a vase of flowers
I think of the hidden treasures in the caregiving years with my mother, now over nine years in the past. There is a beauty, I feel, that is only from the heart. The soul. It keeps growing – even past the mind and health, and certainly way past how our culture may define beauty (definitions I do not accept). Karl and I also volunteered in a nursing home for 3 years, and I saw the fruit of many lives of faithfulness and love.
There are deep mysteries to the soul. My mother was in her 60s when my father died in March, in 1983. She was teaching full-time, and took a bus to visit my father in the hospital after classes. I was in the first year of my doctoral program in education at Northern Illinois University. My father wrote to me once a week, and I saved his letters. I was an over-achiever but needed incompletes in my courses that semester. I went to my mother’s and did my homework in my father’s workshop. I completed my degree, in part to honor my father. I took 5 years to complete a program that could have been finished in 3 years. That’s okay.
I still remember the kindness of many people – not their work, not their publications, but that they were good to me.
The vintage swans are from Reusableart.com. There’s a Swan Boulevard in my mother’s old neighborhood.