guess on which side of the line you stand. I love you for making time for the things that matter most—you are an example to me and gentle reminder of the qualities I want to cultivate in myself.


• I love seeing your tithing envelope clipped to the strip by your door.


• I love your “Wood Eyes.” They are warm and true—just like your Dad’s.


• While everyone else screams, “SHOTGUN!” while racing to the car, you quietly—without murmuring—get in the back. I love the selflessness I see in you. I am often the surprised beneficiary, enjoying a freshly-mopped kitchen or a Clorox-fresh bathroom. Thank you.


• I love that you enjoy baking treats for our family and for others. You are so thoughtful and willing to go out of your way to brighten someone’s day with a homemade bit of goodness. (Side note--One of our favorite Emily quotes, when we were talking about social drinking: "I think cupcakes are the social lubricant!")

• Nothing is quite as satisfying as making a list. I love that you are a planner—a planner of parties, college financing, cleaning jobs, school assignments—you’ve got it all covered with one of your lists. I will miss seeing them posted by your door.


• I may make fun of it, but deep down I really like your serial-killer handwriting. (If you've seen it, you know what I mean.)


• I love and appreciate your determination to finance your college education. I see how frustrating it is at times—and wish we could do more to help you—but you never complain or express a sense of entitlement. I’m so proud of your hard work and dedication to making your own way.

So--although I miss the darling little girl who danced in front of the video camera in our old home videos and made goofy faces--and I sometimes feel like time passes all-to-quickly--I love the beautiful young woman you have become.

I thank my Heavenly Father every day for sending you to me.

Happy 20th Birthday, Emily!

tender mercies

As I resume the routines of my life, defining a new "normal" without the steadfast presence of my mother, I confess I have been somewhat daunted in approaching my first post-funeral blog post. Michelle, Jessie, Susan, Emily, Charlotte, and Claire have done so in ways that are at once moving and comforting. I find it a bit overwhelming, however, to try to recount and capture all of my feelings of the past two weeks so I have decided instead to focus on the "tender mercies" of the past two weeks--those gifts that the Lord has given me throughout this sad time to buoy me up and reaffirm that I am loved by Him and that He is mindful of my needs.

A few years ago (well, five to be exact) Elder Bednar gave a Conference talk I have never forgotten titled The Tender Mercies of the Lord. In it he quotes a scripture from the Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi 1:20:

"But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.” Elder Bednar goes on to say, ". . I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence."

Mother always said that gratitude was the least stressful emotion to experience, and I have found this to be instrumental in my grieving process. When I feel empty and sad I need only start listing the Tender Mercies shown me to feel better. Here are some with which I have been blessed over the past two weeks:

• Mother didn't linger with disability or suffer long. I know without doubt that this is the way she ultimately wanted to go.

• My birthday was just three days before her collapse. I spent the entire day with her, shopping, cooking, and doing the things we loved to do together. She made a German Chocolate cake that was nearly 6" tall--my favorite kind of cake and her best ever.

• She died in the Spring--Easter weekend to be exact, reminding us all of the gift of the Atonement and resurrection. I'm so grateful that my first months without her will be full of bright sunny days and budding life outside. I'm also glad to have several months of adjustment before I have to face my first-ever holiday season without her.

• I was out of town when she collapsed and went to the hospital. While this may not necessarily seem like a good thing, in retrospect I am so grateful that I was with my dear sister Susan when we got the news that she would not live. There was nothing I could have done (more than was already being done) to help or save her had I been here, and having the strength of my sister's love was such a comfort.

• Although we had no idea where one of my sisters has been living in the Denver area, we were able to locate her in time for her to see Mother before she died and to all be present at the time of Mother's death.

• I have friends who would do--and have done--anything I've asked or needed of them, at the time that I really needed it. I am incredibly humbled to be the recipient of so much compassionate service, so freely and lovingly given.

• The day Mother died in hospice care her nurse just happened to be one of my good friends from high school--someone who knew what a beautiful, gracious, and kind woman Mother was.

• I have always said that if either of my parents died tomorrow, my kids would have firmly-grounded memories of them as an everyday part of their lives. Because we have been privileged to live near my parents for the past 21 years, my children will carry many fond and happy memories of their Grandma.

• I have no regrets in my relationship with my mother.

• When Susan and I went to select flowers for the casket arrangement and luncheon tables, we were told we could come back the day before the service to pick out the luncheon flowers and glass containers. When we arrived to do so, no one had any idea what we were talking about and the wholesale part of the florist--the part we needed--was closed. Miraculously--and I mean miraculously--we got what we needed anyway.

• Mother was buried in a military cemetery (my Dad served in the Navy). The "graveside" service was actually held in a glassed-in pavilion and when it was over I felt somewhat disconcerted to drive off leaving my mother's casket behind. The funeral director drove us past the place where Mother's grave was being prepared so we would know where to look for it the next time we came. We parked for minute to note the location in the cemetery. As we sat in the car looking on, we noticed an arrangement of flowers being pulled out of the back of a black van parked near the newly-dug grave. They looked a lot like Mother's flowers, but no--we thought, that couldn't possibly be hers. Then workers pulled a beautiful pecan casket out of the van and placed it on the scaffolding above the grave. It was indeed Mother's casket and we got to see it being lowered into the ground. I have no idea how the arrival of Mother's casket to the graveside preceded ours, but it was a gift of closure and peace--to me, but especially to my father--to witness its descent into the newly-turned earth.

• As I sat down to begin writing this post this morning, I found this treat that had been left in my carry-on bag from my trip home from Philadelphia:

Again, quoting Elder Bednar:

"We should not underestimate or overlook the power of the Lord’s tender mercies. The simpleness, the sweetness, and the constancy of the tender mercies of the Lord will do much to fortify and protect us in the troubled times in which we do now and will yet live. When words cannot provide the solace we need or express the joy we feel, when it is simply futile to attempt to explain that which is unexplainable, when logic and reason cannot yield adequate understanding about the injustices and inequities of life, when mortal experience and evaluation are insufficient to produce a desired outcome, and when it seems that perhaps we are so totally alone, truly we are blessed by the tender mercies of the Lord and made mighty even unto the power of deliverance." (see 1 Ne. 1:20)

Today I give thanks for the Lord's tender mercies.

spoiled, but not a brat

As the baby of my family I long ago came to the realization that it's okay to be spoiled as long as you're not a brat. This position in my family has worked well for me over the years, especially as the past 21 have found us living close to my parents.

Case in point: My Sundays of late find me busy and often exhausted by the end of the day. While we have always enjoyed eating Sunday dinner with my parents, over the past year our pattern has evolved into my mother planning and making dinner at her house with very little--if any--help from me. To fully appreciate this gift, you must understand that a "normal" Sunday dinner at my mom's house consists of a beautifully-set table (nicely-pressed cloth napkins, always), nothing from a box or a mix (everything is made from scratch, be it gravy, salad dressing, or rolls), and an ever-changing array of our favorite homemade desserts to top things off.

This afternoon I arrived at my Mother's house to find this inviting set-up:

We found this tablecloth at HomeGoods a month or so ago and knew it would be darling with Mom's lime green dishes.

Corned beef brisket with horseradish sauce was on today's menu, accompanied by boiled potatoes, cooked carrots, artisan "rustic" bread, and Winter salad. Ah--a pleasing menu, indeed! But wait--that's not all. Mother surprised me with my all-time most favorite incredible dessert--my manna, as it were: Homemade Chocolate Pie. A moment of silence, please, while you gaze at this enticing photo.

Fights have been known to break out over who gets the last piece for breakfast. Usually I win.

So, while I feel somewhat undeserving, as well as moderately guilty for not contributing more to these fine repasts, I can't deny that I look forward to our Sunday dinners. I feel pampered, cared for, and loved. In my parents' home, surrounding the dinner table, I feel safe. I come away with a feeling of peace and reassurance that, though the coming week may be hectic and sometimes feel out of control, I always have this safe place to which I can return. And sometimes there's a chocolate pie waiting for me in the refrigerator.

Thanks, Mom.

never too old for nurturing

Thanks to my good and generous friend Linda (and to the great Stake Conference talk we had a couple of weeks ago about the Family Proclamation and our divinely-appointed role as nurturers) I spent last weekend in Provo with my two lovely college daughters. Sorry to my Utah friends who I didn't visit; this was a nurturing mother trip.

Linda came to see her son Dan in Provo and her daughter Karen in Cedar City. Our first night in Provo found us at the ever-popular Brick Oven where we enjoyed great pizza and iced mugs of root beer (Diet Coke with lime for some).

What BYU visit would be complete without a tour of the now-famous Giraffe Office in the Physics Department? Linda, as evidenced in this photo, had never seen it before. Words cannot describe.

Emily showed us her office, complete with official-looking nameplate.

And of course, we got to personally meet the Goose For All Seasons we had heard so much about, dressed here in her back-to-school best.

Charlotte, ever the "hideous copy editor," found this grievous sign outside the pool at Emily's apartment complex. I mean, really--are they trying to stop unauthorized swimmers or simply alleviate bad hair days?

After a trip to Charlotte's doctor on Friday we found ourselves at University Mall, where I talked Linda into buying new Dansko clogs (among other things). We shared a favorite treat of Pretzel Bites and lemonade and were sad that Emily had a class she couldn't miss.

This apron at Deseret Book seemed appropriate for the occasion. It says "Hold tight to Mom's apron strings."

I never knew that Deseret Book carried fabric! I bought these cute pieces to make an apron (one can never have too many, you know):

We next met Emily outside her classroom door, made a stop at the BYU Bookstore for a sequin "Y" tee shirt I had been pining for since last month's visit, and then stopped to snap a photo with Brigham.

What nurturing trip would be complete without a Donut Night? I brought along the donut fryer so that the girls and their friends wouldn't have to miss out on our semi-annual tradition.

Our long-awaited and highly-anticipated trip to Provo's T-shirt Bar on Saturday (Michelle had piqued our interest some time ago) turned out to be a bust. The door was unlocked, but this is all we found inside. I guess cute, customized tee shirts were not in the cards for us.

The best part of the weekend came on Saturday night. We were the lucky recipients of front-section tickets to the Relief Society broadcast at the Conference Center in Salt Lake City, courtesy of the girls' religion professor. More on that later. (And many thanks to Dan, who relinquished his car to us for the day.)

At the end of the fun-filled long weekend I was left to wonder at the goodness of the Lord, who--when He might have sent two beautiful, exceptional girls to someone who could give them lessons and instruments worthy of their talents, travel and education worthy of their intellect, and a clothing budget worthy of their good taste--instead sent them to me. I will be forever grateful for such a gift.

Superman: Part II

Remember the Ford Ranger I've been driving--A/C, but little interior cargo space for people and things? Our yearly trip to Provo finally proved just the impetus we needed to get a new car! Well, new to me--a 2004 Chevy Trailblazer. The A/C is awesome, there is LOTS of room, the sound system is great, and all four of the doors open from the inside--imagine that.

We traded Mark's trusty red Ranger in, which means that the Explorer really is "his car" now, lucky man.

Guess who volunteered to drive the girls' 1989 Toyota Corolla (with no A/C) to Provo? You guessed it, Superman, a.k.a. Mark.

And guess which car broke down just past Price on our way to Provo? Right again, the Corolla with 220,000+ miles on it. I suppose it was only a matter of time. Here's the scenic spot where the girls' car took its final, gasping breath.

And who do you suppose had to wait for another hour or so for me to come rescue him on the side of the road? The girls and I had just unloaded our car in Provo when we got the call from Mark telling us of his predicament.

And who do you suppose transferred all of the girls' belongings from the stranded, dead Corolla into the new car--right again, Mark.

And guess who my favorite guy is--you're right, Mark.