Mother of a Summer
Jan, my mother-in-law’s, art supplies now fill a good portion of my office space. They were given to me after she needed to be moved from her independent living apartment to nursing care due to significant health issues. I got them because many years ago she and I had taken a weeklong, Split Rock Watercolor class together. During that week we traveled each day to a different site with a group to paint. We ventured to Jay Cooke State Park, the Cloquet Forest and of course Split Rock State Park. She was more of an artist than me, but together we painted the beauty we saw.
In the supplies I inherited from her there are watercolor paints, brushes, charcoals and pencils. There are also baskets of sketch books and fine papers. She often started beautiful paintings in one sketch book and then moved on to another book to begin again. There is a sacred unfolding for me as I open each book.
It was a mother of a summer for us this year. We moved both our mothers in August. They both moved from 2-bedroom independent living apartments into nursing care or assisted living. My mom had to be moved due to memory issues. We took the divide and conquer approach to the moves. Tim and his brother, Scott, handled their mom’s transfer. My sister and I took on my mom’s move.
Jan’s move was the harder of the two as she was facing significant health challenges and was hospitalized numerous times throughout the summer. She was not ready to give up which made hospice a hard sell.
My mom too really didn’t want to move but realized the necessity of it. Throughout it all she kept saying, “I just want to f—- die.” She told her doctor this as we went for her move in physical. Her lovely doctor just said.”Yep, that’s how most folks who have worked in health care feel at this point.” My mom had been an oncology nurse for over 45 years; death perhaps was not so scary for her because of this. And she had nursed my dad through his lung cancer and buried him over 40 years ago. He was buried at Fort Snelling National Cemetery and she always made sure we knew that she would be too.
Both of our mom’s had considerable stuff that needed to go. Summer days were spent sorting and mostly tossing. There were lots of trips to Goodwill. Almost everything was given away for free. I was glad my mom’s couch, chairs, dresser and table could go to a family shelter that helps folks furnish new apartments.
Over and over again this Summer we faced the question of what to keep and what to throw. In the end most of what we kept were the small things and the intangibles. I’m grateful to have Jan’s sketch books and some of her writings. She was incredibly creative and very private. Until now we rarely saw or read what she drew or wrote.
From my mom I inherit a deep love for people. I think she is truly the one who taught me how to be a pastor. It’s hard now as she forgets to leave her apartment to be with her friends. She spends much of her time napping or watching her beloved Minnesota Twins.
I found a poem recently that I keep coming back to
A mother’s heart
Is never her own
Bits of it are sown
Into the souls
Of her daughters
And her sons
Jan died peacefully on Labor Day. She had been visited by so many people she loved that long weekend, including two of her great grandchildren. And now Tim and Scott have one last thing to move. Today they are scattering her ashes on what used to be a family farm but was donated years ago to a local school district to be an outdoor learning center.
This scattering seems so right, especially in light of a dream our daughter, Hannah had just after Jan’s death. Hannah dreamed that we were all in a field of flowers. Jan was running after Rosie, her great granddaughter, laughing and dancing.
Perhaps bits of our hearts are sown into our grandchildren and great grandchildren too. May it be so.
