Snow

 It started snowing early this afternoon.  It was not cold enough for the roads to be treacherous yet, but now that the sun has set and temperatures are falling things will probably change.

There are predictions of a huge snow storm all along the Eastern seaboard of the US.    Austin is still here in Virginia with us, but he is planning to go home to Maine on Monday.  We'll see what he decides.

There is something about snow. It makes everything softer and quieter.   It is so pretty.   I don't even mind being cold when there's snow falling and on the ground.

I probably have more pictures of snow than anything- well maybe I have more sunset pictures.

My kids

 I think about my kids all the time.   I know, they are not kids any more.   They are all adults- in fact, three are in their 30s and two in their 40s.   I want to say "how did that happen?".   Of course I know how it happened.  Time keeps moving forward and all of us do too.    But that's not the "how" I marvel at and question.    It is the perpetual question about life and everything .  "How"  maybe "why".  Nobody knows the answers to those questions any more that they know why people and animals die.    

But back to the kids.   Every day I feel like I am composing letters.  I want to write a letter to each of them and try to explain how it feels to love so much and so hard and so unconditionally.  Each one of them.

They all have such amazing qualities and passions.   They understand things that I never will.  Just like I know and understand things that they will never know or understand.   

How do I explain how much I loved them even before I actually felt them flutter in my belly?  Knowing that a wanted life is growing inside is an amazing thing.  The babies I lost.  The ones I had.   

I remember Nick's mother talking about how she dreamed of her kids as little kids- around eight years old.  I get it.   In my heart they are all my babies and my children.  Little kids with skinned knees.   Hurt feelings.   Happy and sad.  I know that they remember everything differently than I do.  Sometimes it's frustrating to me when I feel like they blame me for things that I honestly don't even remember.    And I wonder if they remember good things.   Like playing with playdough on the kitchen table.   Finger painting and coloring with the plastic table cloth on the kitchen table to keep is somewhat clean.

Do they remember me sitting at my sewing machine and creating various Halloween costumes and costumes for comic-con?    I hope that those memories are somewhere in their busy life brains.

Nick and I often reflect on all the times we drove this one to one thing and that one to another.  Nick has driven to Ohio, Richmond  and Maine to help the kids out with their moves or other needs.    I have slept on a recliner in a hospital room to be make sure my adult son got the medical care and attention he needed.

I am not listing these things as something we need to be thanked for.  We did them willingly and with love.   Not obligation.  Giving as a gift of self the thinking of it as giving but just as being.

I've been thinking about writing this for a while now and I am not really sure I am articulating very well.

And life goes on

 Even after your friend dies, even when your parents die, even after you die, the world keeps turning and life goes on.    

This past week, another dear friend told me that she was recently diagnosed with stage 4 mantel cell, Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.

I know that the longer I live life will be full of more and more loved ones and acquaintances dying.   I am right this minute feeling sad about it all.   Missing people who I was not ready to lose.   Are you ever ready to lose a loved one?   

It's funny to look at the differences between Nick and myself.  Here I sit at my keyboard looking at yarn and knitting projects.   Fabric too.   I ordered myself a potholder loom and loops this week.    I have not made potholders since I was around 10.  Yet somehow I want to do it again.

Nick on the other hand, looks at travel websites.   He books cruises, sometimes in his imagination and sometimes he gets all of the information and tells me in all seriousness what he wants to do and how he is planning it all out.    I know that he would like me to go.  I hope that I can join him soon.  But for now I am worried about Covid and traveling.  And I am content to stay home with Buddy, the dog, and knit and watch TV.    And honestly I look forward to being at home alone.   No, I don't want to get rid of Nick and I hope it doesn't sound that way.

Nick's parents did a lot of traveling after they retired.  They told Nick to travel while he is able to.   Yesterday Nick expressed it in a way that really hit home for me.  He said that when his mom was lying in that bed, dying, she would have loved to be able to just get up and travel just one more time.  I have to respect and honor that.    If it is that important to him then it is important to me too.

I saw this cartoon and sent it to Nick- he has printed it out:  

Meanwhile, I had a little bit of an epiphany  I feel the lack of grandchildren profoundly.   I know that it is not my children's job or responsibility to have children to make me happy.   But it occurred to me that while aging is a reality call that life ends for everyone. Grandchildren are an affirmation of life.    They are a positive and glowing light to is life itself.

I got this picture from my daughter in law, Kim.  It's me at Christmas time this year.  It's not necessarily a beauty shot, but I really like it.  I look my age, which is not quite old but definitely not at all young.   Leaning more toward old and probably what my grandchildren (if there are any) will remember me as.   

It strikes me funny when I think back to when I was a little kid how young my mother was.  I always thought she was so old.  But looking back, she was not.   When I was 43, my daughter's age now, I had a 20 year old adult child.   Amazing.   No, I do not have any regrets about having any of my children.  I only have regrets that I was not more kind and patient and didn't work harder at having fun!

And so it goes

Sad News From the Ministers

Dear UUCF Community,

We are sad to share that UUCF member Florence Summers died peacefully of pancreatic cancer on Jan. 2 at the age of 83.

Florence joined UUCF in 1982. She was a member of a Covenant Group and the Memoirs Writing Group and participated in the Fall Adult Retreat.

Our hearts and prayers go out to her son, Mark Summers Carroll, and their family and friends. Details regarding any observance will be forthcoming.

Rev. David A. Miller, Senior Minister

Rev. Christin C. Green, Assistant Minister

 

Losing a Friend is never easy

 Florence and I have been friends almost as long as I have been a member of UUCF (Unitarian universalist church of Fairfax).   

Florence started a women's support group way back then and I joined.   We have lost a lot of the original members of the group.   A few left the group because it was not a good fit.  Some moved away, and some died.   We added new members selectively over the years too.

We used to meet in the "brides room" at the church, and then moved to Florence's apartment.  She was still working and it was easier to meet there.  Monday evenings at 7:00 pm we were there.  Every now and then we would meet for dinner at a restaurant.   We took a couple of trips together- once to Williamsburg, VA and another time to Ocean City, Maryland.   What great times we had!

We were also in an "extended family" group that met every month for dinner.

We had to stop all of the meetings in early 2020 due to the Covid pandemic.

The dinner group has met by Zoom a few times and attended a Zoom funeral together as well.

It was one of these Zoom meetings where we learned that Florence had pancreatic cancer.     

And so, Florence died on January 2, 2022.  Her son, Mark, was always at Florence's side as was her cat, Carmelo:

Caramelo lying next to Florence

So many people knew and loved Florence.  She will be so missed!  It  am not sure when I will totally believe that Florence is gone.  She won't be around sharing the stories and humor that made her so unique.

So long Florence.   Love you!