[Adapted from the Archives]

Tomorrow, May 7, marks 5 years of writing this blog. May 7, 2014.

Writing has always been a part of how I processed life. As a little girl, I had the little pink lock-and-key diary. Certainly better that it is not to be found. Then journaling in high school and after. Teaching in a university required research and writing. When the children were little, my writing had to downsize to quick notes in their baby books and daily entries on a big wall calendar.

After moving overseas, so much new happened each day and insisted on being documented. I would send long “journals” home to Mom, Mom-in-law Julia, and those others closest to us.

In 2014, it seemed that my memory was not as good as before. It was a scary season and one pooh-poohed by my doctor. He reassured me that my memory had its normal (for my age) robustness and not to worry. Still, I thought about the kids and decided maybe some things should be written down.

My Mom died in 2002, and it wasn’t even 5 minutes until we had questions that only she could answer.  It’s over 15 years now since she died, and I still miss her every day.  What I also miss is all the knowing she had…all the history, the memories, the funny and sad stories.  She lived an incredible life, triumphant through extreme poverty, resilient after failure and loss, tenacious in making a home for us all.  She was a lioness with cubs.

Sometimes we come too late to the realization that the generations before had great insight.  I learned so much from my Mom, but could have learned more.  Now, my memories of her, and the stories she told, and the wisdom she imparted are a precious treasure to me.  You will hear her voice in mine.

Mom and me

Mom was born during the Great Depression.  She was excruciatingly poor growing up.  Yet, she pushed through her circumstances.  I want to write about her.  And I want to write about so many things…God, people, culture, beauty, family, lessons learned and lessons still to be learned.

All my adult life, people have told me “You should write a book.”  Maybe because of our travels, or maybe because of something else…I’m not really quite sure.  It’s my Mom who should have written, but she would never.  She wouldn’t think she had anything to say that should be memorialized in print.  I am of a different generation.  I am writing…because of her…and for me…and hopefully for another generation.  We’ll see.