8 Years Ago

There is a quiet kind of love that never fades, even when Mom is no longer here. It lives in the small moments: a phrase she used to say that suddenly slips out of my mouth, a recipe I still make the way she taught me, or a piece of advice that echoes in my mind just when I need it most. Repeating my mantra "What would Mom do?"

Losing Mom left an absence that words can’t fully describe. Yet, her love doesn’t disappear with her passing. It becomes woven into who I am. It shapes how I care for others, how I face challenges, and how I love. In many ways, she continues to guide me, not through presence, but through memory.

Grief changes over time, but love remains constant. Some days it feels heavy, and other days it feels warm and comforting. Remembering her is not about holding onto sadness, but about honoring the bond that still exists. 

Salty's has Crabs

WAY....BACK...WHEN...Mom and I used to go to Salty's when she'd be in town. She loved their Sunday brunch buffet. They had raw oysters, and Mom would eat her weight in oysters. It made her happy. 

The Mother's Day before mom passed away she and I did our last Sunday Brunch at Salty's. Neither of us knew it then, but it would be our last one. 

Somewhere in the following years, I thought it'd be fun to go to Salty's in memory of mom. We'd go in January around the day she passed. We'd bring her photo and we'd get one oyster for her. It would sit uneaten because none of us liked them. 

Then Covid happened and Salty's stopped their buffet. We went one of the following years for lunch, but it wasn't the same. So we kinda stopped. 

Then on a whim I thought I'd check to see if it was back...and it was! They brought it back in November. So, the usual suspects and I went to celebrate Mom again. 

Their brunch is massive and you really can have just about anything you want for breakfast. 

Mom joined us again as did the crab hats. I can't believe we never thought to bring the crab hats before. This time, for some reason, we thought it'd be fun. So...Salty's had crabs for a morning. 

We're not sure who that man in the weird hat is. No not the main with the crab headband...we know him. 

The buffet is more expensive now than it was. I hope we can do this annually again, but I can understand why people may not want to. I'd go for sure. It somehow brings me closer to Mom. 

Happy Mother's Day

Photo: Mother's day 2001, Redmon WA

 

"I haven’t heard your voice in years, but my heart still has conversations with you every day. Grief hurts and nothing or no one can replace a loved one who’s gone. It’s an emptiness that doesn’t go away."

Happy Mother's Day Mom. I miss you.

Hey Mom did you get your wings

Eight years ago today we said goodbye to mom. It feels like yesterday in so many ways and yet it feels like a lifetime in others. I miss her the same today as I did that first day. 

Those first weeks I was sure I couldn't live without her and yet here I am. The grief is continuous. Some days it hits you like a ton of bricks. Some days you just smile as a memory floats across your mind. 

I thought it might be appropriate to share the Eulogy I wrote for her to be read at the Celebration of Life in Tucson. The guy reading it got the pages all mixed up so it was a disaster when he read it. Still, as I reread it tonight, I smile at her life and who she was. 

Eulogy by her daughters, Jennifer Wraspir, Billie and Melanie

Our family would like to thank you all for being here today to celebrate the life of JoEllen, our mom. For those of you that knew JoEllen, she was not only the life of the party but often the reason for the party.  She used to always say to us kids "Don't be so serious, life is too short, just have fun".

We always knew what an amazing, generous and kind woman she was, and in these last several weeks since she passed, the outpouring of love and support has proven this to be true. Hundreds, (and that is not an exaggeration), of emails, texts, calls and messages have come to us kids. She redefined the phrase “social butterfly.” She’d be humbled at the outpouring of love, and yet secretly she’d be thrilled to know we were making such a fuss over her. Our one wish is that SHE knew she was so loved.

We probably don’t have to tell you our mother was a special woman. She embodied all of the attributes of a “perfect” mom. She was caring, thoughtful, hardworking, compassionate, loving, tough on us when we needed it and so much more.  It was so difficult to think of all of the words that described mom as a person and how much she meant to us. Our mom was our best friend, our idol and we looked up to her all of our lives. We swore as teenagers we would never turn out like mom. And now we’re proud to say we are our mother.

Mom was born on Nov 5, 1947 in Grant’s Pass, Oregon. She died on January 16^th, 2017 surrounded by her family and friends. Her life, to put it mildly, was something else.

She was a career woman her entire life. She started working at the Boeing company in the late 70’s. She struggled in the “man’s world” of Boeing, but proved time and again a woman could do the job, and in some cases better than any man. She retired from the Boeing Company in upper management and was so proud of all her accomplishments during her time there. She would use her experiences there when giving advice to us as our own careers started taking off.

When mom and dad married in 1981, we added to our already large family, the even larger Wraspir family. We used to joke that we didn’t have a family tree, but a family hedge.

Mom cherished her family above all. And family to her was anyone from a real relative, to friends, to members of her community. Her house was always filled with friends and family. All of our friends called her “mom”, because she was like a mom to everyone. She would talk to anyone, and any dog, most likely she’d speak to the dog first…

She was the communicator for all of us. If you wanted to know anything about what was going on with someone in the family, you called mom. That’s not to say mom shared everyone’s secrets, but she was definitely in the know. And her family loved her back – tenfold. She was the one everyone called for advice because we knew she’d tell us how it was.  She was happy to dole it out and expected you to listen. And while we may not have followed all her advice over the years, we’ve discovered that she really did know what she was talking about.

Mom loved to cook. Together she and dad would try new recipes and taught us to be open to trying new things. Entertaining and having people to dinner was one of her favorite things. Any given weekend you could guarantee someone was coming to the house for dinner. And no one ever left hungry.

Mom and Dad loved to travel. They got the travel bug when Dad was transferred to Saudi Arabia in the late 80’s. That afforded them the opportunity to see the world. And see the world they did. Together they visited England, Spain, Italy, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Greece, the Caribbean, Mexico, South America, Australia, New Zealand, Thailand – to just name a few. And they traveled to every single state in the United States by RV. While they loved exploring other countries, they especially loved exploring their country.

The list of things mom loved is extensive. She loved to read, to sew, to quilt, to cook, and to play games on her iPad. She loved her animals. And she loved her Seahawks. If the Seahawks were playing you knew not to bother calling because you could guarantee she would not answer the phone.

We feel like we could spend all day speaking about mom. She was an amazing woman who taught us a lot. The most important lessons were not verbal; they were in her actions. We know we are the people we are today because of her influence and guidance.  She always worked hard, complained when she needed to and was there when you needed her. She was our mother, but also our best friend. We will miss her every day for as long as we live.

Poppies

I've spent a lot of time reviewing old photos. Most of these I got when Mom passed and so many of them I wish I had seen before and could have asked about the story. Scrapbooking for me has morphed into wanting to tell the story instead of just making a pretty page. But now, I am left with a bunch of photos and no stories. 

Some of the photos I do have stories because I was apart of the event and old enough to remember what was going on. These photos all have a story. Enter the California Poppies

This is BY FAR my favorite photo of mom and dad. Taken during one of our trips to the poppy fields, but I'm getting ahead of myself. 

Every year Mom, Dad and I would load into a car and head out. Dad loved photographing the poppies and they felt this was a good way to spend the day as a family. I have some very fond memories of these trips. Even as a teenager I was ok with going out with them to see the poppies. 

One year Grandma and Grandpa Wraspir were staying with us. Dad thought it a good opportunity to go see the poppies. 

Grandma loved seeing them. Grandpa loved seeing them because Grandma loved seeing them. 

This particular year - 1984 - are likely THE most embarrassing photos of my teenage year. Why did mom let me leave wearing a tube top? 

I mean, really? What was I thinking?

When I look at these photos I can't help but feel so much happiness. I miss all these people in these photos and am so glad that Dad "made" me go with them. It was a tradition for us each year and I can imagine as a teenage girl I likely didn't want to always go, or I pretended I didn't want to, but I always enjoyed myself. And now, as an adult without Mom and Dad here, I cherish these memories. 

What were your parents like?

Welcome to another installment of "My Life Story". The card today asks what I assume would be an easy question for most, but may be a bit complicated for me. 

The question "What were your parents like?"

You see I've had two sets of parents with Mom as the common denominator. 

Let's start with the early years. Mom and my original father, Don, were married young. Mom was just 17 when they married. That was back in 1964 - they did that then. Don was her high school sweetheart and they seemed quite happy. 

Then Don got sent to Vietnam. While there my mom gave birth to my sister, Melanie. Then he came home and then he went back again. When returned I was born 9 months after. 

The point of telling you about Vietnam is that his tours changed him. Mom used to say that he left part of his soul there and she thought it was the nice part of his soul. 

He wasn't a great father to me. He flirted with every female he came in contact with and I remember as a kid that embarrassed me. I can't even imagine how mom felt about it. He was not a nice man at times either. We were disciplined with a heavy hand. By today's standards you might call it abuse. We were certainly mentally abused. I don't really remember him having nice things to say to us. We used to get the belt for the oddest, and most insignificant things. I remember this one time Melanie and I both got it because we folded a kitchen towel wrong. 

He tried and I think he did the best he could with what he had with him. I often wonder what he would have been like if Vietnam hadn't happened. 

Mom and him divorced in 1979/80 and that's when the next dad comes into play. 

Mom went out on a set up date with Al Wraspir sometime in 1980. I don't remember who set them up, but it was a double date and they hit it off. They married in Sept 1982. Dad adopted me right after that. I officially went from Jennifer Miller to Jennifer Wraspir. 

Dad was an amazing dad. He had his issues too, like he was stubborn and was pretty opinionated at times. But he was also kind, he loved his family, he worked hard, he had a strong will, and treated me as if I was his. He never treated me like a step daughter and instead took the time to help make me a person who can be a valuable part of society. He worked for Boeing for 47 years and I think wished I followed in those footsteps. While I worked at Boeing, I wasn't meant to be there for that long. 

He always had a ton of friends around him. Many were his hunting buddies. We spent many nights at other friends' houses having dinners and such. 

He taught me to love cooking. Mom did too for that matter. But dad had the curiosity to try and cook different things. He LOVED food. Tomatoes were among his favorite foods. I don't have enough space in the blog to list all his favorites. 

He was a wonderful dad and I consider myself very lucky. 

Mom - what can I say about her that I haven't already said in this blog. She was my best friend. Not always, but definitely as an adult. As a teenager, like most, I wasn't a fan of her. She enforced rules and followed through with consequences. I'm grateful now, but 14 year old me was not. 

She was kind, she too loved her family. She LOVED dogs and her grandkids. Hell, she loved all my friends and adopted them to be "her kids". She too worked at Boeing and was there for 37 years (or something like that). She had a tougher time there trying to progress because, well, she was a woman in a man's world. 

She loved to travel and cook like Dad. They both, together, taught me about how important seeing the world is to better understand, and tolerate, other cultures. "Tolerate" was dad's word and I don't think he meant it as it came out the same way it sounds today. 

Overall, I consider myself very lucky to have had such great parents. They were strict but they loved me. They helped me become the person I am today. 

I miss them both every day. 

Missing Stories

Not long ago I stumbled onto a hard drive that belonged to mom. On it I found folders and folders of photos. Amongst those folders were so many of my baby pictures I've never seen. 

Being the second child, I have long since come to grips with having fewer baby photos than my older sister. I get it. The first on is exciting. The second is - well - the second. And, to be fair, we didn't take photos in the late 1960s like we do today. Far from it. 

So having found these photos I knew immediately I wanted to scrapbook them. I wanted to begin at the beginning and work my way through the 70's and 80's of my life. 

It has been so much fun looking at these photos. There's only one problem. I have no stories to go with them. And the main story telling, Mom, isn't with me to tell me. 

I'll admit this thought made me sad. I have so many questions about some of the photos I've found. Like this one? Why? What is the story with the McDonald's hat? I know it's 1969 but I haven't a clue why my sister and I are wearing these hats. 

I've scrapped a handful of the photos. And without having stories it makes it very hard to journal on them. I could say on every page, "I don't know the story here but..." 

And that got me thinking about making up my own stories. I could, technically, rewrite my whole childhood and no one would know. That poses an interesting question about rewriting your history and whether it's the right thing to do. Truth be told, I'm not creative of a storyteller so doubt I'd come up with anything overly interesting. 

I decided today that without the stories, that's going to have to be ok. Scrapping the photos has to be enough. My family who will look at these pages won't care that there's no story (I hope). Then once I'm gone from this world, no one will care either so having a story isn't as important as I want it to be. 

But dammit...I want the stories. I want to sit with mom and look at each photo and ask her to tell me what was going on. It hurts deeply that I can't. It will be my one big regret in my life that I didn't ask more questions about her stories and mine. 

Some stories I know, or do I? I see photos like this one of me sitting on a desk at my grandparents house. I have fond memories of playing on that desk. I have not so fond memories of having "time outs" on that desk too. I wonder, frequently, if the memories I have are real, or are the one's I've created BECAUSE of this photo? I'll never know for sure. 

So if you're reading this, and your mom and dad are still her, sit with them and get the stories. Take the time to ask questions about the stories of your childhood and theirs. Write those stories down. Because one day, you won't have them there to ask. 

The Story of the Mexican Meatloaf

Randomly stories will pop into my mind of something that happened with the folks and I. I suspect this happens with everyone who loses a parent. Some times the story is funny, other times they make me sad. One story pops up every now and then and it makes me smile. The story of the Mexican Meatloaf. 

Back in the day, Mom and Dad were really good about trying out new recipes. I suspect that's where I get it from, though I'm more extreme at it then they were. Mom had found this recipe and wanted to try it. She showed it to dad and he was on board. 

The night comes and mom makes this Mexican Meatloaf. Dad and I loved it. It was so much better, in my opinion, than regular meatloaf. Not to mention I really like Mexican flavors. Dad and I were thrilled because this meant, to us, that this would be something new in our rotation of recipes. We would be wrong in that assumption.

Turned out mom hated it. Dad and I couldn't believe it. How? It was "soooo good". But she stood her ground on her dislike. Dad made a comment that we'd have to make it again to check and see. 

Fast forward several months and Dad asked about making this again. Mom said she "lost the recipe". She even went so far as to look through the recipe book and the gray tin box. "Nope", she said, "It's not in here.". Dad and I took her at her word. 

We joked about the Mexican Meatloaf for years. We'd say something to mom about how she probably tore up the recipe because she hated it. She swore she did not, it must have just gotten misplaced. 

We never had Mexican Meatloaf again. 

Fast forward again, after Mom passed, I brought home her gray box of recipes. And as I was going through them I found this! 

I couldn't believe it. I literally laughed out loud and said, "You got us mom!" She had that recipe all along and hated it so much she didn't want to make it again. She didn't lie when she said she couldn't find it - she just ignored it. 

Truth be told, I've not made this again either. Meatloaf is a lot for a single person who doesn't eat leftovers. I may have to add this to a Sunday dinner or a book club dinner. 

For as long as I live, I will smile every time I think of Mexican Meatloaf. It's probably not an overly funny story to most people. I suspect it's one of those "you had to be there". We thought it was funny and I will continue to remember it as a funny story. 

God I miss Mom. 

A very pleasant surpise

Today didn't start out too well. I had a Mammo appt this morning at 8:40 am. I set out on my way to get there and have plenty of time. First, I had a hard time finding the front door to get in. Then when I did, I was told my appt was at another location. 

Let me back up a little. My appointment was supposed to be for Thursday. But I had to reschedule it. Oddly when I called, they had an opening almost immediately on Saturday. So I took it. Now, the person who rescheduled me didn't say anything about a change in location. I assumed I was booked where I was previously booked. I was not. 

So I missed the appointment. That just put me in a bad mood. I swear everything I touched from there on out just didn't feel right. I ran over a curb at the grocery store. I cut my finger when getting seran wrap out. Spilled wax from a candle on my stove top. I could go on. 

In an attempt to get my mind out of the sour mood I decided to do some scrapbooking. I did a couple of pages and then decided I wanted to review photos from San Francisco 2008 - which is the next conversion I'm doing. 

As I was going through the photos I came across a video I took of the cable car turn around in downtown SF. I thought I'd play the video for fun. 

I was stunned immediately. On the video is mom talking. I had to stop for a moment. I haven't heard her voice for 6 years. I watched that video a dozen times to just hear her voice.

I won't lie, I may have teared up a little. 

What a gift I found. I will treasure this forever now. 

Another Mother’s Day without Her

I didn't know yet how much this woman who is cradling me would impact my life. 

I didn't know here either.

I'm the blondy on the right

Or here

1984

1989

Or even here

The Last Mother's Day 2016

Being part of a motherless club has not been fun. I miss my mom every minute of every day. I’ve learned that it wasn’t about the big stuff that I shared with her. No. It was all the small stuff that I shared with her that I can no longer experience.

I’ve been part of this unfortunate club for 6.5 years now. I’m certainly not the only one in this club and know there are people who have spent more years in it than me. I knew when she died there’d be a lot of “firsts” that would happen. The first birthday without her. The first holiday season without her. The first promotion without her. The first Mother's Day without her. These are the days that creep up on me and just plain hurt. I was misinformed that the original grief would fade and the pain would "go away". But this hurt lasts way longer than the grief did.

The day that is BY FAR the hardest is Mother’s Day. I’ve had to go through 6 of these days and they get no easier. I have no reason to think the 7th will be any different. They hurt as much today as the first one did. It’s a day that I’m sadden by the woman I miss so much. Who I no longer have to celebrate today with. 

I feel out of place on a day everyone around me is celebrating with their moms. They are celebrating the day with a person I so desperately wish I could celebrate with. I only wish and hope that they all recognize how fortunate they are. Please go hug your mom. Or tell her you love her. Or just call her.

Time hasn’t stopped me from wanting to hide in a hole for the entire day and not come out until all the celebrating is done. Time doesn’t make me forget that my Mom was my best friend and she’s supposed to still be here with me.

While I will wish all the moms out there a Happy Mother’s day, I caution the children to hold tight to your mom. Hug her. Tell her you love her. And never, EVER, take the time you have with her for granted. It goes was too quickly and one day, sadly, you too will be part of this motherless club.

3,153,600 Minutes

Here we are.  I can’t believe it’s been six years. I think about mom every single day; multiple times a day. The number of times that I still want to pick up the phone and call her is outrageously large. I miss her.

 I’ve been extraordinarily bitchy the last week, and it wasn’t until yesterday, that it dawned on me why. The week before mom died, we spent in the hospital sitting with her. Some praying for her. Most of us just talking to her or being with her. And all of us feeling the enormity of what life was going to be like without her. How could we cope? How could we go on? I think, subconsciously, my mind was remembering this week 6 years ago and that was putting me in a horrible mood. 

I can still remember exactly what was going on when I got the call. I had ordered pizza for dinner. I was still working and finishing up some report I was working on. My phone rang. I glanced at it and say it was Jeannette Wraspir. I ignored it. Then my phone rang again and it was Jeannette again. I knew something was up then. 

She very gently told me what happened. The words that stick out even today - "no brain activity". I wasn't sure what it meant but I knew I had to get on the next plane to Tucson. 

 5 days later, at 5:30 in the morning, the hotel phone rang. The doctor called to tell me that she had passed in her sleep in the night. We all had decided to go home the night before and we'd get a good night sleep and come see her in the morning. Us three girls stood at the foot of her bed telling her we were going home and we'd see her in the morning. I said to her that if she was ready to go, we were ready for her to be at peace. 

I hung up the phone from the doctor and sat on the bed wondering how I was going to get through the day without her. Then how is it going to get through the week. Then month. Then year. How was I going to get through all of the “first". The first Mother’s Day, the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas all of it. I just didn’t know how I was going to survive. And yet here I am six years later having survived the time without mom. And maybe a stronger person because of it.  

Time has made it easier. Most of the time. But there are still days that grief reaches deep into my soul and pulls out whatever is left there.

Six years ago today the loss of mom crushed me. I never imagined I would ever be strong and steady again. Losing her crush me in a way I never imagined it would and yet it made me stronger in a way I never imagined it could.

Grief has no timeline. There isn’t a single day that suddenly the sun will come up and I’ll feel 100% healed. It doesn’t work that way. Instead, it’s like a roller coaster where you may not be able to see the twist and turns around the corner but you can be damn sure they’re there waiting to toss you around. f

I'll get past today. I'll survive the grief of today. Tomorrow I might even smile a little thinking of something Mom would have loved or some inside joke we had. I'll survive. She would want me to, in fact, expect it from me. 

I miss her. 

I have a ridiculous amount of...

I saw this on Facebook tonight and I thought of a funny Mom and Dad story. 

It was a hot July day in Tucson. Dad had just passed away and I was down helping Mom. I didn't know what I'd be helping her with, but I knew just being there would be help enough. 

We had finished dinner. A HUGE rib eye steak, baked potato and a salad (she made the meal in Dad's memory), when Mom hopped up from her chair and started frantically walking around the house. She was opening drawers, cabinets and moving things on shelves. I could not figure out what she was doing. She was clearly looking for something, and she was focused in finding it. 

A good 15 minutes goes buy and she comes back into the living room. She plops down on the sofa by me and dumps a box full of something onto the coffee table. 

"Look at this! Just look at this," she said. 

I looked down and there was AT LEAST 30 nail clippers in all shapes and sizes. 

I, of course, was very confused. When I looked back up at Mom to ask why, and what, and why again, I saw tears in her eyes. Then she said, "You dad could never find his nail clippers. He always bought another pair when he was out. He had them everywhere. Everywhere." I still wasn't sure where she was going with this, then we proceeded to talk all night about how if Dad could have one thing, why not have 10 of them. It was a joke in our family with Dad that when he'd go to the store to buy something on sale, he'd be so many of whatever it was. He'd say it was on sale so stock up. 

Fast forward 4 years I'm dazed and stunned cleaning out Mom's house. She died of a stroke and I flew to Tucson the month after to clean out her house. 

I wasn't really paying attention to what I was doing. I was sorta floating through the house moving things to and from, but not really doing anything. I was still a bit in shock that Mom was gone. I was sitting at her desk and noticed a drawer that had a couple of scissors in it. I jumped up and started rushing through the house picking up scissors EVERYWHERE. I brought them all into the kitchen and dumped them on the table. There were 24 pair of scissors! Who needs that many scissors? 

The family there helping me thought I was losing it, but I started laughing. I laughed and laughed and laughed. I told them the story of Mom after dad died, and here I was after mom died doing the same thing, but with scissors! 

Ironically enough, she also had about 20 nail clippers too. They may have been dad's for all I know. 

For me? What do I have a ridiculous amount of? Pens. I'm a pen whore. I have at least 25 here by my sofa. I have at least 50 upstairs in the scrapbook room. I have a dozen in my office. I have 5-10 in my night stand. I have 4 in my purse. I tell you, they are everywhere in this house. 

What about you?

Why have you forsaken me...

I could feel it happening. As the plane slowly descended into Phoenix. The heart gripping reality that I was going to Arizona and there would be no Mom there to see. My heart felt tight. Sad. I know this feeling well. It happens frequently when I do things that once was a part of mom’s life or was something significant in our lives. It’s that cold memory that bubbles up that you will be doing this without her. In her spirit maybe, but without her.

The plane landed without incident and I was thrust into the hot Phoenix air. That dessert smell and warm arid air reminds me of home. It's a trigger for Mom memories. I pushed those memories aside and got on with what I needed to do. Get a car and meet a friend for lunch.

During lunch I kept any conversations about my mom to a minimum. My emotions were on a hair trigger and there was no telling what would get me going. I didn't want to be a slobbering, crying mess over my enchiladas. My friend and I met at a sketchy looking Mexican restaurant called Cocina Madrigal. It has rave reviews on Yelp and she’d been dying to try it. Yelp was not wrong. We started with Oaxaca Fundido (basically bubbling cheese of goodness) and we both had the Birria Beef enchiladas. So amazing. The flavor of birria is one that I love and not one I get a lot of up in the Pacific Northwest.

Birria Burritos from Cocina Madrigal

My scrapping, former work buddy, scrapping enabler, Anandi. 

We chatted on and off about work, why I was down, and scrapbooking. But we stayed away from any "mom" talk. She knows. She’s aware that my mom had been in Tucson and that I miss her horribly. Whether she steered away from Mom talk intentionally or not, it was nice to just sit and chat about anything and everything. But I'm secretly glad she didn't ask any “mom” questions.

I drove her back to her house and we hugged goodbye after a tour of her gorgeous house. As I returned to the restaurant to pick up Janet, I wondered why I felt relatively "ok". I anticipated tears. I anticipated sadness. And all I had was a very full tummy and a bit of heartburn. I decided to not wallow in it and just see where the emotional roller coaster would take me. It was anybody's guess. 

I arrived back at the restaurant and met up with Janet and her friends she had been down to visit. I was worried that the moment I saw her I’d lose it (I could tell you a story about her offering me peanuts while cleaning out Mom's house. She left the room to get them and I was fine. She came back in and I was a blubbering mess. To this day we joke about not bringing me peanuts.) I opened the door to a whiff of fried tortillas, cheese and spice expecting to feel something. Nope. Nothing. I kept those emotions in check. “huh”, I thought, “ I might be getting better at this.” But how long could it last? How long before the dam burst open? We were seeing a bunch of family and friends that were close to Mom. We would be going to places that Mom went. Places she took us to. Where in all those times would I lose it? If not now, when? 

I was prepared though. I had Kleenex in my back pack and I was ready for any level of cry. Be it gross cry or simple sniffle. Because that's how grief works. You don't know when it'll hit you and you don't know if it'll be a light touch on your shoulder of it it'll take you to your knees. 

As Janet and I drove south towards Tucson, the scenery is amazing. It’s beautiful really. It’s no PNW beautiful, but a different type of beauty. Desert beauty. I love the desert. Always have. I think it’s because we lived in Lancaster for so many years and I grew to appreciate all the desert had. But the Tucson desert is different. It’s scattered with these crazy saguaro cacti that stand so boldly. Proud of the years it has taken for them to get to where they are. The years without water. And yet, they survived. I just love them. Each one has their own unique personality. None the same. 

We reached our hotel, The Day’s Inn & Suites in Marana. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean. We dropped our luggage, took a moment to refresh ourselves and “rest” after travel.

We had a list of food places we wanted to visit. Food was a big deal in our family life. If you knew either of my parents you'd know that food was what we bonded over. It was the way we showed love and appreciation. It's comfort. 

So it should be no big surprise that we had a list of places we had to go. Each restaurant has a story about Mom. Each one “special” for it’s own reason. They won’t mean anything to anyone else, but they mean something to us. Our list included In N Out, Cracker Barrel, Sonoran Hot dogs from Guero Canelo, and a steak house right off the I10 freeway– though we couldn’t remember the name of it.

Our first stop was In N Out. Mom LOVED In N Out. There was a 100% guarantee that we’d stop there during some point of my visits with mom. Always. They didn't have them in Tucson when they first moved down there and I can remember how excited she was when she first heard one was coming to Tucson. It was a good hour from her house. All the way across town. (And “across town” in Tucson is not an easy feat. It’s spread out.) Still, she was going. She didn’t care. She loaded dad into the car and off they went to find her beloved In N Out. They then started popping up in locations closer to her, which made her quest just that much easier.

Me? I think they’re good burgers, but I’m not IN LOVE with them like mom was. In N Out now is a stop in honor of mom. We go because she would have. We get the double double because she would have. We get a chocolate shake because she would have. And we get fries because…you got it…she would have. This time though Janet got the double double and chocolate shake. I got a simple cheese burger and fries (well done) for us to share. 

As we sat eating the burgers mom loved with the workers in the crisp white uniforms with a red apron held together with a huge safety pin and the smell of fries animal style in the air, we talked about her and how it was a given we’d find an In N Out. Surely this would get my tears flowing. This was Mom. This was something anyone who mentioned In N Out would say her name after. I was sure I’d start tearing up. But there was nothing. Nothing. What’s happening? Have I cried all I can? Are there no more tears for mom? I consoled myself with knowing it was still early in our trip and that I should continue to be prepared because, well grief. Grief is a cruel mistress.

The next day we got up had a horrible breakfast at the hotel and we headed to Mt. Lemmon to find the vista point where we scattered Mom's ashes. As I brushed my teeth I was thinking about 5 years ago and how so very different I am now. The things that have happened in my life that Mom would be so proud of - and maybe some she wouldn't be. 

The day we scattered Mom's ashes was windy, rainy and blustery. It seemed fitting considering the task we had in front of us. I mean Hollywood shows us funerals and it's always raining, so why couldn't real life be like that. I had absolutely no idea where this vista point was. I had done some research and we figured out how to get to Mt. Lemmon. As we drove along we passed a Safeway and we both yelled, "That's where we met to carpool!". We knew we were going the right way. 

We started up the windy road that leads to the top of Mt. Lemmon. It's a narrow, two line road that transports you up the side of the rugged mountain. Around every hair pin turn I expected to find this vista. And then, there it was! The Babad Do'ag vista. We found our way. I pushed all emotion down again. I just needed to be there for a moment. Remembering her. As we parked and got out of the car we were hit by a what felt like a gale force wind. My god it's windy up there. We grabbed out crab hats and started walking toward the trail that we walked down to scatter her ashes. Then we laughed because part of the trees around there were scorched. We joked that mom was definitely there. We spent a couple of minutes there. We took our crab photo and we hopped back in the car and took off.

View from where we scattered Mom's ashes

Nothing. No tears. No thought of tears. Nothing. Dry as the desert. By now I'm starting to wonder if, by chance, I had turned off all those emotions too much. 

Next stop was to visit our cousins Gary and Jeannette. They live in the same retirement community mom did. In fact, they’re the reason mom moved there. We knew we'd drive by the last house she lived in and I knew this would be the time I lose it. It just had to be. I had so many fond memories there tied up with the worst weeks of my life cleaning out her place. 

We found it easily. Janet remembered half the directions and I remembered half. I slowly rolled past it making comments about how it hasn't changed and "was it always blue and white?". Anything to keep my mind away from drudging up all those old, painful memories. 

After lunch we followed Gary and Jeannette back to their place to sit and chat for a bit. Gary was dad's cousin and was like a brother to him. These two have been a significant part of my life for so many years that I've lost count. Gary is a quiet, kind man with a head full of graying hair. His smile makes you feel welcome and that he was very interested in anything you had to say. Jeannette was the classy one. She was always put together. Nails always done. Not a hair on her head dared to be out of place. Her style was refined without being pretentious. But Jeannette was dying. The doctors diagnosed her with a brain tumor several months ago. She opted to not undergo any treatment of any kind. The doctors told her it wouldn't really gain her any more months. They told her she'd lose her ability to talk and walk within weeks. And yet, sitting across from me in their small park model was a woman who's determined to not let cancer win. She shows no sign of slowing down. Her hair may be not so in place anymore, but I somehow think she doesn't mind. 

We sat and talked about the old days. Recounting funny memories of dad buying a dozen pineapples just because they were on sale and how Mom sent everyone home that Easter with a pine apples. We talked about their daughter and how well she was doing and about their grandson's pending visit. It was a delightful time. 

After we noticed Gary falling asleep as we chatted, we decided it was time to go. We hugged each other tightly. Jeannette whispering in my ear how very glad she was that we took the time to come visit them. That hug. That strong, unwavering hug. I won't soon forget it. I felt, immediately, that would be the last hug I ever had from her. And having lost a good hugger in my life (BigBro), I knew not to squander for a minute that time wrapped in her arms. 

We drove out of the park and I felt a little looser. Like a tightly wound yo-yo that had found it's last drop. I felt joy in a place that had held such sadness for me. 

Jeannette, Gary, Janet and myself

Crab shot for mom.

While chatting with Gary and Jeannette, Gary was able to remember the steak house off I10 that we used to go to. The Silver Saddle. The plan was set. Janet and I would go back to the hotel for a little break (grabbing some coffee on our way) and we'd eat out at the Silver Saddle. 

This steak house...I can't even tell you how good it is. It's PACKED almost every night and on a Saturday night you were sure to have an hour wait. I dropped Janet at the door and drove in circles looking for a spot to park the horrid little rental car we had. 

Inside the restaurant I didn't see Janet immediately, but saw a sign pointing to the cocktail lounge. I've traveled with Janet enough to know she was already seated with an ice cold margarita on the rocks in her hands. I sat down next to hear and ordered a beer. We had about a 60 minute wait so we figured we'd order an appetizer. That was a rookie mistake. We should have known that would fill us up and not leave room for the steak and potato. We sat in the bar not talking about anything in particular. It wasn't until we were seated that I started (did you see that? I started...) the conversation about Mom. All the times we'd been to this restaurant. Who was with us? Why we came? And on and on. I felt no need to cry. No lingering shutters in my throat that announced sobbing was on it's way. Nothing. Nada. Zip. 

The "dinner" salad came with fresh baked rolls, and not long after the 10oz sirloin came cooked to perfection with a fully loaded baked potato on the side. Mom probably would have ordered the prime rib, but you can bet she'd have had the salad and that fully loaded potato as "loaded" as they could get it. I am not sure what exactly they do to their steaks. They don't season them in any way. The grill is out where you can watch them drop your steak on and you can watch as they grill it. The whole place smells of burning wood and cooking steak fat. And when you roll yourself out of this place and regret eating every single bite, you too smell like burning wood and steak fat. 

Back at the hotel in our stretchy pants, we sat quietly. Each checking FB, emails, texts, etc. I sat wondering about Mom and what she'd have done in the last 5 years if she was still with us. I wondered if she'd still be working at the Mail Room at the Voyager. I wondered if I'd still come down to visit every Christmas and each day I was down visiting we'd have a "date" with some friend or relative who was just "dying to see me". My Mom. The social butterfly. 

Sunday we woke to another beautiful day in the desert. The wind was blowing, the sun was out and the sky was blue. Today we'd be going to have a Sonoran Hot Dog for lunch and visit with our family friend Roger. 

But before we did all that, Janet jokingly said, "we should stop by Sprouts in honor of your dad."

I know this trip seems to be all about Mom, and it is in so many ways. But dad lived in Tucson too for a while and he LOVED Sprouts. Well, Dad loved to grocer shop. Which is where I get it from. He'd get the Tuesday paper that had all the grocery sales in it and he'd write his list. He'd drive all the way across town to save 3 cents on tomatoes. And then he'd buy 10 lbs of them. 

We found the Sprouts dad frequented and we talked about how often Mom would tell us to NOT let dad talk us into stopping at Sprouts for "just a few things". Remember those pineapples? Yep. Dad bought them at Sprouts. 

Dad's favorite produce location.

Now it was time for lunch. Off we went to Guero Canelo. 

carne asada street tacos
and a Sonoran Hot dog

I wish I could remember how Mom discovered this place. I'm sure one of her friends introduced her to the Sonoran Hot dog and the rest is, as they say, history. This place was almost always lunch and was never not on the list to go to when I came down. She took everyone and anyone to this place. None of us from the PNW had any idea what a Sonoran Dog was. And Mom was going to introduce the world to them. 

A Sonoran Hot dog is, as you can guess, from the Sonora region in Mexico. It's a hotdog wrapped in bacon and grilled. It's then put in a bililo- style bun. It's a little sweeter than a normal hotdog bun and has the cut in the top, so it's like a bowl. The dog is topped with pinto beans, onions, pico de gallo, mayo and mustard. It sounds odd, I know, but that combination of ingredients is unlike anything you've ever had. 

We also wanted to have some of their street tacos. So we opted for a single taco each and then we'd split the hot dog. Their street tacos are full of meat. We put on the cabbage, some pico de gallo and squirted some lime juice on them! These are the street tacos that all other street tacos are compared to. I've found some very close here in the PNW, but none really compare. 

Full of Mexican food, we drove up Oracle to Oro Valley to see Roger. We were early so we thought we'd swing by the Catalina house. This was the first house they bought in Tucson. It sits up on a hill overlooking the Catalina mountains. Mom called them "her mountains." She loved the view from this house. This house holds a lot of memories too. It's where dad died. It's where we had countless family gatherings. Where dad made his tritip or ribs or standing rib. It's where we celebrated Christmas. Where we laughed, cried, and drank a little too much. It was home. 

The Catalina house sitting high on the hill.
It was a "desert rose" color - and now it's blue.

The view of the Catalinas. You can see Mt.
Lemmon's snow covered top peeking out.

We parked just down from the house. There was no way I was driving up the road to it. I wasn't really sure I could even see the house without some tears. Instead, as I sat at the bottom of that hill and looked up I was reminded of all the love in that house. All the hugs, all the laughter, all the food, all the everything that Mom and Dad gave to us, their family. I think everyone has a story or two about being at that house, and that makes me smile. 

After the afternoon with Roger, we had dinner plans with good family friends Jack & Suzi. Mom met Jack and Suzi when her cousin Ted was visiting. Jack and Ted when to high school together. And as Mom did, once she met you, you were family. Jack and Suzi became part Wraspir. Mom and Dad traveled with them all over the place. Then when Dad died, they became a sounding board for Mom. Suzi and mom were the best of friends. 

Mexican food again and again we were stuffed with real, authentic Mexican food. When Jack and Suzi walked in we instantly noticed Suzi had a brace around her neck. I looked at Janet and said, "What has she done now?" Suzi is a notorious clutz. This time, she tripped while at the trainers and nicked a nerve in her neck. 

Suzi is slowing down. Her dementia was obvious 5 years ago. Mom was concerned about it and spoke frequently with Jack about it. Having gone through it with Dad, she knew the signs. Now, 5 years later, it's getting worse. I just smiled after the 6th time she asked how long we were in town and patiently answered her, "We leave on Monday."  Her humor is still with her though. When we asked how long she had to wear the brace she told us she could take it off when she was eating. Then with a gleam in her eye said, "I think I should add some meals to my day."

Molinto Special

Jack, Suzi, Janet and me

The two of them go together like peanut butter and jelly. Married for a thousand years. They are perfect together. And they make me smile. My heart was full that day. As I hugged Suzi, I was reminded of my hug with Jeannette and wondered if this was the last hug with her too. 

After all that. Still no tears. I sat in my hotel bed with the Olympics playing in the background thinking about the last three days. Wondering why were no tears coming? Had I beaten grief? Or had I gotten to the point where tears were no longer needed to remember Mom? Where remembering now was not followed by days of uncontrollable crying and sadness. Where remembering no longer made my heart ache. Did this make me a bad person? Wasn't I supposed to feel sad all the time? 

The answer came somewhat easy to me. It's not acceptance. It's not denial. It's not anger or bargaining. It's not bad. And I'm not bad. I've just reached that point where Mom is always with me. Where I no longer needed to shed a tear every time I thought about her. I was stronger now. Grief will still be there, but it won't make me cry in the middle of a store with strangers looking at me like I lost my mind. 

Monday we headed home. Janet's flight left a couple of hours before mine. We got to the Tucson airport early - thank god because the security line was insane. We had a beer and recounted the last couple of days and all the fun we had. As we sat there I thought about all the people we got to see this trip and I think about how each hug that I gave each one of them really felt like it might be the last hug. 

All of them aging gracefully - or in Suzi's case not so gracefully. All of them slowly changing. All of them I love you so very much and will miss them dearly. And yet I’m very glad that I get this opportunity to come down and visit with them perhaps for the last time. 

This whole time my emotions have been in check I have not tear it up or cried. 

Janet's group to board was called. She walked down the hallway to the plane and turned the corner. She was out of sight. I picked up my backpack and burst into tears.