Stepping Stones

I've stalled posting on my blog for weeks. I told myself I was waiting for things to calm down a bit, but I suspect I've not posted because I've wanted to avoid going through emotions I'm not sure I'm capable of expressing.

From the 19th to the 26th, I was in Mexico with my mother. I've posted before about her cancer. Our visit this time was bittersweet: we found a fulfilling end to our relationship. Through the simple act of caring for her physical needs during these final days of her life, she and I bonded in a way that can only happen when you've stripped away all the aspects of this earthly life until all that remains is the fact that life ends. Things that seemed important fall away, and you have only the love and the need to ease pain.

As I write this, I'm waiting for the call from one of my sisters or my brother, telling me that her suffering is over. I think that's why I've put off posting on my blog, although I don't know why. Finality, maybe? Closure?

Just 4 weeks ago - a few days after my father's death -my mother sent me an email about my father's memorial:
"I will miss having your dad here in this world, too. We were married for 22 years, and a lot of those years were good years. And as I told him, I would always love him for giving me 4 marvelous children. Without him, you 4 wouldn't be here."

She asked me to share these words at my father's memorial. On the 25th, my two sisters arrived in Mexico to help me with my mother's care. I returned home to Seattle late at night on the 26th in order to prepare for my father's memorial service. On the 27th, my sister Nancy was at the Mazatlan airport, boarding the same flight my brother Michael took to Mexico to be with our mother. Nancy and Michael shared tears and touched their hands on the glass separating the international arrivals from the departures. Michael and his wife Patty are there to say their own goodbyes and to help my sister Kathy who had requested to be with Mom at the end.

So on Saturday, June 28th, the day that would have been my father's 81st birthday, we held his memorial services. Nancy and I were there in body, Kathy and Michael were there in spirit, and we were surrounded by our family members and our closest friends. The service was beautiful. In her homily, Mother Cynthia captured everything the four of us had rambled about in meetings and emails while we we planned the memorial. After the services, I felt lighter and happy from the joyful celebration of my father's life.

On another day, when I'm not waiting for the phone to ring in the middle of the night, I'll post about seeing my uncle Dan again and my cousin Jim. I'm so glad they travelled from San Jose to Seattle to be at my father's memorial.

Each day of our lives has a purpose. The events of your day may be stepping stones to something you've worked hard to get to, a purpose of your own. But if it's your day to help someone else across the pond, embrace that day as well and live it fully. I believe that my purpose these past 5 weeks has been to help others along on their journey, and if I hadn't allowed myself to be distracted from my own goals, I would have missed so much.