I have just arrived back from the trip I took and all went well. Mum only noticed I was gone today!! This is different from, say around December, when she’d notice I was not here and get upset. There was a time when it was hard to go out for supper because she’d cry and say I’d been killed, but now she doesn’t notice much. She’s quite confused but otherwise well considering.
This morning I went to a flea market in the city I was at. It was quite interesting, but what caught my attention was old photo albums being sold as well as old pictures of first communions, birthdays and so on. I read the back of one picture, on which was written a note in beautiful handwriting saying that the writer hoped there would be many happy Christmases together. All of this made me quite sad, melancholic even – what’s left of a life sold for curiosity collectors at a flea market.
I’ve already said that I want my pictures burned. In fact I might do this in a few years, burn everything like on a pyre—better than ending up in a flea market!! (I better not read Ecclesiastes right now! Better read I Corinthians 15.)
I remember reading about refugee boys who were called ‘The Lost Boys’ and I remember one saying, “We’re called the lost boys, but I’m not lost, God knows where I am.” Somehow, I feel that is appropriate for mum, old, forgotten, because as you get older, it happens but not forgotten to God.
Like Dylan Thomas says in his poem, ‘It was my thirtieth year to heaven’, in mum’s case, ‘It is my ninety-fourth year to heaven’ and in heaven, mum who liked to ice skate, who read books by the score, who played the piano, who had prayer lists, who contribued to missions, who gave good advice to people, who preached good sermons, who gave good Bible studies, who cooked really well and made delicious Maid of Honour Tarts, quiches that were lovely, and on my birthday always made me a three-layer chocolate cake with butter cocanut icing, will be back, will be renewed, restored. I miss my mum very very much and I’m tired of seeing her suffer. There I’ve said, ‘I’m so tired of seeing her suffer’.
On the 20th I take mum to the dentist to pull her tooth. Here’s hoping and praying that she will be calm that a.m.
You are a disruptor. The delivery of health care starts with you, continues because of you, and ends with you. Let's disrupt together to make the world better for family caregivers. 
G-J
I have also seen where people’s old family photos are being sold in antique malls and things like that. I sure don’t want my pictures to end up there! When my Mom passed away, I brought all 50 albums plus loose photos here. I don’t know what to do with them as they date back to her military career in WWII, and I don’t know the people in the pictures. There are duplicates and triplicates of pictures of our son, and I feel bad throwing those out. So, after three years, they are still in the closet!
Regarding burning the pictures, I’ve read the same suggestion about diaries.
Denise
Hi Dilys–I just love this post. You create such wonderful images for us in your writing. I felt like I was right there with you at the flea market. And, your description of your mom is quite poignant.
I love the line from the Dylan Thomas poem. How beautiful!
Wishing you and yours a heavenly day.
Bette
“but not forgotten to God.” So true.
Today in church, we had a presentation from the Gideons. The man shared about all the Bibles that have been placed and handed out in so many places, and talked about the lives that have been impacted. As I glanced over at my mother, her head was down and she was in and out of sleep. She didn’t remember. Her and my dad were active in the Gideons for years. I think I miss her too Dilys, as you describe missing your mother.
After the service, she made no comment about the speaker or topic. Noone at the church would ever picture her any other way. You’re right, God knows.
Thank you for your post Dilys, and I hope all goes smoothly for both your mother and you on the 20th.