They made everything easy for me, from entrance to this world right up to today, the single day I can mark their exit.
Today in 2001 Dad took his last breath in hospice, the cancer winning the battle [for what?]. Today in 2011 Mom too, maybe her missing him that much, hers an unanticipated heart stoppage (except for her earlier in the day mention to cousin Bruce of jaw pain- please do not ignore this warning).
Left for memories all the things they did together Before Me, all the things I try to remember, and knowing there is more I have forgotten.
Forever enshrined in 1970s vintage:
Memories now enshrined in the office Cori and I set up in our house. The one clown I could manage having from Mom’s massive cabinet of ceramic clowns, my sisters and I all in agreement was a bit much. Why she took them up later in life? I know she told me- now I forget. And the photo memories of Ocean City, those same annual family vacations I can peer into.
They were so together, and too make things easier on us, they even managed to have their yahrzeit the same day.
Mom, 2011 and Dad 2001. I remember I do. I feel you both so much, I see butterflies and I sense you in the flowers.
Update: My sister sent a message; she found via some Google-based research she could get digital versions of the images inside the plastic telescopes (which are likely just cropped slide film images). Really tricky- she took a photo through the hole with her phone camera. The images were sweet to see, very young all of us, very 1970s. I’m going to keep them, but leaving the images to be conjured by the reader.