Sad, Sweet, Surprising Weekend

Dave and I drove over Friday morning to pick Mom up for the airport. True to form, her bags were out on the porch, in the dark. Such a different feel from our last trip to the airport though. Even Mom commented, "This is not like going on a cruise." No.

She was happy, though, to find we had arrived early enough for our traditional airport Starbucks (soy, of course, no whip). I was struck by how pretty she looked as we sat there and sipped our small toffee mochas, and asked if I could take her picture. Isn't she beautiful?



Mom let me know as we sat and relaxed together, that she thinks the doctor's prediction of her time remaining is correct. She does not think she will make it past eight months. That means January. I know that many older people make pessimistic predictions about their life expectancy. Dave's grandma used to say every year, "This will be my last Christmas (birthday, Thanksgiving, etc.)." Grandma T lived to be 99. Mom however has called it on every single thing she's said this past year. I'm not taking her statement lightly. In fact, I'm taking it as gospel truth.

We loaded onto our tin can of an airplane, the kind with two seats on one side and one seat on the other side. As we took off, rattling and shaking, Mom exclaimed, "I like this small airplane. You can really tell you are flying. It's more fun!" Every time we would bank sharply and look at the ground, or buffet in the turbulence, she would reiterate how she liked the small plane. What a woman!

As we flew over Kansas and neared the airport, Mom got teary as she looked out the window at her home land. "I love Kansas. Do you love Texas?" Yes, yes I do. Bill, Cathy, Gayle and Lydia were waiting for us in Bill's four door truck. We piled in and hit the road for the Flint Hills. Lydia suggested a scenic byway she had taken from Topeka. It was a lovely drive. We arrived shortly before 3:00, when the service for Aunt Helen was set to begin.

Welcome Cemetery is a sweet little spot in the Flint Hills of Kansas. I was amazed to see about 50 people gathered. All of my brothers and sisters were there. (Mom made a point of telling Dave later that all her kids were there. I think it meant a lot to her.) The service was short, but tender. My sister Ruth played the violin, a local pastor read scripture and prayed, and one of Aunt Helen's grandsons told of his memories of baking Swiss bread with his grandma. (The flowers looked lovely, btw.) Aunt Helen's ashes were buried next to her husband Ed and just across the way from her grandma. Bill and Cathy planted the peonies for Mom.

After all good-byes were said, we gathered at the McDowell Creek Community Center for a barbecue dinner. I met relatives I had never met before and visited with my siblings. Barbie and Marsha had brought photo albums that spanned from Aunt Helen's childhood to her 90th birthday party. Amazing history.

My goodness, this has gotten long. I think I'll put the surprising part in a separate post.