A Little Thank You Goes a Long Way

I have always been terrible at writing thank you notes. I have the best intentions/fantasies of writing the most perfect, timely, and touching note in return for every kind gesture I receive. My thank you note anxiety is so severe that I am often thrown into the bowels of guilt because I receive a thank you note from someone so promptly that I wallow in the memory of all my unwritten notes through the years. I find comfortable excuses (I can't spell, I have messy handwriting, I don't have stamps) to wrap around me for awhile. Yet, these wear thin and the guilt always finds a way in through the crevices of my threadbare excuses.

I now have a large green box full of notes for me to write.

It stares at me from the chair by our door.
For almost a week it has sat mocking me for the task that I have left of undone.

But my heart is afraid of opening that big green box for it was the box that the funeral director handed me as he walked out the door after my mom's funeral.

These are no ordinary notes. These notes represent my mother, who took thank you notes very seriously. What can I say to our/ my/ her/ their friends and family that poured out so much love to us through meals, flowers, cards, calls, and visits. What can I say to those who drove up to my parent’s house in those final days to say their goodbyes to our Lela but were thoughtful enough in their own pain to take care of us?

I am afraid of that big green box because I know when I open it my heart will break.

I am left to write the thank you notes for my mother who always wrote them so well.

I will do my best.

Three Coffins and No Funeral

I saw three people die this week.

This is what happens when you spend much of your time at a hospice center.

When I went through those hospice doors for the first time I expected to exit them like the families I saw through the week, who walked slowly out with broken faces behind the covered body of someone they loved...

The doctor called in the family because my mom was not expected to live more than a day. She did. She is very tough.

She was moved to a hospice facility because she was not expected to live more than a few days. She did. She is very tough.

Now my frail, fragile mother keeps outliving the defined 'term' of her terminal disease.

I am thankful for those term extensions because we got to share some moments I have packed away in my heart...for the years ahead when I won't have her anymore.

Like every other important thing in her life, my mother is dying independently, on her own terms, and with a touch of classy stubbornness that makes her so special.

Now she is at home to spend the rest of her days. She knows it all defined by God's 'term' after all.

In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue

I love history. I have always loved history. I was one of those nerdy kids who read my social studies book cover to cover by about the second week of school.

What was and has been, has always fascinated me. I love to visit places where people have been reliving the human drama for a long time. I can feel the heaviness of so many souls. Such places give me goose bumps. I would have been a history major in college if it weren't for all the dates. I love history but not numbers and somehow the two are perpetually connected-- it is the timelines.

A good timeline will go a long way in making order out of a complex idea/world, but I struggle with all the numbers. I had an assignment at one point while pursuing my Masters that asked me to create a comprehensive timeline of the literature of my life. It was like one long mix tape of novels with a verbal annotation between songs. Needless to say it was a difficult but enlightening task as I re-walked my life path focusing only on the books I carried with me on the journey.

I remember a time when my own personal timeline was defined by positive life experiences. The Christmas we went skiing as a family, my first summer at Camp Glisson, the summer I went on a mission trip to New Mexico, the Interim I spent in Honduras, the semester I lived in Amsterdam, the youth BBQ when Kevin and I started dating, our wedding, and so on and so on. These sort of life moments served as the the vertical markers on my horizontal life that when labeled said, "something good and important happened here-- remember this."

In the past few days I have been thinking of my updated timeline and the definitions have seemed to shifted more to the negative, with a few notable exceptions. Now it looks more like: the summer my mother was diagnosed with cancer, the fall of Cavender's birth, the winter I finally had to drop out of my Masters program, the New Year's Day my father had a stroke, the summer I was diagnosed with postpartum depression, and so on and so on.

God is good. Life is good.
It has taken me awhile to see that each negative has brought something good into my life.
Besides it is my timeline-- it reflects what I am living. I am choosing to reflect the light and not the dark. I know there will be more times when I will stop and say, "something good and important happened here-- remember this."