Christmas Miracles

Today is December 23, and I have never been so totally unprepared for Christmas! There are no presents under the tree because in order to have presents under a tree, I would have had to purchase some gifts, which I have not done. I’ve not done one bit of Christmas shopping. I’ve not made one cookie, one loaf of fruit cake, nor have I made any Christmas candy. In fact, I’ve not even made a meal for nearly three weeks.

I’m not Scrooge, nor have I done what I’ve threatened to do for years - skipped Christmas. I am so unprepared for the very fast approaching Christmas Day because I had major surgery on December 6. Then two weeks later, just when I decided to get my Christmas groove on, get out the credit card, and start ordering from Amazon, I developed an infection that manifested itself in the surgical incision.

That meant that I was hospitalized for a few days and then discharged earlier this week to be cared for by home health care nurses and family members. Thank goodness, my step-daughter is a nurse, and she graciously stepped up to fill the gap and has been managing my care when home health has not been able to. So far, I’ve dodged going to a rehabilitation site for round the clock care, and I hope that trend continues.

Prior to having surgery, I had one Christmas goal: get the tree up and get it decorated. In part, I did this for selfish reasons. I wanted some Christmas cheer to greet me when I got home from the hospital.

Christmas 2021

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Advent, a time of longing, of anticipation, of hope, was going to look different for me this year. I knew that. I also wondered what I would learn about this season that would be lived out in an entirely new way in 2021. I knew that old traditions would not be carried on; I just hoped to heal uneventfully in the quiet peace and comfort of my own home.

I was not looking for any special miracles, but soon I realized that each new day since my surgery contained at least one miracle of healing, provision, and/or protection. I was, and still am, very vulnerable, as I have been healing from all that has been involved in having surgery this time of year.

“The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. ”

— Dietrich Bonhoeffer

As I ponder, this quote by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, I am reminded of another Christmas Season when I was so “troubled in soul” and very poor.

The year was 1982.

The place was Ogden, Utah.

After sixteen years of marriage, earlier in that fateful year, unemployed, and a stay at home mom to five children under the age of fifteen, I suddenly was left with no means of financial or physical support when my husband left the family home. By the time Christmas rolled around that year, our situation was dire. I had no money at all. I was also under protective orders because of the physical abuse that I suffered at the hands of this man.

In November of that year, I had made a very major change in my religious and social life. I had left the Mormon Church, publicly declaring that I was renouncing my belief in it and my affiliation with it as I went forward to rededicate my life to Jesus Christ in a tiny Baptist church in my neighborhood.

To say that my life was upended with that decision is an understatement. Despite the upheaval of my circumstances, my faith was strong, and my life felt more anchored than it ever had been before.

A few weeks before Christmas, I was asked to share my story of redeeming grace at a shelter for the homeless that was sponsored by Christian churches in the area. When I returned home that day, I wondered how much longer I could survive before I too might be among the homeless, and yet that possibility did not really seem to be a probability as I knew that in time the legalities of a divorce would provide for the basic needs for my children and for myself as we would move into the future. I had returned to college and was working towards a teaching certificate, so I had hope for a future career.

The worry looming the largest in my mind was about how I would give my children some sort of Christmas. I went out for a run/walk and cried out to the Lord about my circumstances as my feet beat against the pavement. “Lord,” I prayed, “I just want my kids to have a Christmas Day that does not make them feel impoverished. Please provide us with what I will need for a Christmas meal, a gift for each child, and some simple pleasures like cookies and peanut brittle.” Making homemade peanut brittle was tradition that went back to memories of Christmas I had as a child.

The next day, my door bell rang. The chaplain from the homeless shelter was at my door. He said that they had decided that my family needed a Christmas gift box after hearing my story. I felt a bit awkward as I graciously thanked him for bringing us the gift. I’d never had to receive such gifts before. Usually, we were the ones having the kids buy a gift for those less fortunate as we gathered canned goods from our stock to share with others.

After the chaplain left, I gratefully began to take the contents from the box: a turkey, ten pounds of potatoes, canned goods including cranberry sauce, gifts for the children, sugar, flour, one pound of real butter, and, (can you believe it?) corn syrup and Spanish peanuts! Who puts Spanish peanuts in a Christmas box for the less fortunate? The short answer is: God does. I had every ingredient to make peanut brittle!

Whenever I begin to doubt God’s Providence and how He has always been faithful to provide for me, I remember those Spanish peanuts. There is not doubt that God heard my prayer that day when I wondered how I would provide for my children. He answered with this: I will provide. I will always provide. I will provide to uttermost. I will put Spanish peanuts in a box to help you remember that I am faithful.

Christmas miracles come in unexpected ways.

This year, nearly 40 years after that Christmas miracle of the Spanish peanuts, I have been reminded over and over again, that I can’t and shouldn’t get so caught up in providing perfect gifts and experiences for my loved ones; instead, I am to remember that in weakness and in dependence we most come to know the exceedingly miraculous good news that Jesus Himself is the only true and lasting gift that we can either give or receive.

As Bonhoeffer said, He is the reason we “look forward to something greater to come.”

This year, as 2021, comes to an end, so many are weary, and needy, and sad, and in deep grief. We long for better things to come as we move towards the new year.

We may feel very alone.

We long for a Christmas miracle.

Take heart.

The Christmas Miracle is best found when we are feeling most troubled and vulnerable. He seeks the poor in spirit.

“It is an exceedingly strange and seemingly ridiculous plan. In a world drunk with a desire for power and filled with those who take what they want by force, the miracle of Christmas is one of weakness not strength. It is a suggestion that divine love is more powerful than we think.”

— Esau Mccaulley, Instagram quote, December 23, 2021

My prayer for each of you is that you will find comfort and strength from this beautiful passage in Isaiah.

“Fear thou not; For I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand my righteousness. ”

— Isaiah 41:10 KJV

( I quoted the King James Version of this verse because sometimes I just need to remember the beauty of the language of the King James Version, and I love the punctuation too! )

We are not alone, my dear friends. God Himself knows of our every need. May you experience your very own Christmas miracle this year. Let me know if it includes Spanish peanuts.

Winter ~ A Memory of My Youth and Winters in Leadville, Colorado

The headlines in today’s news are about weather. The news from CNN just hours ago is astounding as this news agency reports of about 200 million people in our country are under some sort of weather-related alert regarding winter storms. Also, the news agency reports that about 5 million people are without power, mostly in Texas, during freezing temperatures that are lower than the low temperature reported in Fairbanks, Alaska!

In Colorado this past week, we had freezing temperatures that even by Colorado standards were lower than the average.  In fact new low temperatures were recorded.  By the end of the day two days ago, the weather app my phone informed me that it was -15 F outside as I sat bundled up in front of my gas fireplace.  Grateful, that I live in a place where we are prepared for such low temperatures, I began to reminisce about the days when I lived in Leadville, Colorado, as a teenager.

Leadville, Colorado, at two miles high, or 10,200 feet, is the highest incorporated city in the United States.  According to one source on the internet, the average snowfall in Leadville is 127 inches a year.   It also averages 310 days of sunshine a year. That sunshine is nice in the winter, but that doesn’t mean it heats the place up. While it is a is a beautiful place to live, it also is a challenging place to live because of the altitude, the snow, and the cold weather.

The time frame for this story of this memory is:

Winter of 1962 - 63.

The place:

Leadville, Colorado.

The setting:

mostly takes place in our home which was a reclaimed baggage and freight building that had been turned into housing for railroad employees.

Yes, we lived in building which once served an old train depot as baggage and storage area. Here is a photo the place, but it did not look like this when we lived there, thank heavens. It wasn’t a great looking place. It was a humble abode, but not quite this humble. In fact, this old building is now in a different location from where it stood when we lived in the building.

Once upon a time, this was my home sweet home

This is a photo of my youngest sister and I standing where our house once stood in the old rail yards of Leadville, Colorado.

Originally, once it no longer served as a baggage storage area, the building had served as housing for railroad employees. When we were set to arrive on the scene and make this place home, it was in very bad shape. My father was transferred to Leadville as an agent for the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad in the spring of 1962.  As part of the requirement for the job, and as a salary “benefit” we had to live in company housing.  This old baggage building had a long ways to go before my father would move his family from the new home they occupied before his job transfer and promotion, so he went to work and gutted the place before he moved his family. He built new cabinets in the kitchen. My mother painstakingly painted all the walls and made curtains for the windows. Together, they installed new flooring and wall to wall carpeting in the bedrooms and living and dining room..  Despite all these improvements, it was a shock to us when we moved into a place without the modern conveniences that we had in our previous home.   

When we actually moved to Leadville, we had to learn to adjust to a house heated by an old Stokermatic coal stove. There was no central heating in that old place. The coal that heated the house was railroad coal that was provided as part of the salary for my father's job.  He was employed by The Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. The company paid for our house and our coal. The agent was given these perks.  One would not consider these as perks these days.  The coal was delivered by the work crew from the railroad. It was stored in a coal shed behind the house.

The main part of the building was our living room, dining room, my parents' bedroom, and there was also a long narrow room on the left rear of this building that we used as a t.v. room and a place where my brother would stay when he was in town.  The attached building at the left in this photo was the bedroom that my sister and I shared.  There was a partition about two-thirds of the way into this room that provided an additional "room" that served as a bedroom for my youngest sister.  

That first winter, we found out that this part of the room could not be used because the ice on the windows would build up half an inch thick!  That rear portion of the house was the farthest from the stove, and I think it had absolutely no insulation. Mother would hang blankets across the large archway doorway (there was no door) to that part of the room to keep the cold from reaching where my sister and I slept. She moved my youngest sister to the “tv” room to sleep because it was warmer.  

Attached to the rear of the house was a kitchen and bathroom which had not been part of the original part of the building. It was designed almost like a “lean to” structure. My youngest sister rememberd climbing snow drifts against that part of the house that reached the roof. That portion of the house was heated with a small propane stove.  

We had left a brand new house in Pueblo, Colorado, when my father was promoted to this job in Leadville. At the time, I wondered how this house, and this job was a promotion.  It seemed to me that we were going back in time, and, I guess in some ways we were.  

Guess where the warmest place in the house was.  You are right if you guessed that is was on top of that old coal stove or, if the fan came on, standing in front of it was great, but we were not allowed to do that because we needed the heat to circulate.  The stove was located in the dining room which was right next to our bedroom.  

Memories of Winter Mornings

We never went to bed dreaming of snow days where school might be called off during the winters when I lived in Leadville.  Never.  In 2012, there was quite a stir because there was a snow day called and school was cancelled in Leadville.  Many said it was the first snow day ever called in Leadville. 

On cold winter nights, my sis and I would turn on our electric blankets and try to stay warm.  Our room was pretty cold, but we would stay quite toasty in our beds. Mornings came early when we would be awakened around 4:00 a.m. by the sound of a snowplow scraping and moving ice and snow off of State Highway 24 right outside our window. Soon the plow would move up close to the house to clear the small dirt road that ran in front our our house to the Standard Oil bulb plant which was right next door.  Mr. Carson, my best friend’s dad, who was the distributor and owner of the plant, had to be able to make deliveries of propane and gasoline to his customers in Leadville, Frisco, Climax, and Breckenridge, no matter the weather.  And, my father had to keep the freight trains running on time.  For these reasons, we were plowed out early.  

Sometimes when the early morning snow plows awakened me, I would actually get out of the warm bed and make my way to the window to see how much snow had fallen.  Memories of those early mornings when the town was asleep under its thick blanket of snow are precious.  I recall being mesmerized by thousands of silent fluffy flakes falling to the ground outside my window. Soon, chilled, but peaceful,  I'd make my way back to bed.  

When my mother would awake me for school, I had an early morning college-prep English class at 7:00 a.m., I would resist getting up until the last possible moment.  Once up, I would run into the next room and stand next to the Stokermatic coal stove to get warm.  My father would have been up early to get the coal into the stove so the house would be warm.  

Before I made my quickly executed move from the bed to the furnace, I had gathered my clothes.  These were placed on top of the furnace to heat up so I’d have warm clothes to put on.  Believe me, that helped.  Oh how I remember the shivering that simply getting dressed in the morning created.

My father would drive me to school on mornings when the snow was especially deep or the temperatures were especially cold, but that meant that I had to be up early so I could be ready when he left for work, otherwise, it is true, I had to walk the mile or so to school.  The snow could be up to my knees at times in those days in Leadville, and, as my dad would say, “I have the picture to prove it.”

That picture showing a moment in time in my youth captures more than just a teenage girl with wind swept hair standing in snow nearly up to her derriere.  It so many ways, it truly captures the core of who I am as person.  

At My Core I Am A Colorado Mountain Girl

I am a proud Colorado native, a railroader’s daughter, a mountain girl at heart.  When we moved to Leadville, I devoured stories of the tough miners who believed their fortunes just might be buried in those hills. Beginning in 1860 the discovery of silver brought rough and tumble men to Leadville hoping to strike it rich. They were tough men and so were the women who came with them. 

Fortunes were made, and fortunes we lost in this place.  I loved the stories of Baby Doe Tabor hanging on the Matchless and Molly Brown surviving the sinking of the Titanic. 

The gifts of that season of my life

Those stores about the history of the area and about men and women who lived that history were woven into the fabric of how I began to see myself as a Colorado girl. The stories informed me in times when it took fortitude to move forward.  Yes,  I have often relied on the grit I learned from others and from the experience I also had while living in a climate that is less than hospitable.  

In the photo above, I see a young woman with a smile on her face, happy to be in her element, and happy in the elements of her environment.  I remember the optimism of that time in my life, but I also knew, based on the challenges of living in a harsh environment, that optimism and grit would not be enough to bring about the future I hoped to have. A successful future would also mean that I would have to bring passion for my goals in order to accomplish the dreams of my future. I would also need perseverance.  It would mean that I would need to plan to deal with days when the world out there was cold and unwelcoming.  It would mean that I would have to plan for the unexpected and to bring a shovel because at some point, I just might have to dig myself out in order to go down the path I chose.

The ability to acclimate is a powerful gift in life.  My parents gave me the gift of learning how to adapt and acclimatize when they moved me kicking and screaming just before  my senior year in high school to Leadville.  Did you know that the body, actually produces more blood cells in high altitude?  Breathing rarified air, my body was transforming itself to adjust. I learned to adapt to living a new place that seemed so foreign to anything I had ever experienced before. I also learned to embrace change and the unexpected transformation it brings to the body, the mind, and to the living of life itself.

The body adjusts to rarified air in time.  This served as a reminder to me that I could adapt, acclimate, and adjust whenever I encountered new experiences in life that seemed to being taking the oxygen out of me due to the environment in which I might find myself that was less than ideal. Embracing such changes brings growth and depth to life and to the soul. One learns what one is made of when one learns to live in tough environments.

Another gift of those winter days in Leadville was the gift of learning that there are some things in life which you just can’t control.  The weather is chief among those factors in life over which one has no control.  Acceptance, adjustment, and again, acclamation to the climate in any setting is key when learning to live life successfully.

Those days, those experiences, that setting, the history of it and the climate of it, shaped me in ways I never could have imagined at the time.

The Gift of Reflection and of Memory

Now, having lived three quarters of a century, I live a city at foothills of Colorado rather than in one of her high mountain hamlets. Now, living in the luxury of a well built home with central heating and a gas fireplace, when the cold wind blows, when the snow piles up outside my window, I remember those days of long ago.  I bask in the memory of the warmth of the times and in the memory of the warmth of the home my parents created for us in what first appeared to be the harshest of settings. We often said those were the happiest times in our family’s life. In my memory, they were the happiest and best of times.

It was the last year I would ever live at home. When the next fall rolled around I was off to college and never returned to live at home again except for times when college was not in session.

I give thanks for the memories of that time and for the lessons I learned about life when I was just a young Colorado mountain girl. What a gift those years were!

Thanksgiving

I’ve been thinking about gratitude. Now, isn’t that original? I mean, after all, it is the Thanksgiving Eve. Aren’t we supposed to be thinking of gratitude? That is the point of celebrating Thanksgiving. Right?

I have a sneaking suspicion that while almost all of us could quickly come up a list of ten things for which we are grateful with no problem at all, and while I also think that most of our lists would look very similar in that we would list husbands, wives, kids, dogs, homes, jobs, faith, etc., I seriously doubt that most of us are able to say, “I am especially grateful to be celebrating Thanksgiving under circumstances that have come into play during a pandemic.”

Let’s be honest here. Are these lists indicative of all we are feeling and experiencing right now?

If I had to make such a list, it would be authentic in that I am richly blessed, and I have much for which to be grateful, but deep down inside, I just want a break from all of this time of isolation, pandemic news, illness, and loss. I am tired. I am missing my loved ones. I want to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family.

I am also convinced that a sense of deep gratitude is rarely found in identifying those things in our material world that give us a sense of appreciation or thankfulness. I believe that true gratitude is a work of the heart that has learned to rejoice and give thanks no matter what the circumstance. As I pondered this thought, I did a quick search of the word gratitude in the Bible. The source I used listed only reference to the word gratitude. It is found in Hebrews.

“Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.”

— Hebrews 12:28 ESV

During these days of a pandemic, of political and social unrest, and during a season of Thanksgiving, I found this verse to especially affirming to me personally because the Hebrew people were reminded that they were to be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken. They were living as marginalized people in a group of already marginalized people. Their traditions had been turned upside down when they believed in Christ. They were reminded that only created things will be shaken, but God’s kingdom will not be shaken.

We are so caught up these days in our created world. Being grateful for something that likely seems esoteric to many during times like the ones in which we live just does not seem to be a concept which is easy to grasp. To those within the household of faith, such a statement of hope and faith as is found in the preceding quote from the Bible may not seem mystical or abstract, but during these difficult days, I sense that even true believers are feeling like the earth is truly shaking beneath their feet because of the days and months of uncertainty which we have gone through this year.

There are fractures every where we look. The brokenness of this old world is ever before us.

How do we lift our voices in praise and thanksgiving in times like these? Yes, we can look at our beautiful families, at our homes, our jobs, our health, or whatever else in this material work that we acknowledge are truly blessings, but what if one of those whom we most love was suddenly taken from us? What if all we had was destroyed? What if we lost everything? What if our health was also lost? What if our friends and loved ones turned against us? Would we still be grateful? What if we had no photos to show the world via Instagram that we are indeed blessed? Would we still be blessed? Would we still be grateful?

As I wrote those words, I thought of Job. Who wouldn’t? Job lost everything, yet, what did he say? He said,

“Though he slay me, I will hope in him...”

— Job 13:15 ESV

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The past year has been so difficult for all of us. Many have lost nearly everything. Many have lost loved ones. Many wonder how they will pay the rent, or what they will do if they get sick because they don’t have health insurance. Thankfully, my husband and I are not counted among these, and I am so very grateful for that.

Others, while they are financially stable are struggling with loneliness, isolation, depression, and fear.

These are days when many are just barely surviving and feel as if they could go under in the currents swirling around them.

These are days of trying to make sense of the times in which we live.

These are days when I am again tempted to curse the brokenness I see everywhere around me.

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This past year has been one of the most difficult ever for me personally, but I know that I am not alone. It has been so difficult for all of us. A year ago today, I had just recently returned home from a memorial service for my dear youngest sister. Her death shattered me in so many ways. My mother was dying. My family of origin was fractured and hostile. A granddaughter was hospitalized with a very serious mental illness. I sat down a year ago today and poured everything out onto the pages of my journal. I wrote:

“-This is the day I curse brokenness in this world and wonder just how much more heartbreak I can take becaue of the mental illness that seems to surround me.
-These are the days when I know prayer is the only weapon I have to fight the battle we all are facing at this time.
-These are the days where I hope for fresh faith and remember that the mercy of God is new every morning.
Now I am off to bed to rest in that great grace and mercy. The Lord will watch over it all. ”

— Personal journal - Sally Wessely November - December 2019

This year my thanksgiving gratitude list is not one that only includes material things or objects or people. Instead, my list will also be one of praise for answered prayers, fresh faith, sustaining hope, and truly mercies that have been new every morning.

This year, I again think of that verse that has proven true for me throughout my life,

“Great is you faithfulness...”

— Lamentations 3:23

For this great faithfulness I give thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving. May the God of all Grace bless you all and sustain you in the days to come.

Julie ~ A Blog Post and A Birthday Celebration During the Time of COVOD 19

Today, my daughter should have turned forty-four years old.

We should have been celebrating my daughter’s birthday with her today.

Julie, my youngest daughter, my fourth child, was born on this day forty-four years ago. As only a mom can do, I recalled details of that day which belong only to me. As I think of listing those details, I wonder if anyone would even care what those details were other than Julie because after all, she is the one who most likely would have been interested in the details of her birth.

If she were alive, as evidenced by this recent FaceBook comment that showed up in my memories, she might have even wondered what I would be saying about her and her birthday on social media.

In 2009, when Julie inquired if she would get a blog post of “17 paragraphs,” she did indeed get a blog post written by me in which I celebrated her birth and her life.

A year later, in April of 2010, we celebrated Julie’s birthday in grand style with a huge family birthday celebration. I snapped many pictures that day of Julie surrounded by her sisters and some of just Julie and her dog. On that day, we never could have imagined that Julie would die by suicide just six weeks later.

Keicha, Julie, Amy ~ Sisters

Julie and Phoenix

Now, here we are ten years later. It seems hard to even imagine that a decade has passed since I last not only saw Julie alive, but also since we as a family celebrated her and her life with her in our midst. It seems hard to imagine what my youthful, impish, springtime fairy would be like if she were alive today and celebrating her forty-fourth birthday. She always had such a sense of fun and of whimsy. Would she still? She loved playing around with her nieces and nephews. Now, they are teens and young adults. I often wonder what her interactions with them at this stage of life would be like.

Julie joking around with her nieces and nephews at the Salt Lake Zoo as she pretended she was being eaten by a giant lion.

Julie’s birth and life brought so much joy to our family. She was the fourth child born to a family of five children. She moved easily between the brother/sister relationship and the sister/sister relationship. I often think of her as our family lynchpin, the one who seemed to hold the parts and pieces of our complicated family structure together. Her life is one that is easy to celebrate because she brought so much joy to us all.

And so on her birthday this year, I decided I wanted to go to the cemetery where her ashes are buried to celebrate her and the joy her life brought to my life. Little did I know that as with everything these days, that simple exercise of going to the cemetery for a moment of remembrance would become complex.

Grief and Birthday Celebrations in The Time of COVID 19

Grief seems to be a constant these days.  All of us seem to be suffering from a deep communal grief.  And yet for those of us whom have recently lost loved ones, or for those of us whom experience anniversary date grief, it seems that the normal grief responses are made all the more complex in these days of the novel coronavirus.  

 For me personally, I think the weight of grief has been a constant in my life for over a year as I experienced anticipatory grief as my younger sister and my mother have both been in the last days of their lives.  In September of 2019, my sister passed away, and then just one month ago, on March 2, 2020, my mother passed away at the age of 103.

 Normally, we would have already had a memorial service for my mother, and we would have gathered at the cemetery as a family to inter her ashes.  None of that has happened because of COVID 19.  Not only that, I don’t even know when we will be able to have services for her.  This disruption to the normal grief journey seems to have compounded the complex feelings of grief that I have felt since of her death.

 For the past twenty-seven days, my husband and I have self-isolated and have only left the house to either walk around the neighborhood each day or to go to the grocery store to pick up pre-ordered groceries.  Today, the day that marked my daughter’s birthdate, I told my husband I wanted to go to the cemetery to visit my daughter’s grave, and to visit the gravesite of my parents.  

 As we approached the cemetery, I began to worry that it might not be open.  I did not anticipate there being people around because no one is having funerals or formal burials at this time.  I did not even have flowers to place on the graves because I didn’t want to enter a store to buy flowers, and we have nothing in bloom at our home.

 Driving towards the section of the cemetery where my daughter is buried, I noticed that a car was parked in the same area where we usually park.  As we drove closer, I said to my husband, “It looks like someone else is near Julie’s gravesite.”  

 It took me us driving right up to the car that was parked on the road for me to realize that my daughter, her fiancé, and my granddaughter were the people gathered at Julie’s grave.  My daughter lives in northern Colorado, about two hours away from us, and I did not know she planned on coming to town.   I honestly did not know what to do when we parked the car and I realized who was there.  

 My daughter, very private in her expressions of grief, was on the ground crying in front of her sister’s grave.  My feelings and emotions were all over the place.  Should I leave her in the privacy of her grief moment, or should I go to her?  I was more concerned about how to support her than I was about the social distancing practices that I have strictly adhered to for weeks.  It honestly did not even occur to me to ask myself, should we stay six feet apart?  Or, should I put on my mask?  No, I just followed my mother’s heart and rushed to her side to give her comfort.  I also wanted to feel her arms around me.  I wanted her to give me comfort too.

 We didn’t visit long.  It all seemed awkward in a way.  I had interrupted my daughter’s private visit.  I felt guilt for rushing in to give and receive hugs.  I worried that I might have passed along this terrible virus, and I worried that I might have picked up the dreaded virus from my family even as I knew that they too had been careful about practicing social distancing.  

 These times are not normal.  They are not natural.  So many of those practices that give us comfort and support during difficult times have been stripped away.  The normal responses of giving and receiving hugs must be restricted.  

 Quite honestly, I’ll never forget how comforting it was to feel Amy’s hug and to smell her signature perfume as my face brushed against her hair.  

 Unfortunately, I also know that I will never forgive myself if I unknowingly transferred a potentially deadly virus to her.  I also know that she would never forgive herself if she transferred that same virus to me.  I just hope she realizes that if she did, it will not be her fault.  It will be mine.  I was the one who threw caution aside.  I hope nothing bad comes from my impulsivity.  Too late, after the hugs, I went to the car and got my mask.

 We took photos.  Amy brought beautiful flowers for Julie.  They were perfect because the bouquet had bright, colorful flowers in it that included gerbera daisies, the same flowers we selected to blanket Julie’s casket when she died.  

 Then, Amy handed me flowers.  That girl.  She is always so thoughtful.  I don’t think she has ever visited me in the last ten years or more that she has not brought me flowers.  She had daffodils for me, and a note.  She had intended to leave the flowers and the note on my porch as a surprise as they left town.

The note said, “Love you lots, mom. Thinking of you on this trying day. I wish I could give you a big hug. xoxo Amy.”

 Too soon, we said our goodbyes.  My husband joked that lunch was on him this time, but they could buy the next time they came to town.  It was all so odd. We couldn’t even go to lunch.

 Grief in the time of COVID 19 brings such weird and unexpected twists and turns.  Time will tell what it all means in the days to come.  In the meantime, Julie’s birthday was celebrated in a very unusual way, and she got a blog post. I didn’t count the paragraphs.

Seasonal Thoughts and Thanksgivings

The seasons collide in the fall.

Halloween gives way to Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving bumps up against Christmas.

November,

I’m not done with you yet.

I need to hang on the last vestiges of 

fall and the Thanksgiving season

 before I am hurled into the rush and bustle 

of December and Christmas.

*************

My son called early in October and asked us to come out and spend Thanksgiving with them in Utah. I took him up on the offer.  They have a new home we had not yet seen, so we were excited to spend the inaugural Thanksgiving with them making new memories in their new home.  

On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Jim and I flew out to Salt Lake City, Utah, and my son Ryan picked us up at the airport.  We ran around town with him while he did Thanksgiving preparation errands, and he gave us a grand tour of his new neighborhood.  I so seldom get to spend alone time with my son, that I couldn’t help but comment how wonderful it was just to be driving around town with him while we chatted.  He always makes the best of times even better.

Fall is the perfect season to capture the beauty of my son and daughter-in-law’s new home.  A branch adorned with golden leaves formed a perfect frame for this classic craftsman style home. 

I love the neighborhood where my son and his wife now live.  On a small porch at the corner house down the street from them, two college age guys dressed in wool coats and wool caps were sitting in lawn chairs listening to classical music and smoking cigars as they played chess.  I said to my son, “I love where you live.  It seems so civilized.”

Jim and Ryan led the way as we walked past houses still adorned with fall decor and headed to our home away from home to spend a quiet evening together.  

Our airbnb, which was just a block and a half from my son’s home, was so nice.  We really enjoyed the experience of staying in this home and in this neighborhood.  I kept telling my husband I was ready to move.  I loved the area around Sugarhouse in Salt Lake City.  

This was just one of the cool houses between our house (home away from home) and son Ryan’s.  

The next morning Jim and I walked back to Ryan and Sheridan's house and the four of us and Sheridan’s two boys headed out for the mile and a half walk to get breakfast at the best bakery ever.  I had their steel cut oats with fruit.  Seldom does one rave about steel cut oats, but I raved about theirs.  Oh, and I had part of an orange cinnamon roll too.  I wasn’t going to pass that up.  I fear we would visit this place on  daily walks if we lived nearby.

There are shops all around the bakery.  Across the street is a wonderful bookstore called The King’s English.  We visited it on the day after Thanksgiving.  All of this makes the neighborhood a desired location for living a life where shopping, and restaurants, and grocery stores are just a short walk or bike ride away.

The door to our apartment...

leaves on the ground, they all became subjects for me to photograph.  On this beautiful fall day, I so loved the experience of walking around taking in the sights found in a neighborhood filled with architectural delights.  It was just what my soul needed.  

At home, fall had left us during a blistery and wet storm weeks before Thanksgiving.  I had not been able to revel in the glory of fall and give her a proper farewell at home, so these last days of November in Utah were a special blessing to me.

Thanksgiving Eve, Jim and I walked over to my son’s house to participate in food preparation (ok, I watched while they worked) and to await the arrival of Amy and Jewett whom were driving from Colorado, and the arrival of grandson Bridger whom was coming down from Logan, Utah, where he attends Utah State.  

The beauty of the day continued.  I wish I could have captured the full effect of the moon at dusk, but this photo does give you an idea of how beautiful the evening was as we headed into my favorite holiday of the year: Thanksgiving.

We were worried about the travelers as a huge wreck had closed down the highway, but daughter and her love arrived safe and sound at a much later time than anticipated.  Thank heavens for cell phones and Google maps.  Bridger also arrived safe and sound from his drive down from Logan.  I was struck by how thrilled we were when Bridger arrived.  Does everyone always shout with joy when he enters a room?  I think so.  He is such a special kid.

The bounty for the planned feast was plentiful. I was struck by the beauty of the preparation of the meal itself.  Part of Thanksgiving is the anticipation of what is about to transpire as family comes together.  There is so much work in preparing the feast for a family the size of ours.  I so appreciate all that Ryan and Sheridan did to make the occasion perfect.  Thank you, Ryan and Sheridan!

While my family is large, the gathering itself was a bit smaller this year.  Ryan’s two older children, Regan and Parker, are living and working in Montana where they will be attending college, so they did not come home for Thanksgiving.  Amy and Jewett came from Colorado, but Amy’s two children stayed home with their father and had Thanksgiving with their other grandmother, and Samantha and Jonathan and their two children had been in Paris, France, the week before Thanksgiving and they were flying home to Colorado on Thanksgiving Day.  As with most large families, we are scattered all over.  That is why being together whenever possible is so special.

Thanksgiving morning, the house had been transformed in order to accommodate the expected guests.  (Don’t you love Ryan and Sheridan’s home???)

The guests arrived, photos were taken,and soon we were ready to eat the scrumptious meal provided by our hosts.  Really, they out did themselves.  Everything was perfect!

Photos were taken,

Daughter Keicha with her daughter Gillian

Amy & Jewett

My girls on either side of me

Keicha, Sally, Amy

the turkey was taken from the oven and carved,

the lentil loaf prepared for and by Sheridan for the vegetarians in the group was also taken from the oven,

the food was placed on the beautiful tables, 

Holidays bring with them memories both happy and sad.  Often, we are reminded of those no longer with us.  Sheridan was my daughter Julie's dear friend, and it was at Julie's memorial service where my son Ryan met our lovely Sheridan.  Blessings come from loss.  I'm so grateful for the family that was created because of a lasting and long friendship between Julie and Sheridan.  Julie's ashes are on the mantle and the empty chair reminds us of the one we miss and wish were with us to share in this joyous day.  

The empty chair reminds me that Julie would not be in it even if she were with us.  She had way too much energy for that.  She would be cooking and cleaning and arranging, and laughing, and joking, and loving on her nieces and nephews.  I miss her arm on my shoulder as she would have stood beside me in a photo of me and my daughters, but her spirit is with us.  I rejoice that we as a family remain strong and together and so appreciative of fall days at the end of November when we gather together to give thanks for all of our many blessings.  

There was more!  

In the evening we followed the tradition started long ago by Sheridan's wonderful dad by playing a spirited and competitive game of bingo.  The prizes were both great and not so great.  That is part of the fun.  Bingo and Thanksgiving pie now go together in my mind. 

 I love this tradition of more guests arriving in the evening with pies and gifts.  Sheridan's sister and her family and her mom and dad and another couple whom are good friends came to the house to play bingo after their own Thanksgiving dinners.  There was barely room to move around.  Jim was schooled on how to be the Bingo game caller, and we ended the day by playing Bingo which led to much fun and a lot of laughter.  

The memories of Thanksgiving 2018 are stored away in that place were all that is wonderful about this holiday live.  I am so very blessed with such a dear and wonderful family.  My children are so supportive of me and of each other.  I do not take that gift of family unity lightly.  Our bonds are strong and our devotion to each other is firm.  That is one hope I have always had for myself and and my children:  that we would celebrate and embrace the uniqueness that each of us bring to our family bond and they would seek to always build and affirm that bond and devotion to each other.  I'm so very grateful that again I witnessed and partook in the fellowship of a family devoted to each other.    My heart is full.

Perhaps, Thanksgiving comes at the perfect time of year because just as fall leaves us, we are given the chance to embrace her beauty one last time as we gather to spend a day giving thanks while eating delicious food with those we love best.  

Thanksgiving 2018, I needed you to be just as you were.  Now, I can let November days give way to the hustle and bustle that comes in December.