the most important lesson from my angel mother

We rarely just had dinner as a family growing up.

I say that not because we weren't all there, but because there were frequently extra people at our table. A friend, a neighbor, someone's children.

The memories are vivid: my mom stirring dinner and on the phone. She'd say "I just love your little daughter so much. Won't you let me watch her for the day tomorrow? I know you have so much to do with _______ coming up." Which was code for "You're at the edge of your rope. I'll help."

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That's the kind of person my mom was. She was constantly sending dinners home with people or holding fussy babies in church.

She didn't wear much make-up.
She didn't do her nails.
Or wear expensive clothes.

She was beautiful.

She was so beautiful because she understood the simplest truths in life: people are more important than things. It's not about getting followers or high scores or compliments on your newest shade of lipstick. If that's your focus, you're kind of missing the boat. It's about people. It's about time, and love.

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Tomorrow is my mom's birthday. I sat down to play Pachelbel's Canon in D today, and it took me three times as long as normal. The notes wouldn't stop swimming around on the page. That empty part in my heart that I buried on that December day when I was nineteen kept acting up.

So here's to the most beautiful person I know: thank you for being my angel mother. Thank you for who you deliberately were, and who you deliberately weren't. Thanks for the peaceful graveside mornings, for that folded up letter you left for me to read when you were gone, and for that morning at my school. I still don't really know how the whole angel thing works, but I know you've been here, helping, guiding, protecting. I love you mom. The hot tamales are for you.

an adolescent shower and a blessing

When Jason came to live with us, my fellow 5th grade teachers sneakily got to emailing and planning, and a week later, this was in my hand:

Yup :) They threw me an adolescent shower. We held it one afternoon after our meetings, and something happened there that deserves to be told.


First of all, they are so sweet for throwing me this thing. I think they understand how it can be hard to have a pre-teen come live with you, and hard for him to adjust, and hard as a parent to not be able to give him everything you want. We're tight on money and still in school, and it's really hard for me to not be home when he gets back from school, and not have the money to do things he'd really love, like put him on a basketball team.


So my teaching team gave me the sweetest things. Chocolate and bath salts to pamper myself, advice on keeping my relationship with Sam strong, and so much yummy food to take home with me.

 

And just when I thought it was done and I was so grateful for an amazing shower - they started bringing out presents for Jason.


You guys, they organized a clothing drive, and people who I had never met, who don't even know Jason, donated things. I started crying as they brought out bag after bag of clothes, $100 in gift certificates, packages of new socks and underwear, brand new shoes, deodorant and shampoo, and a myriad of other things he needed. There were so many things donated, and I'm still trying to get over the goodness of strangers in this world. My team just said, "people know this can be hard and they wanted to help."


Things are just things, and money is just money, and I know they don't solve problems. But they make Jason feel valued and much more comfortable, and it's one less thing we have to worry about providing for. I can't say how much the kindness and generosity of strangers and my team meant to me that day.


Here's {just a part - maybe half?} of everything we got. There were swimsuits and snow pants and Sunday shoes and sweatshirts.

Thank you Rachelle, Natalie, Effie, Nina, Kerri, and Emily! Special thanks to Natalie for organizing the clothing drive. I only hope one day I can find a way to tell you how much it means to me.

There are angels among us.

How I'll Thrive this Year

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. 

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. 

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. 

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? 

Actually, who are you not to be? 

You are a child of God. 

Your playing small does not serve the world. 

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. 

We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. 

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. 

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."


-Nelson Mandela, inaugural address

Every Moment

Today, I’m thinking about this time last year. I can’t help it. It’s inseparable to me now.

I’m grateful for so many things.

I’m grateful for hospital nurses who pretended they couldn’t count to two so we could ignore the swine flu rule and overflow mom’s hospital room with people.

I’m grateful for my family, who understands that people are always more important than money or things. Examples: when we ripped out the built-in desk without a second thought to make room for mom. When various relatives paid tons of money for airplane tickets to come help us. And when we bought that huge ugly transport van, because “even if she only rides in it once, you can’t put a price on her freedom,” according to dad.

I’m grateful for the flowers that overflowed the counter, and for the tender cards which we strung up in rows. Mom could never read those cards, but that wasn’t the point.

I’m grateful for the sanctity of midnight watches. It was peaceful, sitting there in the middle of the night with the Christmas lights shining through the window and the soft blue chair rocking you. Listening to mom snore; each breath one more blessing, one added moment granted to our shared existence.

I’m grateful for the pure voices of forty primary children piercing the despair that cold, bright Sunday. Standing on the frozen lawn, singing through the window, they were a choir of angels.

I’m grateful for the funny moments. All the code brown jokes, the nights we got two dinners and scrambled to hide the evidence when dinner #2 showed up, the hoyer, the lunch fairy, mom making jokes about her paralyzed left half, the bamboo catching on fire, the cleansing of the shire (aka when dad went crazy with the borrowed dumpster), mom making jokes about how hot tamales give you cancer and since it was too late for that we better let her eat as many as she wanted.

I’m grateful for family and roommates and friends and surrogate mothers and elementary school teachers and even acquaintances that Heavenly Father placed in my path. They still haven’t given up on me.

I’m grateful that the last thing my mom said to me was “I love you.” Even later, when she could no longer talk or remember who I was, when I said “I love you” she squeezed my hand, and I know what that meant. I’ve never doubted that my mother loves me. That’s a blessing so many aren’t privileged to claim.

I’m grateful for pictures, and cedar boxes, and voice recordings, and necklaces that remind me my mom is never far away.

I’m grateful for the angels that watched over our house, gave me strength to get out of bed each morning, and courage to return to it each night.

Most of all, though, I’m remembering all those nights when I laid in bed and sobbed, the cannon sobs that hurt so bad, and I remember thinking no pain could exceed my pain, and that I was going to hit rock bottom. But I never did, and I never will, because my Savior Jesus Christ hit rock bottom for me, so I don’t have to. He died for me, so my pain and my grief would have an end. More than anything, I’m grateful today for the Atonement and for my Redeemer who made it possible for me to overcome everything and be with my mom for eternity.

Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you find occasion to feel as grateful as I do today.

Not to mention everything else

Top 5 reasons why I love Grandma and Grandpa Taylor

5. My grandpa always kisses me on the forehead and tells me I’m beautiful. I love that.

4. They take all the college cousins to lunch in the Skyroom. Yessssss.

3. When they were dating, their philosophy was to talk about if they should get married for 3 hours, and then kiss about it for another 3 hours. hahahahaha. Something to strive for.

2. They raised my momma, and did a darn good job of it, if I do say so myself.

1. Check out how good they look relaxing in Hawaii! I hope I'm half as cool and good looking as them when I grow up.

Ocean Eyes

An extended metaphor poem I wrote for class. It was a lot different before my teacher made me revise it, and take out the good parts, and then put in better parts. Here's the final thing:

Ocean Eyes

Between soft sandy eyelashes,

Your eyes are windows to the ocean.

Dangerous duke blue, a brilliant cerulean flash,

Green with promise, a silver grey mist;

Always mesmerizing, always changing

As your champagne tide comes, goes, comes again.

Dolphins cavort in the tiny wrinkles I see

When you smile, and when you cry

Tide pools softly bloom.

Sometimes I glimpse,

Between the flashes of sharp salt and soft sand,

Hidden depth, treasure chests and

Secrets buried in the keel of a sunken ship

Locked with a rusted key I’m still searching for.

I’ll play patiently in the sun-bathed foam

Until you surface with the mysteries in your ocean eyes.

The Shoulders of Giants

“If I have seen further,

it is only by standing

on the shoulders of giants.”

Sir Isaac Newton

I’ve been feeling kind of burned out lately. My feet plod along, one after another. Clean, cook, school, clean again. Left, right, left, right. I get tired sometimes.

Once in a while, I look past my own weary shoulders and see other people and their shoulders.

I see my neighbor, former church leader, and friend. At my best friend’s wedding reception, she restocks the trays of food and cleans up abandoned plates. A kitchen towel is draped over her shoulder. When I ask why she’s not eating cake and enjoying the party, she smiles and says she volunteered to help. Frequently, she stops by just to say hello or to bring us a plate of homemade muffins, for reasons like “I just thought it might be nice for you to have them for breakfast.” Her shoulder is wet because she walked through the rain to our house.

I see the shoulders of my good friend, one of the ones who never forgot about me. This year, he transformed his residents and roommates from casual young boys into strong, spiritual, responsible young men leaving to serve honorable missions. When I tried to credit him for this, he shrugged it off his shoulder with a casual “oh no Brookums, it was Heavenly Father. Heavenly Father changed them.” Which is true, but I hope he knows that Heavenly Father chose to place that special divine mission on his strong shoulders, to be that catalyst, for a reason.

And I see the elementary school crossing guard, Genie. Genie’s been helping children cross the street safely for eight years. She remembers the name of almost every child she’s helped, asking how my brother John is and telling me he was in second grade when she first started. She tells me she's worried about losing her job because of district budget cuts. Rain or shine (and let's face it, it's mostly rain), she’s smiling and energetic every morning. Her shoulders are hidden behind a thick neon orange vest, complete with a matching flag that says SCHOOL on it in bulky black letters. The brightness of her smile is the only thing that outshines it.

As I look around, I realize I don’t have to drag my feet and trudge along. I do have to keep moving, keep progressing, but that’s all part of the plan. What I don’t have to do is keep complaining about the small weight on my shoulders. I don’t have to keep looking down and focusing on myself. If I just look up, I can see so much further.

I guess I’ve been feeling kind of inspired lately.

And I have the many giants in my life to thank for that.