My mom got mad at me once, sort of. Other than this one contrived instance, I don't remember my mom ever getting mad at me. I'm sure she got frustrated, especially when we were little, doing naughty things like painting the fireplace with peanut butter and chocolate powder. But there was never true anger. I love that so much - that I have gone through 55 years of life knowing my mother never showed anger towards me.
So the one instance happened in about 1977. My friend Lisa Robertson and I were inseparable. And we were boy crazy. In the summer we slept over at her house or mine, nearly every night. We decided to sleep at my house one night for reasons of proximity. We usually slept in the yard somewhere; it was too hot to sleep in the house. The night we chose was a watering night meaning my parents had their watering turn where water came down the ditch and they got to dam it off to flood the lawns and garden. We decided to sleep on the front porch, something we'd never done. And we had a plan to meet some boys. Lisa was interested in Tracy and I like Kelly. They were "older men" - friends who lived east a few blocks, hence our choice for my house. We fluffed up our sleeping bags to look like we were in them and took off, walking to Tracy's. We found them on Tracy's front lawn waiting and sat down to talk. Really, we were only talking. I don't think we were there very long when my mother pulled up in my dad's truck, rolled down the window and very slowly said, "Get ... In ... This ... Truck." We were mortified, jumped to our feet and got in the truck. I'm sure we were apologizing all the way back to our house. I don't remember where or if we slept. Lisa was so worried my mom would tell her parents and they'd kill her.
The next day my mom was making apricot jam. She had two beholden slaves. We peeled and pitted apricots for hours, Lisa whispering, "she's not going to tell my parents, is she?" My mother acted angry. She was silent which was not her usual self. She was usually vibrant, happy, chatty, laughing. But she was getting mileage out of these two wayward teens who she saved from, I'm sure, utter destruction.
She told me, maybe years later, that she wasn't angry but had to appear angry in the situation. It also didn't hurt to keep it going the next day because she got so much work out of us.
I am grateful my mom never truly found a reason to get angry at me. I did do some stupid things as a child and even more as a teen but she always showed patience and calmness toward me, even in trying situations. She talked things out rather than blowing up. I'm sure she prayed for guidance at times. We became best friends early on in my life. Best friends don't hurt each other. It's not even a matter not trying to hurt someone; when you love deeply it comes easily to treat someone well. She loves deeply. I love her deeply and always will.
Monday, July 20, 2015
Sunday, July 19, 2015
My Mother's Last Days - July 19, 2015
I didn't write yesterday. Life pushes and pulls me from a million different directions and time slipped away before I got a chance to write.
Being Sunday, I want to reflect on my mom's activity in the church, her love of the Savior and her testimony. As with some people in the church, my mom went through stages of activity in the gospel throughout her life. My mom and dad were married in the Salt Lake Temple on Oct. 1, 1947. My mom was 18; dad was 19 - a young, madly-in-love couple. They chose to be sealed for time and all eternity so I know it was important to them on some level.
My siblings have memories of my parents not going to church in their early years. I know Kelly and I were blessed when we were babies - there are pictures of that day. My memories of church go as far back as I can remember. We went to Jr. Sunday School in the basement of the 8th ward church in Springville. There were wooden pews and the sacrament was passed. The chapel had a loft with stairs to it. You could go upstairs if the main floor was crowded with worshipers. I remember being baptized by my brother Paul and confirmed the next day by my dad in sacrament meeting.
My mother served as mutual president when Kelly and I were little. I remember her telling me she asked to be released because having twins was just too demanding. But she told stories of going to girls' camp at Timp Lodge behind Timpanogos and Gold and Green Balls, church bazaars where ladies crocheted, knitted and baked to raise money for the church budget, I think. So I know she was involved in church activities and my memories are that we were a family who went to church.
I'm not sure how much my mom and dad went to the temple in the first 20 years of their marriage but they did go with my brothers as each received their endowment in the temple prior to their missions and I prepared for marriage. They attended sealings of children and grandchildren in various temples. I saw my father and mother become more active in the gospel, accepting a calling to do proxy sealings weekly in the Provo Temple.
In mom's later years she received her patriarchal blessing and she loved to go to the temple. She is a big advocate of prayer. I sometimes think she has a straight link to Heavenly Father; that he listens and answers her fervent prayers. I've heard her pray for long periods of time in a meaningful, non-repetitive way. I know He hears her.
Mom has shared her testimony with me. She believes in God and His son Jesus Christ. She loves the gospel of Jesus Christ. She has spoken of Joseph Smith and his role in the restoration of the gospel. She has been a wonderful supporter of missionaries, sending money to each grandchild who served a mission. Without even saying a word, I know my mother lives and loves the gospel. She is the epitome of Christlike love, sacrifice, forgiveness and kindness. She has turned the other cheek many times and has been blessed for it.
Mom wanted to die with a current temple recommend. That will happen, thanks to a wonderful bishop and stake president who renewed it last fall by going to visit her rather than her going to them.
I'm grateful for my mom and her love of the gospel. We joke she has earned sainthood because of her dealings in this life. I believe she will be exalted and that she is one of God's chosen daughters. I can't wait to spend eternity loving the mother I loved on earth.
Being Sunday, I want to reflect on my mom's activity in the church, her love of the Savior and her testimony. As with some people in the church, my mom went through stages of activity in the gospel throughout her life. My mom and dad were married in the Salt Lake Temple on Oct. 1, 1947. My mom was 18; dad was 19 - a young, madly-in-love couple. They chose to be sealed for time and all eternity so I know it was important to them on some level.
My siblings have memories of my parents not going to church in their early years. I know Kelly and I were blessed when we were babies - there are pictures of that day. My memories of church go as far back as I can remember. We went to Jr. Sunday School in the basement of the 8th ward church in Springville. There were wooden pews and the sacrament was passed. The chapel had a loft with stairs to it. You could go upstairs if the main floor was crowded with worshipers. I remember being baptized by my brother Paul and confirmed the next day by my dad in sacrament meeting.
My mother served as mutual president when Kelly and I were little. I remember her telling me she asked to be released because having twins was just too demanding. But she told stories of going to girls' camp at Timp Lodge behind Timpanogos and Gold and Green Balls, church bazaars where ladies crocheted, knitted and baked to raise money for the church budget, I think. So I know she was involved in church activities and my memories are that we were a family who went to church.
I'm not sure how much my mom and dad went to the temple in the first 20 years of their marriage but they did go with my brothers as each received their endowment in the temple prior to their missions and I prepared for marriage. They attended sealings of children and grandchildren in various temples. I saw my father and mother become more active in the gospel, accepting a calling to do proxy sealings weekly in the Provo Temple.
In mom's later years she received her patriarchal blessing and she loved to go to the temple. She is a big advocate of prayer. I sometimes think she has a straight link to Heavenly Father; that he listens and answers her fervent prayers. I've heard her pray for long periods of time in a meaningful, non-repetitive way. I know He hears her.
Mom has shared her testimony with me. She believes in God and His son Jesus Christ. She loves the gospel of Jesus Christ. She has spoken of Joseph Smith and his role in the restoration of the gospel. She has been a wonderful supporter of missionaries, sending money to each grandchild who served a mission. Without even saying a word, I know my mother lives and loves the gospel. She is the epitome of Christlike love, sacrifice, forgiveness and kindness. She has turned the other cheek many times and has been blessed for it.
Mom wanted to die with a current temple recommend. That will happen, thanks to a wonderful bishop and stake president who renewed it last fall by going to visit her rather than her going to them.
I'm grateful for my mom and her love of the gospel. We joke she has earned sainthood because of her dealings in this life. I believe she will be exalted and that she is one of God's chosen daughters. I can't wait to spend eternity loving the mother I loved on earth.
Friday, July 17, 2015
My Mother's Last Days, July 17, 2015
Wouldn't it be interesting to know the date of our departure? How would we live our lives differently if we knew what the final date on our headstone would be? If I were to guess at a countdown regarding my mom's departure it would be 30 days or less. But I can't count down at this point. I have to be grateful for each day she is still here, hard as it is for all of us, including her.
A few days ago I was sitting at my kitchen table feeding my 13-month-old grandson. He can use a fork now and he switches off between fork and fingers with most things. I occasionally plop something into his mouth - a juicy berry or a piece of banana. This day I was feeding him yogurt from a spoon. A few hours later I was feeding my 86-year-old mother yogurt from a spoon. My Wolf cub waved his arms, smashed berries on the table and eagerly took a spoonful from me each time I offered it. My mom lay nearly motionless and I had to coax her to take a spoonful. I had to remind her to close her mouth and swallow. Wolf is learning and gaining new skills daily. Mom is losing hers minute by minute, skills she mastered over eight decades ago and used every day of her life.
A numb sadness comes over me when I visit my mom and see the condition she's in now. She weighs less than 100 pounds. She moans most of the time. She is vacant and mumbles nonsensical things about babies dying or deep water. I cry as I leave my mom's care center. I'm so tired of this for her. I want her to be able to see sunsets and flowers again, to walk easily and laugh her wonderful laugh. If I was a desperate, faithless person I'd frantically try to keep her here, to help her regain what she's lost. But I'm not desperate and I have faith. I know she will be waiting for me when I pass through the veil later in life. That is God's plan. Her time is coming. Her body and mind are fading but the memories I have of her through the past 86 years will never fade. The best memories for me started at about age 4 when I can truly remember events. Those events include my mother - happy, smiling, laughing. And new memories are being made with a tiny boy who is at the beginning of his life.
A headstone has a birth date and a death date. There is a dash between the two. That line on a headstone represents so much. I don't know the end date of my mom's life. I wasn't there for her birth. But I've been there for the dash and what a dash it's been! I thank a loving Heavenly Father for every day of my mother's life.
A few days ago I was sitting at my kitchen table feeding my 13-month-old grandson. He can use a fork now and he switches off between fork and fingers with most things. I occasionally plop something into his mouth - a juicy berry or a piece of banana. This day I was feeding him yogurt from a spoon. A few hours later I was feeding my 86-year-old mother yogurt from a spoon. My Wolf cub waved his arms, smashed berries on the table and eagerly took a spoonful from me each time I offered it. My mom lay nearly motionless and I had to coax her to take a spoonful. I had to remind her to close her mouth and swallow. Wolf is learning and gaining new skills daily. Mom is losing hers minute by minute, skills she mastered over eight decades ago and used every day of her life.
A numb sadness comes over me when I visit my mom and see the condition she's in now. She weighs less than 100 pounds. She moans most of the time. She is vacant and mumbles nonsensical things about babies dying or deep water. I cry as I leave my mom's care center. I'm so tired of this for her. I want her to be able to see sunsets and flowers again, to walk easily and laugh her wonderful laugh. If I was a desperate, faithless person I'd frantically try to keep her here, to help her regain what she's lost. But I'm not desperate and I have faith. I know she will be waiting for me when I pass through the veil later in life. That is God's plan. Her time is coming. Her body and mind are fading but the memories I have of her through the past 86 years will never fade. The best memories for me started at about age 4 when I can truly remember events. Those events include my mother - happy, smiling, laughing. And new memories are being made with a tiny boy who is at the beginning of his life.
A headstone has a birth date and a death date. There is a dash between the two. That line on a headstone represents so much. I don't know the end date of my mom's life. I wasn't there for her birth. But I've been there for the dash and what a dash it's been! I thank a loving Heavenly Father for every day of my mother's life.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
My Mother's Last Days
I know my mom is nearing the end of her life. I've decided to write down some memories from my life about her, something she taught me or something happening now and how difficult this is. I don't know how many times I will get to write before she's gone. And time is scarce right now as I am with her more and also trying to take care of other things in my life.
My mom has been one of the most influential people in my life, if not the most. I look at her characteristics and think how blessed I am that I inherited many of them. She loves people. She brought people into her home for meals or parties and created the fun that made happy memories with and for them. She was all about details - the food, decorations, place settings, etc. I learned how to throw a party because of my mom.
She was a great cook and made delicious meals. I'm not the cook she was but I learned many things from her. As a young girl I learned how to bake desserts and cookies, mash potatoes, make a fruit salad - simple things. As a teen I helped her bottle tomatoes (squishing them was the best part) and apricots (there's another story about apricots I'll have to share) and I helped her make sweet pickles - a complicated, lengthy process. She gave me her pickle crock a few years back because she remembered that we made pickles together and she wanted me to have it. As a young married woman I called her and asked how to bottle pears. She told me and wrote the instructions down for me. I still have that paper. I bottle pears every fall. We both love them, especially with cottage cheese. We made strawberry and raspberry freezer jam together nearly every summer when I returned to Utah in 1999. She taught me how to make "her" stuffing, to stuff and roast a turkey. My family doesn't like stuffing any other way.
My mom taught me to sew. When I was young she made matching dresses and headbands for us - mine was blue velvet; hers was black. I wish I still had those dresses. I can see them in my mind's eye. She showed me how to mend things, to sew on a button and fix a hem. I've done many of those things for her in the past 16 years or so.
My mother loved flowers and took great care in her yard. One summer she had a broken leg. (My dad had accidentally hit her with a golf ball while golfing. He never golfed again.) She used a mechanic's creeper to move along her flower beds. I helped her dislodge the petunias, geraniums and other flowers from their plastic containers and drop them in the holes she had dug. I took over planting her flowers many years ago, creating colorful pots of flowers, hanging her large baskets on the front porch, caring for the geraniums in her blue planter box dad had made. I don't plant many annuals in our yard but when I do, I think of my mom.
Mom used to keep a very tidy house. "A place for everything and everything in its place." I learned how to clean, do laundry, wash windows, dust, vacuum and more. I keep a pretty tidy house too because of what she taught me. The past 15 years or so I cleaned at her house even though for many of those years she was capable. I wanted to ease her load, pay her back, show my love. I'm not a big gift giver. If I give gifts they are more utilitarian than fluffy but I'd rather give the gift of time and effort, making memories, making life easier for someone.
All these things are valuable to me - learning how to cook, sew, keep house. Yet the thing I loved learning most from my mom was how to treat, love and care for others. It's not just that she taught me how to love, she taught me how to not hate. My mom has never hated anything. (Many years ago she said she didn't like the pink flamingos people stick in their yards, that they were tacky. That just started a barrage of pink flamingo paraphernalia to her from family and friends. Maybe if she'd said she didn't like twenty dollar bills ...). Some of my mother's sayings were, "be a good actress," "kill them with kindness," "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I learned tact and grace from my mom. I learned to love people of every walk of life and to not judge others. I learned you can disagree without being disagreeable and that you could listen and respect others' points of view. Someone could treat my mom unkindly and she would return it with a smile and a kind word. She smiled a lot, accepted a lot, soothed a lot. My mom was the ultimate picture of genuine kindness.
I'm grateful I can be at peace in my heart, that when others say or do something that would be offensive and hurtful I can, hopefully, remember my mom and how she dealt with things. I'm not perfect at it. I hurt and sometimes cry when someone is mean to me. I'm sure she hurt when that happened to her too. But it's a Christlike quality to turn the other cheek, to forgive quickly and easily. My heart is happier when I can be that way, no matter the circumstances. And I'm grateful to her for emulating that quality so I could learn from one of God's choicest spirits. Thank you mom.
I know my mom is nearing the end of her life. I've decided to write down some memories from my life about her, something she taught me or something happening now and how difficult this is. I don't know how many times I will get to write before she's gone. And time is scarce right now as I am with her more and also trying to take care of other things in my life.
My mom has been one of the most influential people in my life, if not the most. I look at her characteristics and think how blessed I am that I inherited many of them. She loves people. She brought people into her home for meals or parties and created the fun that made happy memories with and for them. She was all about details - the food, decorations, place settings, etc. I learned how to throw a party because of my mom.
She was a great cook and made delicious meals. I'm not the cook she was but I learned many things from her. As a young girl I learned how to bake desserts and cookies, mash potatoes, make a fruit salad - simple things. As a teen I helped her bottle tomatoes (squishing them was the best part) and apricots (there's another story about apricots I'll have to share) and I helped her make sweet pickles - a complicated, lengthy process. She gave me her pickle crock a few years back because she remembered that we made pickles together and she wanted me to have it. As a young married woman I called her and asked how to bottle pears. She told me and wrote the instructions down for me. I still have that paper. I bottle pears every fall. We both love them, especially with cottage cheese. We made strawberry and raspberry freezer jam together nearly every summer when I returned to Utah in 1999. She taught me how to make "her" stuffing, to stuff and roast a turkey. My family doesn't like stuffing any other way.
My mom taught me to sew. When I was young she made matching dresses and headbands for us - mine was blue velvet; hers was black. I wish I still had those dresses. I can see them in my mind's eye. She showed me how to mend things, to sew on a button and fix a hem. I've done many of those things for her in the past 16 years or so.
My mother loved flowers and took great care in her yard. One summer she had a broken leg. (My dad had accidentally hit her with a golf ball while golfing. He never golfed again.) She used a mechanic's creeper to move along her flower beds. I helped her dislodge the petunias, geraniums and other flowers from their plastic containers and drop them in the holes she had dug. I took over planting her flowers many years ago, creating colorful pots of flowers, hanging her large baskets on the front porch, caring for the geraniums in her blue planter box dad had made. I don't plant many annuals in our yard but when I do, I think of my mom.
Mom used to keep a very tidy house. "A place for everything and everything in its place." I learned how to clean, do laundry, wash windows, dust, vacuum and more. I keep a pretty tidy house too because of what she taught me. The past 15 years or so I cleaned at her house even though for many of those years she was capable. I wanted to ease her load, pay her back, show my love. I'm not a big gift giver. If I give gifts they are more utilitarian than fluffy but I'd rather give the gift of time and effort, making memories, making life easier for someone.
All these things are valuable to me - learning how to cook, sew, keep house. Yet the thing I loved learning most from my mom was how to treat, love and care for others. It's not just that she taught me how to love, she taught me how to not hate. My mom has never hated anything. (Many years ago she said she didn't like the pink flamingos people stick in their yards, that they were tacky. That just started a barrage of pink flamingo paraphernalia to her from family and friends. Maybe if she'd said she didn't like twenty dollar bills ...). Some of my mother's sayings were, "be a good actress," "kill them with kindness," "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I learned tact and grace from my mom. I learned to love people of every walk of life and to not judge others. I learned you can disagree without being disagreeable and that you could listen and respect others' points of view. Someone could treat my mom unkindly and she would return it with a smile and a kind word. She smiled a lot, accepted a lot, soothed a lot. My mom was the ultimate picture of genuine kindness.
I'm grateful I can be at peace in my heart, that when others say or do something that would be offensive and hurtful I can, hopefully, remember my mom and how she dealt with things. I'm not perfect at it. I hurt and sometimes cry when someone is mean to me. I'm sure she hurt when that happened to her too. But it's a Christlike quality to turn the other cheek, to forgive quickly and easily. My heart is happier when I can be that way, no matter the circumstances. And I'm grateful to her for emulating that quality so I could learn from one of God's choicest spirits. Thank you mom.
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