Thursday, June 8, 2017

So, Have You Told Us?

Have you picked out the kind of "Girl" you are?  A few of you have, and are, therefore, in the running for this week's prize.  Tomorrow is the deadline for entries, so you still have a bit of time.  Here are a few options, if you're stuck.

 Thank you for your kind words about yesterday's post.  The date that Dale died, that my Daddy died, that my Mama died --- they all kind of stop me each year.  Not in a paralyzing way, but in a, "Wow;  how has it been that many years?" way.  And I wonder about the human mind.  Well, about my mind.  There are details about each of their declines that are vivid still, and things that, no matter how hard I try, simply will not come to me.  The day Dale died, clear as a bell.  The day Daddy died, only the very early morning phone call from my mother and my going to Briton and Hannah's school to let their teachers know what was going on.  I don't remember the drive up, visitation at the funeral home, what was done and said at the gravesite.  My mother had died at least a day before I asked a cousin to check in on her, so I think the utter shock of having to pull everything together out of nowhere has blocked most of that from me.  I do remember reading a Bible passage at her graveside.  I remember giving Daddy's eulogy.  The brain seems to know what we can and cannot, should and should not recall.  This life thing . . .  It's a marvel, huh?

2 comments:

camille said...

Truly a marvel... I agree with you- it's curious what etches itself forever and what evaporates without a trace (you know it's there somewhere but it can't be found). Big big hugs.

kathy b said...

Your recollections and thoughts on this matter are spot on Kim. I cannot recall what I brought to the staff on May 10, our last mom visit. I usually can remember each weeks treat. What does this matter? Yet I'm stuck on remembering it. I hope I will always remember my friend HElen coming up the day of my mom's funeral to be with me as I didn't attend it. It was such a gift. I have strong memories of the day we lost our dog Huck. He was a part of the family. I remember going back into the room at the vets after we left it, because I had to hug him, hold him one more time

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