Thursday, October 24, 2013


It continues to amaze me how difficult this process has been for me. In a few weeks it will be a year since my mother passed away. Within a few months later  my dad also passed from a very rare form of cancer. I thought by now I would be back to what is normal for my life. 
The latest thing that keeps bringing up those memories is having to make softer foods for my dear husband. He is having a lot of expensive dental work done to restore his smile. Each tooth is at least a six month process. The first is almost complete but now the dental surgeon wants to start right away on the next(before all the holiday food) Hubby was not to happy about this. 
As I prepare his meals it brings back the memory of doing this for my father. Last year, almost at this same time, I gave up spending the holidays with my family here in Minnesota to take care of my father. I seem to be making many of the same meals. Just a simple bowl of oatmeal brings tears. Each morning when my dad finally could feel well enough to sit at the dining room table I would make his oatmeal, very soft. I do not care for it like this so I would have my Cheerios and banana. Who would think a year later a bowl of cereal could evoke such pain.The good thing about this time was the blessings God gave me during these meals. With all the pain from these memories also comes healing. The things my dad shared with me were truly priceless. I may have missed a season with my grandchildren but I am so grateful to God for the blessings he gave me from my earthly father. I will be forever thankful that I sacrificed this time to spend it with my dying father. This is something you can never have again. It doesn't matter how many of his things we try to hang on to for some past childhood memory, these final ones are the ones I feel have blessed me the most. The memories are with you for a lifetime and no one can take that away.

1 comment:

Nib's End said...

Yes. Well said. I could not have expressed it better myself. Dad gave me the old wooden spoon we both used to make his porridge, but it isn't the spoon that matters so much as the memories it evokes each time that I make oats for my own breakfast.