WHEN YOU SAY GOODBYE TO A PARENT

 

You are suddenly living in a whole new world.

You are no longer ‘the child’ and regardless of how long you have officially been ‘grown up’ for, you realise you actually never were until this moment. The shock of this adjustment will shake your very core.

When you have finally said goodbye to both your parents, assuming you were lucky enough to have had two. You are an orphan on this earth and that never, ever gets easier to take no matter how old and gray you are yourself and no matter how many children of your own you have.

You see, a part of your body is physically connected to the people that made it and also a part of your soul. When they no longer live, it is as if you are missing something practical that you need – like a finger or an arm. Because really, you are. You are missing your parent and that is something far more necessary than any limb.

And yet the connection is so strong it carries on somehow, no-one knows how exactly. But they are there. In some way, shape or form they are still guiding you if you listen closely enough. You can hear the words they would choose to say to you.

You can feel the warmth of their approval, their smile when a goal is achieved, their all-consuming love filling the air around you when a baby is born they haven’t met.

If you watch your children very closely you will see that they too have a connection with your parents long after they are gone. They will say things that resonate with you because it brings so many memories of the parent you are missing. They will carry on traits, thoughts and sometimes they will even see them in their dreams.

This is not something we can explain.

Love is a very mystical and wondrous entity.

It is far better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all and grief, grief is the price of that love. The deeper the love the stronger the grief.

When you say goodbye to a parent, do not forget to connect with that little girl who still lives inside you somewhere.

Take very good care of her, for she, she will be alone and scared.

When you say goodbye to your parents, you lose an identity, a place in the world. When the people who put you on this earth are no longer here, it changes everything.

Look after yourself the way they looked after you and listen out for them when you need it the most.

They never really leave.

Donna Ashworth

From her poetry collection ‘to the women’

Photo Selfie taken 7 June 2015 as we were leaving Jekyll Island GA after our first beach getaway together.

Mother's Day

This year is my second for *firsts*.   In 2021, my father died.  Then 21 months later, in 2022, my mother died. 

And so, that just means that I am experiencing once again those *firsts* without one or the other. 

It's just my turn to suffer  loss. 

I am thankful for the loyalty and support of my nuclear family and special friends.

I am blessed to have had both of my parents for such a long time in my short life.... to get to know them as an adult as well as an *older* adult is indeed special.

In memory of my recently deceased mother, this year for Mother's Day I made a donation to Frontlineresponse.org  This particular organization has a strong presence in my city/state well-known for attracting crowds for special sporting events and conventions.

To show my heart for someone I dont believe I have to have "walked a mile in her/his shoes" (moccasins*).  I am willing to be judged by the standard of Holy Scripture and strive to be a good steward ("put my money where my mouth is.")  Support for those in crisis pregnancy has long been dear to my heart and now I add support to the rescue of those ensnared in se*-trafficking.

In the past in memory of my father I made donations to topics dear to his heart:  pro-life ministries (GRTL) and private practice/education of medicine/surgery (AAPS & GA Vascular Foundation)

PS - Red Tulips on Moma's yet-to-be-marked grave are representative of her battle with Parkinson's.

PPS Family group photo taken 4/21/13 - ten years ago ... on my 55th birthday celebrated after church with dinner at the Canoe restaurant in Vinings, GA on the banks of the Chattahoochee River where I grew up.

* reference to popular poem by M Lathrap

Family Photographer

It's a big job to rear a family.

Whether you're the parent of one or twenty-one (and anything in between), it's a constant challenge to keep the group cohesive.

While there are many ways to encourage solidarity, allow me to suggest the power of sharing family photos as a possible *gluestick.*






Metaphorically speaking :)




From birthdays to graduation, from weddings to reunions, many of us take pictures.

But what do you do with them?

One of my muse's, Donna at Quiet Life, is quite the photographer. Not only does she share her knowledge with us on her own blog, she's also a contributing writer at the famous site of the Pioneer Woman. I've known her since college when she was head photographer of the college yearbook. Now she's branching out into the bigger world of photographing others and improving her skills by taking workshops. Recently she shared pictures from her local farmers' market. Even now she's thinking ahead and taking a family photo for the Christmas card!

But back to the gluestick.


Here's another photo of our family photographer who received her first camera at age seven.

Self-taught my mother has photographed the family as long as I can remember.

There a funny series of us in front of a camera on a tripod, timer set for the precise moment of portraiture :)

Though what I really want to mention is the way she shares her photos.


They are all
organized and
ready for viewing in albums.

That is a monumental feat.

Worthy of commendation!

I know that too well because most of mine are still sitting in boxes in the basement.

But, no, she doesnt stop with editing, printing, and cataloging.

Sharing is the key.

She makes a family birthday calendar for each of us (six children with spouses and 29 grands!) and gives it at Christmastime.


My father contributes by laminating, collating, and binding.

 At this moment I can glance up at my calendar flipped to May and be reminded that MargaretAnn and James have birthdays this month.


Then she creates her own greeting cards, artistically using her archive of thousands of images. Inside the card you're likely to find a CD containing lots of pictures of yourself with family.



Furthermore, there's an entire hallway of family photos and a family website.

So, when you visit home, there's no question about the roots of the family tree.

Thankfully, all my daughters love taking pictures, too!

I'm looking forward to their glue.

Weight Watching

Another thing my mother taught me: counting calories and making wise, nutritional choices. I reckon I will struggle forever with my weight. Well, maybe not in heaven, because in my resurrected body, I expect to be 5'4" 120# and resemble myself at age 21 :)

I have the most success with my weight when I am watching it carefully. I have been way up and way down, so I have a few opinions about this topic. Key ingredients are 1)keeping a food diary 2)drinking 60 oz water daily 3)regular exercise and 4)the right attitude.

It's the last one that intrigues me, because I KNOW that I can be putting into effect the first three modifications, and yet not achieve. It's that intangible *attitude* that catches me off balance. In fact, I will even venture to postulate that the first three behaviors account for only 50% of the equation, granting a whopping 50% to the most difficult area to control: what's going on in my head (thoughts). In a subconscious way these brainwaves impact hormones, enzymes, metabolism, and digestion. Fascinating!

See ya after my walk.

How to use a blackboard

This is the final post in a series detailing a few things my mother taught me.

There were six of us born in the span of six and one half years, so there was a lot for my mother to keep up with. Besides being very organized, she knew that communication was a key ingredient. Enter the blackboard. Yup. Big black slate with white chalk hung boldly in our breakfast room. I'm guessing it was 4'x 5'. Wish I had a picture. Note to self: FIND a picture :)

The rest is very simple. On the left hand side she wrote everyone's names in a vertical column. Just after your name, there might be a message, an assignment, or *SEE ME* (that meant you were in trouble) I only remember writing on the board with permission and the main thing I was supposed to record was my whereabouts!! We lived in a neighborhood of 75 plus children

Here's an example of what might have been written on it in 1970:

Daddy (Imperial Potentate)
Moma -
Bert - Randy's playing stratomatic football
Dana - Winters back by 5
Noel - Godwins home by 6
Amanda - Michelle's
Grey - backyard
Will - backyard

The blackboard was retired in 1995, after thirty years of faithful service.

How to make a Southern Belle Costume

Mrs. Schaeffer says From my own experience of sewing, making my own and the children's clothing, I would say that nothing gives one the possiblity of 'fitting in' with a wide variety of people like being able to say "I made it myself."

This entry makes up part four of the stories explaining what my mother taught me as queried by Donna in a Friday Five.

The short answer is that she taught me how to sew. She taught by example, by assisting, by providing lessons, and by encouraging.

Once upon a time a college-aged daughter needed a costume for a skit. The skit was set in the ante-bellum South. This is where my memory gets a little fuzzy because the college was in Michigan (what do *they* know about the South?) and I cant remember the songs or story lines, but suffice it to say that it was for a rush party. I wish I had a picture for my dear readers.

My mother tore apart one of her *old* party gowns which we used as pattern pieces for my costume. The dress turned out well. Not only did I wear it for the skit, but I also wore it to a costume party on my first *real* date with my now DH. My daughters played dress-up with it later.

While sewing is not one of my favorite tasks (frequently I have to rip out a seam), I am accomplished at it, having made anything from a lined bathing suit to a french machine-sewn cotton bastiste little girl's dress complete with inlaid lace bow. In my party days, I made all my evening dresses. I found a certain pattern which was flattering on me and then made it with four different fabrics: red velvet, white, floral and plaid.

Am I passing this talent on to my own daughters? Well, maybe...maybe not. They all have sewing boxes complete with their own sets of Gingher scissors. And I have made with each individually a sundress, which we wore for a family photo. They all can hem a dress and sew on a button. They havent had lessons, but there is still time for that, as they are young :) And, I'm only a phone call away.

Do you own a sewing machine?

How to set the table

Does this task strike you as simple? meaningless? unimportant? Well, take a second look. This chore is a key example of the well-run household where I grew up and learned so keenly from my mother.

One of the most striking parts of our routine for setting the table was that we did it the night BEFORE! This preparation made breakfast time go more smoothly. My mother had two sets of flatware and dinnerware, so that, if one set was in the dishwasher, there would be no excuse for not setting the table for the next meal. In short, part of cleaning up after dinner was setting the table for breakfast the next day.

Each place was set completely with three pieces of flatware: knife, fork, and spoon. We used paper napkins when we were very young, but it was not long before she graduated us to cloth napkins held in place with a personalized ring. Juice cups were turned upside down and plates were placed in the warmer.

There was an intricate schedule that we all understood and operated under. Division of labor and the laws of supply and demand were demonstrated clearly in our little eco-system. There is no need to record the minute details, but we six children knew what was expected of us and there were consequences when one's obligation was not completed properly.

This is home economics at its finest.

Biscuit Story

Recipe follows. I actually posted that first and then remembered I was supposed to be telling stories about things my mother taught me. Well, my mother taught me how to cook. Her method was simple.

See one. Do one. Teach one.

It started early when I was very young. I watched her cook. She tells me I always wanted to help her stir (stirrl, I said). When she let me stir the oatmeal and I didnt place the spoon all the way to the bottom of the saucepan, and some of it burned, she sighed. I watched our maid cook, too. Before she left for the day, dinner was sitting on the hottray ready to serve at six o'clock sharp. I have fond memories of her, fixing a pot of homemade hot chocolate as an after school snack on a cold winter day. Down the street, I watched my friend's mother (a Yankee!) cook, tasting sweet and sour pork for the first time ever.

I first remember baking brownies at age eight. I think there is a good picture of me and my older brother working together at the kitchen counter. In sixth grade social studies, we studied world geography and had to prepare a report on each country. I always chose *Cooking*. My written report was always accompanied by an authentic dish which I shared with the class. For example, for France: chocolate mouse Russia: it was an iced pastry item with raspberry filling Italy: homemade stuffed manicotti with both red and white sauces. By the time I finished with that meal, I think I was too tired to eat. But you get the point.

By age twelve, I could bake a yellow, three-layer all alone and ice it with chocolate buttercream frosting. This recipe continues to be a favorite birthday cake in our family.

For the next five years came lots of watching and helping. In our family of six children, we rotated kitchen duty which not only included the after-meal cleanup, but also started early in the day with meal prep. If your turn fell on a holiday or Sunday, you could count on devoting the better part of your day to the kitchen.

Long about age 18, I took a cooking class from Nathalie Dupree when she was Director of Rich's Cooking School. When I lived at home for four months after college, I cooked for the family in exchange for room and board.

In short, my mother continues to be an example of an excellent cook and hostess. She was always there to show me what to do next or answer a question about why something didnt turn out right. She read and collected cookbooks. She kept several recipe boxes well organized. She prepared a variety of menus, in fact making a list of vegetables in order to make sure we had tried ALL of them. You never know where you will eat one day, she would say. To this day she states that cooking is not one of her favorite tasks, but because she had a family to feed, she chose to do it well.

Thanks, Moma!

How to be mean

Better tell this story quickly or one might get the wrong impression. She doesnt look mean, does she?

The whole concept ties into Bobbie Pingaro's 1967 essay/poem entitled The Meanest Mother in the World and strikes at the heart of my parenting style.

When I was a child, did I really believe my mother was mean? No, but she implemented a lot of the tactics described in this essay and I am the better for it. So, when another mother-friend of mine regaled me with the story of how she made an executive decision based on *I'll bet Mrs. Jago wont let her children see that movie,* I knew I had learned well.

Obviously, the use of the word *mean* was an attention-getter. I sometimes joke with my own children about *meanness* being a positive trait in a mother. Take Kipling's poem Female of the Species, for example.

Some of my favorite parenting books are The Bible, Proverbs for Parenting, Withhold Not Correction by Bruce Ray, Grist from Adams' Mill by Jay Adams, Six Points for Raising Happy, Healthy Children by John Rosemond, and Shepherding a Child's Heart by Ted Tripp. My parents havent written a book, but if they had it would be on the list becasue they were and continue to be models of excellent parenting.

What parenting book has most influenced your style?

Five Things My Mother Taught Me

1. How to use a blackboard.
2. How to set the table.
3. How to be mean.
4. How to make a Southern Belle costume.
5. How to fix biscuits.













Self Portrait

Since last Friday's Five I have been pondering what my mother taught me.

She taught me lots of things and she continues to teach me, but I have come up with a short list identifying five very specific tasks.

Stories to follow.



Inspiration from Quiet Life .