Caregiving Journal 22

I have the most wonderful friends.  I have had offers of lunch and walks and my oldest friend brought a huge casserole dish filled with chicken enchiladas, salad, salad dressing, bread, gigantic bright sunflowers and her loving self to see us.  Cards are coming now.  One of them expressed everything I've been thinking in such a sweet way:

You'll never forget your mother's face,
the sound of her voice,
the gentleness of her touch...

You'll never forget the stories she told
the traditions she handed down...

You'll never forget the lessons she taught
the things she stood for...

You'll never forget and  you'll always know
that you honor her every day in how you live
and who you are.

It's true--my mother's voice, especially, will ring in my ears forever, with it's clear soprano tone.  She told us stories, on her bed in the house in Tracyton, that she made up, no books, purely out of her imagination.  She taught me Albert Schweizer's "reverence for all life" (except for slugs, I'm afraid) and she taught me to "get up, get dressed, brush your teeth and you'll feel better".  She taught me to look at clouds and all the different greens in the landscape.  She taught me to be curious, to ask questions, to find the answers.  She taught me that writing was something that our family did and crossword puzzles, too and that books were the best gifts of all, aside from maybe a jewel now and then.  She taught me the love of pretty, colorful clothing.  She taught me to always try to look nice when I stepped out of the house.  She taught me to love movies.  She taught me to love cocoa and cinnamon toast on a Sunday night.  She taught me that life is something to celebrate.  She taught me to wear pretty socks and rings.  She taught me joei de vivre.  She taught me more and more and more than that.

Yesterday, an old friend from work came by, bearing a bowl of pink, purple, white and yellow plants and a card signed by my friends from work.  I retired almost 4 years ago from the ESD but they still went to the effort of remembering me and my mother.  After I thanked Wendy for the plant bowl and the card she led me outside to her truck because she "had something else" for me.  She reached in and pulled out a 5 foot tall lilac bush.  I didn't cry then because it wasn't a crying day, but now the tears are rolling down my face because it is so touching that one or two of them have been reading my blog and they understood the meaning that a lilac bush would have for me.  Every time I look at it I will remember my mother and the fragrant lilacs that were blooming outside her window and the three bouquets that my daughter and I picked that were sitting on her dressers in the days before she left us.  I will also think of my friends at my old work place and how giving they are, even if I don't visit them often enough.

Thank you, friends.