Remembering Mom

These thoughts mark the second Mother's Day without my Mom...

In many ways my life has been different from my mother’s.  I’ve lived a single life, achieved a college education, had a professional career, lived in big cities and have learned how to make it on my own.

Yet there is so much more we shared in common, and the values and character traits she worked to instill in my life have united her with me in far-reaching and profound ways.

I share her nurture, patience and compassion for children. She demonstrated that not only for her own children, but many others as well. I think of all the time and energy she put into leading my scout troop and giving swimming lessons to the neighborhood kids.   My first career was in service to families having young children with significant developmental disabilities.  What challenge and joy there was in helping families care for the special needs of their children and help them achieve their developmental potential.

I share my mother’s love of homemaking, making simple foods from scratch, trying new re

cipes, bringing joy to the family table with a special meal, setting the holiday table with tablecloth, china and the crystal glass ware, making a house a home.

I share my mother’s penchant for fun and joy with friends and family.  I think of the creative ways she taught and cared for her children without reliance on television.  I treasure the good memories of the family reunions held at my parents’ house and loved experiencing the bond with extended family. 

I share my mother’s love of using our hands to create things of purpose and beauty. She worked alongside me to complete my school and 4-H projects, and in selecting fabrics for my sewing projects and then finding just the right accessories.  She brought beauty to her home with her many pieces of needlework and artfully displayed collection of depression glassware.

I share my mother’s  values of simple yet practical life skills such as cleaning up after oneself, following through on commitments, sharing with others, working out our differences and putting in a good day’s work. 

I’m especially thankful for the seeds of faith she planted in my life at a young age, and how those seeds have grown and sustained me through some difficult times.

And in her last days I was able to bring her some comfort with tender words, a gentle touch, a song, a kiss.  In fact my last conversation with her was a bittersweet mix of a song and a kiss.  At the time I didn’t know it was the last, but perhaps somehow she did and her mother’s heart rose to the surface even in her pain and confusion.

From my first moments of life to her last, she was there for me. I am forever grateful.

What's in a name

There are over 3,000 names recorded in my Dad’s Family Tree Maker, 71 of them are my direct ancestors, grandmothers and fathers going back 12 generations.  We also have an extensive collection of photographs, letters and other traces of their lives.  Yet for many all we know is their name, spouse, children and birth/death dates.  Even so, they are remembered, if only with a few lines in our tree. Somehow don’t we all hope that we are remembered well after our passing?

I wonder about that as I walk up and down the rows of old cemeteries looking for grave markers for those recorded in our family tree.  I have seen many markers so badly deteriorated that names and inscriptions are no long visible and many stones have broken off or tumbled over.  I imagine family members standing around the open grave, mourning the passing of a loved one and yet now the memory of their once vibrant life has faded and perhaps has even been forgotten with the passing of generations.

Genealogy is important to God too, as evidenced by the record of Jesus’ ancestry in books of Matthew and Luke. So also, names are important to God.  In biblical times, the meaning of names held much more importance and reflected something about the person’s character or purpose. 

Several hundred years before Christ, Isaiah foretold His coming and even then, assigned him the name of Immanuel.  “…the Lord himself will give you the sign. Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel (which means ‘God is with us’). Isaiah 7:14 NLT

My name is important to God too. So is yours.  The psalmist writes, “You saw me before I was born/ Every day of my life was recorded in your book/ Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. Psalm 139:16 NLT

This song entitled “He knows my name” speaks to the reality of His watch over our lives:

I have a Maker

He Formed My Heart

before even time began

my life was in his hands

He knows my name

He knows my every thought

He sees each tear that falls

and hears me when I call

I have a Father

He calls me his own

He'll never leave me

no matter where I go. 

(Song lyrics by Tommy Walker)

The opening pages of the book of Matthew shows us that Jesus’ name also carried special meaning as “Saviour.”  “And she will have a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” Matthew 1:21 NLT

God loves families as well. Even before He made the world, God devised a plan, a way for us to become part of His family. “God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure….”  Ephesians 1: 5 NLT

And now God’s plan has been fulfilled in Jesus, Saviour, Immanuel. You are invited to meet Him at the manger, follow Him to the cross and receive his most gracious and generous gift poured out for you there. 

Deborah Phillips

Christmas 2014

Enduring Love

Thoughts for Father's Day...

One thing about my Dad that has meant so much to me in recent years is the valiant and enduring way he cared for my Mom in her last years, as she suffered with dementia.  I think it has to be one of the most difficult diseases for caretakers to deal with. Besides the concern for their safety and the daily challenges of caring for their every need, there is the heartbreak of watching them slip away from you little by little into another world. Answering the same questions over and over again, guiding them once again through the most menial tasks can be exhausting for even the most patient among us.

Even while Mom was in a nursing facility recovering from a broken hip, Dad was usually there several hours a day to help her with every meal and often stayed into the evening to tuck her into bed.  Mom always knew who he was but she didn't remember him being there. She was restless in the night and often pedaled her wheelchair or even walked up to the nurses station saying "I can't find my husband."

While in the nursing facility she often said "I want to go home." She loved her home and even in her dementia she was drawn to its comfort and familiarity.  She recovered from the broken hip well enough to come home in a few months and she was walking independently around the house. That amazing feat was a testament to both her determination and the care and encouragement that Dad provided.

During one of her hospitalizations I sat by her bed while Dad went home to rest for awhile. She was restless and agitated, pulling on her bedding and gown for much of the time, a response to being in an unfamiliar environment. When Dad got back he pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, took her hand and started talking gently to her. Her eyes fixed solidly on his and she quieted right down. Then she realized I was still on the other side of the bed and she reached out her hand for me.  She kept shifting her gaze between the two of us. It was if she somehow found her grounding in reality through our physical connection and it brought her peace. It was such a profound and tender moment to see the power of the human connection and the strength of the bond between Mom and Dad.

As Dad and I sat on the back porch waiting to go the funeral home for Mom's services, he said, "I did the best I could."  I suppose in dealing with a disease such as dementia, its hard to feel that enough is enough, there's always more that one could do. 

But it's clearly evident Dad that your love, endurance and drive remained strong to the end, even in your fatigue. I am forever grateful that you were able to walk with her as you did through that dark valley.

  

Memorial Day memories and traditions

It's good to remember, to look back, reflect on our days, consider those who came before us and gave so much of themselves to make a better life for us. 

This Memorial Day I reflect on my Mother's military service. She was always a patriot at heart and joined the Women's 484th Army Air Force in 1944 leaving high school just prior to graduation. She served in Topeka, Kansas processing crews preparing to go overseas.  While in the army she participated in a women's synchronized swimming team.

 

Both of my parents proudly served and have often told us stories of their experiences. It's a good thing to listen to, to remember and to pass on.

  

It was probably one of those Sunday afternoon conversations that turned to a discussion of what clothes they could still fit into. Here is Mom and Dad showing off - Dad still fit in his Army jacket and Mom fit in her wedding dress.

 

Memorial Day starts with breakfast at the American Legion. Gathered there are the veterans that will be participating in the parade, and later performing ceremonies at area cemeteries.  The guns they use in the gun salute are lined up there. Here is Mom checking out the photo wall of other local veterans.

 

Mom never wanted to miss the Memorial Day services held in the memorial park next to the library, just a few blocks from the home where I grew up.  Here are Mom and Dad observing the services.

 

 

Here are Mom and Dad comparing notes with one of the parade participants. 

 

Headed home, talking it over...

 

 

Later in the day our tradition is to visit the cemeteries where family members have been laid to rest,  the Fitchville Cemetery for my Dad's side of the family and the Hester Cemetery for my Mom's side of the family. Here is the American Legion members performing a gun salute at the Fitchville Cemetery. 

 

 

On this occasion we were visiting the Hester Cemetery, across the road from the Hester Homestead constructed by my great-great-great grandfather Martin Hester and his son Martin M. Hester. We were pulling out of the drive when we saw Mom's younger brother pulling in the drive with his step-daughters. Here I am with my parents and Uncle Bob.

 

At my Mother's funeral service these American Legion members approached the casket one at a time, stepped back and saluted her.  It touched me deeply. I'm thankful for their service in showing deep respect and honor for those of their comrades who have passed on.

 

 

 

With love and gratitude for all you have meant to us, you are fondly remembered and deeply missed.

 

Elizabeth Ann Hester Phillips, 9/20/23 - 9/16/2013

 

 

 

Mom Memories

This is my first Mother's Day without my mother. So I'm tapping in to my treasury of good memories to comfort the ache in my heart. 

So often when I'm in the kitchen trying a new recipe or stirring up something from scratch I'm sure it goes back to my mother's patient teaching.  Even when I was little Mom would "let me help" with things in the kitchen. She would pull a chair up to the counter for me to stand on so I could help stir up a batch of cookies .

When I'm persevering through a challenging task it's largely because she made the effort to build in good character traits like not giving up when things get hard.

When I'm learning a new skill I can almost hear her say, "You can do it!" like she must have said countless times when teaching me how to tie a shoe or do a book report or sew a hem.

All the hours she spent leading my Girl Scout troop or helping me with my merit badges reflected her gift for helping kids acquire knowledge and learn new skills. What a gift she was to my peers as well.

My love for the outdoors and exploring nature certainly must have been nurtured by all the time we spent playing outdoors instead of sitting in front of the TV.

When I was just three she gave my older brother and I a book for Christmas entitled "Tell Me About Jesus." It must have been one of those books that we asked her to read to us over and over because it is well worn. She was beginning to build the foundation for the strong faith in Christ I have today. There is nothing more important.

Her bond of love with her family was evident even into her last days, in spite of being overtaken by dementia. The most poignant moment for me was when I was sitting with her in the nursing home in early September 2013.  We were waiting for the ambulette to take her to the hospital for x-rays.  She had fallen the night before and was quite agitated. Even so she reached out to me and asked me to give her a kiss. Of course, I did. I gave her many in fact. I asked her to give me a kiss and she did. 

That was to be my last coherent conversation with her.  The x-rays revealed another broken hip.  She became increasingly agitated with all the medical personnel working with her. Her condition rapidly declined and she passed several days later.

I'd like to think that somehow she knew the end was close and she wanted to make sure we had a good-bye kiss.

Thank you Mom for all the beautiful memories, and so much more.  I'm looking forward to seeing you again...

All my love
Debby

She knew how to have a good time! I love the sparkle in her eyes and the joy she shared with me.

Story-telling with a sweet ending

It’s interesting how story-telling can take its twists and turns and end up at a seemingly unrelated ending.

Dad and I were perusing a few of his many notebook collections of family history, and one in particular pertaining to my 5^th great grandfather Martin Mason, born 1742. He was the grandfather of Martin Hester whose remarkable passing is told in my last bog post here:  http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2014/01/january-31-1870.html

There’s a story of Martin Mason constructing a mill to grind grain, not far from where I grew up. The mill was capable of grinding sixty bushels of corn a day. Reflecting on that, Dad recollected that his own father had a used a hammer mill to grind corn, powered with a belt attached to his tractor.

That recollection led to another, that of his mother making corn meal mush on the stove top with leftovers going into a bread pan and refrigerated. The next day it could be sliced and served with maple syrup.

Dad noted that before the availability of cane sugar, maple sap was the primary source of sweetner. North American colonists had the Indians to thank for showing them how to harvest the sap from maple trees.

Then Dad asked if I wanted some maple syrup. I was thinking that maybe in a month or two the season for making syrup would begin and we’d go scouting for some nearby. But then I recalled that gallon jug stashed away in the basement storage cupboard.

So we started out with our imaginations taking us to gristmill situated on a river in Ashland County and ended up with this golden jar stashed in my frig:

 

January 31, 1870

Every time I hear the story of Simeon welcoming the infant Jesus in the temple, my thoughts turn to the entries my great-great Grandfather Martin M. Hester made in his diary. It was 144 years ago in the deep midwinter.  Martin and his family were attending revival meetings at their church. Those were days when someone needed to arrive early enough before the meetings to get a fire going in the stove.  They likely traveled by sleigh.

In the entry for Friday Jan 28, 1870 he preserved there the words of his father (also Martin Hester) speaking to the congregation.... "Father spoke with much feeling, That God had preserved his life for more than 82 years and crowned all his life with blessing and that all his children and many of his grandchildren were Christians. He felt like Simeon of old, 'Now Lord let thy servant depart in peace.' [referencing Luke 2: 25-32 http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+2%3A+25-35&version=NIV ].

The next day ..... "Toward eve Father had a stroke..... He fell from North door of wagon house and found him about ½ past 3 o’clock."  Two days later he died.

"Monday, January 31 - Took care of Father all day. At 6 o’clock in the Eve he died in great peace. Had not spoken for 48 hours but had left a clear testimony in the church of his evidence of the love of God in his heart...."

The full text for the diary entries and the intriguing details can be found in an earlier blog post here:
http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2010/01/january-31-1870.html

Martin and his brother went to town in the sleigh to purchase a coffin. The body was laid out at their home and services were held there.  The text for the funeral sermon was Numbers 23:10. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my end be like theirs!" 

Amen and amen.