Memories, looking forward & Dixie Cups

 

THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 2013

Memories, looking forward & Dixie Cups

 When my children were babies, I wondered when they would be potty trained or done with nursing and able to take a bottle; I loved that when they were sick in the night, they always woke Eric up for comfort. I wanted kindergarten to start; I looked forward to summer vacations with them; I despised constantly cleaning up after them, day, and night. I tried my best to teach them right from wrong, reading scriptures, teaching them to pray, and gathering for Family Home Evening every Monday night, which usually ended in frustration and tears on my part.

I always wanted to believe my children would never move out of this home with the memories we have created together. Now, well, they are all gone, and as I look around tonight, I see memories in every room of the house. In the kitchen, my children heard me say a naughty word once, and when it happened, they scattered like mice. To this day, I wish that didn't happen to their sweet ears to hear. But also in that very kitchen, we gathered and learned to bake, cook meals, and share stories from our busy week while doing dishes. 

Our "pretty room" was and is saved for unique visits with friends, blessings from Home Teachers, and Stake Presidents. The table we ate every meal on is now old and jagged, ready to be replaced, but we have many memories of games played as a family, many Sunday meals learning from each child what they had learned in church; that week we had family meetings and watched movies together in our family room there. Many tears and laughter came out of that room. Eric gave our children's fathers blessings in that room as we all gathered to listen to the night before school started every year. In the laundry room, there were many, many lessons on how to wash clothing, how to separate, and how to work the washer and dryer; after a few pink t-shirts came out, Blake finally got it down, and to this day, he does all the laundry at his house. I specifically remember locking the door in my office and having a dance party with my girls and me, singing a Carrie Underwood song at the top of our lungs.   Every bathroom in our home has been decorated and redecorated several times. I will never forget spending many nights on my knees next to Blake's bed while he was on his mission, begging and pleading with the Lord to bring him safely home to me. But my favorite memory is the front door; every day when it opened, those little voices would yell out, "mom? where are You?" ready to wrap their arms around my neck and show me their latest art project or grade on a paper. Also, through that front door came many acts of service to my family. Many hands have brought meals, and many friends have come through that door to bless us with their love, to pray with us on behalf of children, or on behalf of threatening health issues. Those are sacred doors open to anyone and everyone I meet. 

My home has become a refuge for many of my children's friends and a few of my own--I remember one time when a friend was struggling with her marriage, knocking on my door with her four young children, needing a place to stay and of course, she was welcomed with open arms. The next day another knock came on my door with criticism for allowing them to retreat to our home--at the time, I didn't fully understand. I was angry, and my response was, "Christ would never turn anyone away" the difference between my response then and now is that NOW I genuinely believe that statement and understand more fully the Atonement of Jesus Christ. This person does too.

Oh, what I would give to have those little footprints of mud dragged in from a puddle outside, or sticky fingerprints on the windows and refrigerator or freezer, the continuous teasing of his sisters. Blake loves his sisters so much; I miss those things.

Now they have their own families, hopefully bringing traditions and good from both sides of their families to create their own, their new lives. I hope to continue to make memories in this home.

Saturday, we buried Betty Williams, my mother-in-law. While I listened to her girls talk about her, I wondered what my family would have to say about me--I really do not want a funeral; it is a continuous disagreement in our home casket vs. cremation with a memorial instead of a funeral. Let's face it, none of us want to see a dead body, it's uncomfortable, and I certainly don't want you all staring at me either. Just burn me, put me in a pink Dixie cup, and spread my ashes at my happy place, with a few words from close friends and family. I know it won't happen that way. Eric will spend money on a beautiful casket that will get six feet under and covered in dirt--what a waste of money. Please let it be known to someone reading this that my request is for a Dixie cup of ashes. I know who I am, where I came from, and where I am going. The memories are all in the heads of those I loved and learned from.    I want my grandchildren to know my love for them, my children to know my admiration and respect for them, and my lover boy Eric to know I've loved him from the beginning; as frustrating as he can be, I loved him dearly and will be saving a place for him in Heaven.