“Remember always, you are the gift! Be a gift to everyone
who enters your life, and to everyone whose life you enter.”
— Neale Donald Walsch
The first sketches Vera watched me do were from Mostar, Bosnia.
I was putting together a project about my time in the city last fall, and I wanted to do a few spot illustrations to include with it. I chose two of my favorite symbols from the week – a pomegranate, and a gold metal tray holding a ‘Coffee Bosnia’ set-up.
Vera lived on Vashon Island, which you might remember reading about in a couple of Slow Moments posts from last month. It’s only a 20-minute ferry ride from West Seattle, but it might as well be a world away. Vera’s house is set right on the edge of Quartermaster Harbor – literally. She and her late husband Duke built it in the 1970s, before regulations were put in place preventing houses from being set so close to the shore.
But they got their house up before all that regulatory nonsense, and Duke even designed it himself.
The house feels like it was meant to be on the water – the entire living room wall is curved and made of single-paned windows, so that there is little distinction between the world outside and that within. It didn’t take long for me to set up shop at the dining room table, where I could work on sketching projects while keeping one eye peeled for flocks of grebes and lone bald eagles.
“I feel like I could just pick that pomegranate right up off the page and eat it,” Vera said when I showed her the finished sketch. I could only smile. I’d been staying with her for just two days, but already she was proving to be delightful company. That night at dinner, I showed her the rest of my sketches from Mostar. I lingered over images of my favorite café, of a family’s back garden, and of the famous Stari Most bridge, telling her about the people I’d met while sketching their city.
“I feel like I’ve just been to Bosnia,” she said after I closed the sketchbook. “You’re really doing something special. It’s an opportunity, and a desire.”
I felt tears prick my eyes. I’ll be honest and say my faith in what I’m doing, and in my path through life, wavers far too often for my liking – but the universe is always sending me reassurance in the most unlikely of places.
And sometimes, through the most unlikely of people – like 94-year-old Vera.
The second sketch Vera watched me do was of a simple bough of flowers, for my sister to use on a wedding invitation she was designing.
“Now what are you working on?” Vera asked the next morning as I once again pulled out my paint box and pens. I explained the project to her, and as I worked, she sat behind me on the ledge of her fireplace, watching the flowers bloom to life on the page.
I first met Vera last summer, the grandmother of my dear friend Erin. Although Erin is from the Bay Area and now lives in Madrid, every summer she makes it a point to come up to Vashon. When she heard I was already planning to be in Seattle last July, she invited me to come stay with her and her grandmother for a few days, regaling me with tales of picking fresh blackberries and foraging for clams at low tide. I was sold.
And when Erin heard that I had a couple of weeks to spare between my visit to San Francisco this January and when I would be moving into the yurt, she asked if I might be interested in staying with her grandmother on Vashon again.
Despite being 94, Vera was still living on her own and would be happy for the company.
Within days of my arrival, Vera and I had established a little routine. We both hated getting up early, and would sheepishly come downstairs at 9 or 10, slightly groggy and slow to wake up to the world. We both loved to start our mornings with coffee – a mocha for Vera and good old-fashioned drip coffee for me. We both loved to drink said coffee by the fire, watching the gulls swoop past outside while forever hoping to see an eagle, after we’d spotted one on my first morning at the house.
Our days passed quietly. She left the TV on most of the time – daytime talk shows in the morning, cooking shows in the afternoon – and would watch it while sitting by the fire, often filing her nails. Sometimes she’d sit at the table and refill her vitamin containers, or open the mail, or scan the local newspaper for that week’s specials. She seemed to enjoy staying busy, in small but industrious ways.
Although I’m not normally much of a cook, I enjoyed cooking for Vera. Neither of us cared about eating the same thing two meals in a row, so I’d whip up a great vat of mac ’n’ cheese or spaghetti with vodka sauce and Italian sausage and we would eat it until it was gone. One night, in the mood for a salad, I pulled out everything that was in the crisper – thick chunks of lettuce, cherry tomatoes, green peppers, avocado, and red onion.
I told Vera what I was throwing together and she sat there thinking for a moment and said, “You know, we might have some blue cheese crumbles in there, too.” Sure enough, I found them in the back of the fridge, and they added just the right amount of zing to the mix.
“I think that was the best salad I’ve ever had,” she declared afterwards, and so we had it four more times while I was there.
But I think I speak for both of us when I say our favorite time of day was the evening. When we sat down to dinner my first night, Vera asked me if I would like a drink. I motioned to my glass of water and told her I already had one.
Without missing a beat, Vera said, “Well you know I always like to have a vodka right about now.”
And so from that point on, every night at 6pm, or what we liked to call drink time, I’d pour us a couple of vodkas – Vera’s on the rocks, mine with orange soda (I’m not nearly as hardcore). We’d clink our glasses and say ‘cheers’ and sip them while watching Jeopardy, and then I’d find us a cheesy rom-com to watch. Vera had recently gotten a Netflix subscription, and we both enjoyed putting it to good use.
I wasn’t getting as much writing done on Vashon as I’d hoped I would, but I knew I was only there for two weeks and tried not to let it get to me.
I knew that I would soon be holed up in a yurt with nothing to do but write.
Although there were a few more in between, the last sketch I did at Vera’s house I actually couldn’t let her see me do, because this sketch was meant for her.
On the day before I was due to leave Vashon and head up to the yurt, I waited until Vera was upstairs getting dressed and then pulled out my sketchbook and paints. I wanted to leave her with something before I went – some small token to let her know how grateful I was for these last two weeks.
I had a few different ideas of what to sketch. Vera had traveled a lot during her life – her husband Duke had been a pilot for Pan Am – and she often told me about her favorite moments from around the world: walking through fields of tulips outside Amsterdam, sleeping in a hut in South Africa with two of her daughters, riding a camel on Cyprus and a donkey on Santorini. I considered all of these places as potential subjects, thought about composing a scene of tulips and windmills, but truth be told, each idea fell flat for me. I wanted to sketch something that held meaning for us both.
So in the end I chose the eagle, the one I saw my first morning on Vashon. He’d sat right on the dock leading out from Vera’s house, and at the very moment I went to the window with my camera, he’d taken flight, spreading his magnificent wings and revealing the catch-of-the-day in his left talon.
I can’t say why that eagle meant so much to Vera and me, only that we never stopped looking for him – and that he never returned again while I was there. What we usually saw instead was a seagull sitting at the end of her dock – no matter the weather, there was almost always one there, withstanding the ferocious gusts of wind and rain that sometimes blew through the island.
“We call him Duke,” Vera told me one day. “He always said he wanted to come back in his next life as a bird. He said he didn’t want to stop flying.”
She told me a phrase she and her husband used to say to each other – Fly right – and it stuck in my head. Not because of the seagull, but because of the eagle we’d glimpsed.
There was just something about having witnessed such a sight together that sealed our little bond from the beginning.
What I couldn’t have known while giving Vera the eagle, and then saying goodbye to her the next morning, was that ten days later, I would get an email from my friend Erin.
“Can we please talk as soon as you’re up?”
It was 7:30am – not my finest hour, remember – but still I pulled myself out of bed, brushed my teeth, and threw a winter cap on over my unkempt hair. By the time I signed into Facetime, a knot of dread had formed in the pit of my stomach.
“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” I said.
“She’s in the hospital with sepsis. They’ve given her a few hours to live.”
Erin and I lost it right about the same time. We talked and cried for a little while longer, and then I went to make breakfast. And while I fried an egg and burnt my toast, I said a quiet prayer. “Ease her pain, God. I’m not asking you to help her get better. Just ease her pain, and help Vera spread her wings.”
Because it was at that moment that I finally understood why the eagle had meant so much to me.
Vera herself was the eagle.
When I got back to my laptop not even an hour later, there was another email from Erin, letting me know Vera had indeed passed away. I couldn’t understand how this was possible – how someone I had just said goodbye to ten days earlier was no longer with us. Something passed over me – a chill, a shiver, a sensation of life being so much bigger and more connected than we could ever imagine. I couldn’t get over the timing of it all. By how uncanny it all seemed.
Valentine’s Day had occurred about halfway through my stay with Vera, and that morning I had searched around online for a fitting quote to hand-letter and share on this blog’s Facebook page.
I finally decided on one from Mother Teresa:
To hear of Vera’s passing gave the quote a million new layers of meaning. As I sat by the fire in my yurt, trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened, I pulled out the note Vera gave me when I left.
“I do hope you will come back any time you can,” she had written. “My door is always open for you.”
I couldn’t have known that would be the only chance I’d get to stay with Vera. I realized then that besides a newfound appreciation for vodka and blue cheese crumbles, the most important thing Vera had taught me is that we have to love now. That no matter how long the door may stay open for us, sometimes we have to live as though that door won’t open again. We can’t count on getting another chance. We can’t leave love for the future. We have to love now.
I couldn’t have known because that’s not how life works. We aren’t given a script to follow, one that neatly denotes when various characters will enter and exit our world.
Life is so much more fluid and uncertain than that, isn’t it? We can’t know the significance of every story while it’s being written – we can only be present and trust that somewhere far beyond our immediate comprehension (or lack thereof), there’s a point to it all. There will be tension, of that much I am sure – perhaps something as stupid as feeling like you aren’t getting enough writing done at some certain point in time. But I believe that life calls us to push past the tension, and to give and love and simply be with the people we’re put with as freely as we can at that time.
From the moment I got to the yurt, I had big daily writing goals – and with nothing to do but chop wood and make tea and listen to the snow falling on my roof, I hit them. But on the Saturday that Vera died, I had just so happened to set aside the day to edit sketches and start putting together my new sketching portfolio. As soon as I learned about her passing, it felt altogether fitting – that I would spend the day doing what I had always loved doing around her.
And as I sat at my desk – mind numb, heart broken, fingers going through the Photoshop motions – the same thoughts kept running through my head, the call that we’ve all been given:
Live every moment.
Love every chance we’re given.
And when the time comes, let go of those we love – knowing the love we shared will carry us through the loss.
Rest in peace, Vera – and wherever you are in the skies above us, fly right.
Oh dear Candace, I should have known not to read this at my desk at work because I am now trying not to sob out loud. What an absolutely lovely tribute to an amazing woman. What a blessing you got to know her and share a bit of yourself with her.
Ahh! So sorry about that Rhonda 🙂 I should have put a small disclaimer at the top! But thank you so much for taking the time to read this – it took a little while to put it all down into words, but I really wanted to remember my time with Vera here. It challenged me to almost re-think life on every level – about what we’re all here for, and where my focus needs to be. She had the most beautiful spirit, and I know I’ll be processing this for a while to come. xo
Such a beautiful and moving tribute, Candace! And what a gift you were to each other. Nothing is a coincidence. I love that photo, you both look super happy; I’m sure this time and friendship you shared made Erin all the happier as well. May Vera rest in peace.
Thank you so much, Lily – it’s funny, I found that quote about how we’re all gifts to each other a few days before Vera’s death, so just like with the Mother Teresa quote, it suddenly took on a whole new level of meaning for me after she passed away. And yes! I’m so grateful that Vera’s daughter-in-law Claudia was able to get this photo of us just before I left Vashon…I feel so blessed for the time I had there, and for the chance to soak up some of Vera’s beautiful spirit and wisdom.
So happy you were able to spend those precious days with Vera ~
Relishing every moment of your time there – putting off what you thought you ‘should’ be doing to do what in your heart you knew was right.
Your heart always knows best and the richness to your life that she imparted was priceless.
So sad, but also a reminder of how rewarding life is when we embrace the slow moments 🙂
Linda, you’ve absolutely nailed it – that lovely little word ‘should’ is forever hanging over my head, always reminding me of what I need to be doing or didn’t get done – but lately life has been teaching me about what really matters, and that sometimes, the most important thing is to just be fully alive wherever we are…and not beat ourselves up about the dozen other things we’re not getting done.
I also really love that you tied in the slow moments here! I didn’t have a chance to bring that up in this story, but that was another huge lesson Vera taught me. Whether I was just going to make dinner or was heading out to run errands, she said the same thing to me every time – “Take your time,” or sometimes “Don’t rush.” Now I realize even more that life is too short to rush – and that it becomes all the richer when we slow down and savor every step along the way. I love it when all these different lessons weave together, you know? 🙂
I hope you’re doing very well! xo
I shed some tears as well. A lovely tribute.
Thank you so much for reading, Jan – it was a true privilege to share a bit about my time with Vera here with you.
Simply put, Lovely! Thank you Candace! Don’t be a stranger, come back to the Isle of Vashon!
Thank you, Richard! I so loved getting to know you and Claudia while I was on Vashon, and can’t wait to come back again soon. I’m so grateful for the time I had with your mother – she was truly something special.
Candace, What a touching story of how someone makes a difference to someone else no matter that the time you spent together was not that long. Very touching.
I believe you’re exactly right, Corinne – thanks so much for sharing that insight here. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the effects that travel has had on me, and how it’s grown me as a person. And one of the things I feel I’ve learned through a life of more changes than constants is that we can’t take things for granted – whether that’s a person or a place. We never know how long we’re going to be with someone, or be in a place, and so I think travel teaches us to make the most of the time we *do* have. I might just be thinking too hard lately, but it really seemed to influence my time with Vera 🙂 Thank you for reading!
What a lovely tribute…it brought me to tears. Your eagle painting is amazing…it captures the strength and the grace of the eagle. Thank you for the reminder that this moment is truly all of life and of the importance of living it with grace and love.
Thank you so much for reading, Andrea! And I loved how you put that… “this moment is truly all of life.” That’s a beautiful way to think about it. Ultimately, the here and now is all we have, isn’t it? So the more fully alive and aware we can be in that moment, I feel the richer our lives will be.
This is so beautiful Candace. What I love (so much!) about you is that you make friends wherever you go. You are touched by people, true, but they are also touched by you. I’m so glad Vera had you to enjoy in her final weeks. XOXOXOXO
Kim! Way to make me tear up over here 🙂 But seriously, it is so mutual – I love opening up to people and making friends, only because my life then becomes extraordinarily rich with the beauty and joy of those friendships (i.e. you and Brian!). I still can’t believe that the weeks I spent with Vera were some of her last here, but at the same time, I feel so humbled by that. Sending lots of love your way! xoxoxo
Tears are pouring. That was so beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
And thank you for reading, Stevie! By the way, I just checked out your blog and after reading your latest post on what’s next, I will be sending you an email very soon – I was so moved by what you shared, and by how it connects to my own story (that I’m currently trying to put into words in a memoir!). And what you say in your bio – “Be happy for this moment… this moment is your life” – goes along so perfectly with what I was hoping to convey in this post. Thank you so much for saying hello here, Stevie – I look forward to getting in touch soon!
So sorry Candace, You met a very special person. Very special memories for you.
I look forward to reading your work every week, but I’m glad I got to read this while I was at home. You got my tear ducts working.
Thank you so much for your kind words – although I didn’t know her for very long, Vera was indeed incredibly special…and I think the love people are pouring out for her now is a beautiful testament to the love she herself showed to everyone around her throughout her life. She was a true example for us all. Thank you for reading, Todd (this week and every week!).
hi candace…..I can only say “ditto” to all the comments so far as they are all so well said. But I do want to say that it is wonderful to see that you are so attuned to and aware of the people and lessons life is giving you……that you seem to have a very splendid and sensitive radar system. what a special gift for you so early in life! AND THEN you have the ability and desire to put it back out into the world through your writings and drawings so all of us can breathe in the insights and wisdoms, too. Your story about your precious time with lovely Vera reminds me of a Natalie Goldberg quote: “Every moment is enormous and it is all we have.”
Nancy, I can’t begin to thank you enough for your thoughtful words and insights – they mean so much to me right now. Although these last couple of weeks processing Vera’s death have not been easy, I’ve also been tremendously grateful for the lessons I learned during my time with her. Oh, and I *adore* that quote from Natalie Goldberg – thank you for sharing it! It’s a new favorite 🙂
My condolences, Candace. What a beautiful tribute for a lovely person. May she rest in peace.
Thank you so much, Pauline – that really means a lot! Vera will be sorely missed by many, that much is for sure. xo
Candace, I also shed a tear for Vear’s passing. You shared this story with such dignity and grace. Thank you.
Thank you so much for reading, Debra, and for your kind words – I consider it a true honor to have spent those two weeks with Vera, which then enabled me to share her story here. It’s all rather overwhelming to think about, but she was such a joy and light to those around her, and I feel incredibly blessed to have gotten to be around her beautiful spirit during her last few weeks.
Wow, Candace, this is just beautiful. I don’t really know what to say other than it sounds like you guys had a special relationship — and that’s what makes this world so wonderful. xoxo
Susan, I couldn’t agree with you more – the world will never cease to amaze me in the myriad mysterious ways it works. Thank you for reading Vera’s story, it means a lot! xoxo
A touching tribute indeed Candace! It felt a bit like you emptied a treasure chest and like you have been leafing through a heavy photo album with memories dancing on these pages. And judging the vivid descriptions and the profoundness of your encounter, I’m sure she carries a marvellous book full of wonderful memories with her as well! And I believe the feeling of learning a lesson has been mutual and that she saw something in you as well, maybe even a fragment of herself, some of her dreams or her grace.
I just noticed a truly remarkable thing when scrolling up again and taking a look at your farewell sketch for Vera: when you focus on the wings of the eagle you may notice the shape a of certain letter in front of the sky…
Take care Candace and keep shining!
Oliver, you seriously have a way with words, don’t you? Thank you so much, my friend, for the lovely word-pictures and insights you shared….I love the thought of emptying out a treasure chest here. You know, I’d almost forgotten some of the sketches I worked on while I was staying with Vera – so when I got the idea for this post and began going through my sketchbook, it did indeed feel like a photo album, just in the sense that it held so many more memories than the literal pictures on the page.
And leave it to you to notice the ‘v’ in the sky! That actually gave me chills when you pointed it out – so thank you for that 🙂 It has been such a delight connecting with you online these last couple of months, and I truly hope our paths will cross in person one day as well.
Thanks for your wonderful words Candace! There must be some connection indeed… 🙂 I really enjoyed the “inspiration flow” as well and I’m sure it will keep flowing. And you never know, maybe our paths will cross at some point in the future…
I really can imagine how you felt and still feel. Whenever we part from someone forever, we probably try to fill that massive gap with memories. And seriously, from your vivid descriptions did you and Vera share more than simply the same roof and table for a while…
I hope the silence in your yurt will be a soothing one and that your creativity is blossoming! Take care of yourself…
I have no doubt our paths will cross at some point, Oliver! I have still yet to make it to both Edinburgh and Berlin – two cities I have heard excellent things about 🙂 (Now that I write that, I’m not even sure you’re from Berlin? I know you’re German, but I don’t actually know your hometown!). Either way, I will definitely keep you posted on my travel plans, and I hope you’ll do the same. I look forward to finally meeting you in person one day!
I actually could back these “excellent things” you heard about both cities! 🙂 So your intuition was almost perfectly right, I am indeed from a small town close to Berlin. And the longer I live abroad the bigger becomes the desire to actually return one day and live in the city at least for while…
While speaking of Berlin… make sure you watch following in many ways poetic ode to the city:
http://www.coffeestainedjournal.com/2014/03/berlin-berlin-nehemias-colindres/
I hope you don’t mind me promoting my own blog post rather than the Vimeo link itself… 😉
Take care and speak soon!
Beautiful tribute.
Thank you, Lance, I really appreciate that.
Such a beautiful tribute there Candace and some very important lessons, words, and memories. You words were very moving and poignant and I believe people come into our lives for a reason. It sounds wonderful that you got to spend those weeks with her on Vashon Island. I’m deeply sorry for the loss to you, her family, and the world.
I couldn’t agree more with you, Anwar, especially about how people come into our lives for a reason. I think that in a life of constant travel, where people are forever coming and going from our immediate worlds, it can sometimes be easy to lose sight of that a bit – but then something like this happens and it really reminds me that there is indeed a point to every encounter, to every conversation and connection, no matter how brief or sustained. Although it’s now incredibly sad to think of Vera no longer on Vashon, and that I won’t be able to stop back by there and see her again, I also just feel extraordinarily grateful for the time I *did* have with her – and for all the fun little memories we were able to make. I’ll never forget them. Thank you as always for reading, and sharing your insights!
This was such a heartfelt and beautifully written post! I love how you make such a sad story one also of hope and inspiration. Now I need to go find some tissues…
Thank you for reading, Silvia! I hope you didn’t need too many tissues 🙂 But yes, this story might have turned out the way you said – a story of sorrow, but also one of hope – because I think that’s how Vera’s death was as a whole. Obviously the people in her life were devastated to see her pass away, but she still left such a beautiful legacy behind her – she truly lived her life well, you know? It has definitely inspired me to examine my own life and desires.
This is such a lovely post – I’m sure her family will be overwhelmed to read it. What a great friendship!
Your sketches – so talented.
Thank you, Rebecca! And you know, I have been so blessed to hear from Vera’s family, especially my friend Erin, in the weeks after her passing…it is altogether humbling and surreal to imagine that my stories and sketches from my time with Vera could be of some comfort to them right now. Life and the mysterious ways in which it works will never cease to amaze me.
Oh my goodness Candace, this is seriously one of the most beautiful things I’ve read in a long time! Thank you for sharing your experiences with Vera with us and letting some of the joy and love you shared enter our hearts. I’ve been thinking a lot about the ripple effect of love, how we are never to know what a difference it makes, and I can see from this story how far reaching it truly is. Thank you Vera and thank you Candace for sharing your wonderful gift of sketching and writing with us. Much love you to and her other loved ones. She is an inspiration.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the ripple effect of love, how we are never to know what a difference it makes.”
Sarah, you absolutely nailed it – thank you so much for your kind words, and for sharing your insights here! I was already thinking of what you said while I was on Vashon – about how I felt like I was there to love Vera, and not worry about how much writing I was (or wasn’t!) getting done. So to hear of her passing suddenly made me think about it on about a dozen more levels. I almost wonder if part of the point is that we *can’t* know what a difference we’re making at a particular point in time…that we’re almost called to give our love (or cast the stone into a pond, if you will) without seeing the ripples…that to do so would almost defeat our actions. I think that makes love more of a challenge – but it’s also so much richer for it. Lots to think about, so thank you for that! xo
Oh, Candace, I’m so, so sorry. But your words and images are a gift—to Vera, to her family, to us. I’m glad you were able to get to know her in the time you had with her, and I’m glad that even for the briefest moment, I got to meet Vera, too. It only took a moment to realize she was special.
Love to you—I hope you’re able to find peace on Salt Spring, and discover beautiful reminders of Vera’s life and spirit all around you as you move forward from here. xoxo
Chandler! Would you know that just a couple of days after Vera passed away, it suddenly occurred to me that I should let you know, seeing as you’d actually met her – but clearly I dropped the ball. I’m really sorry about that, but I’m still so glad you were able to meet her that first day! Your thoughtful words mean so much to me (and I’m sure to her family!), and Salt Spring is absolutely proving to be the perfect place to not only write and sketch, but to process Vera’s sudden passing. Sending lots of love to you as well – can’t wait to hopefully see you again in a couple of months. xoxo
Beautiful Candace. This brought tears to my eyes.
And, I loved this line (and this is just a good way to live)… ‘to give and love and simply be’.
yes. and yes. Makes our lives richer and more beautiful.
I’m so glad that line resonated with you, Aurora! It’s certainly felt like both my mantra and my challenge in life these last few weeks. I hope all is well with you! xo
Vera sounds like such a wonderful and inspiring women. This is a beautiful tribute.
She truly was, Catherine, and I feel so grateful for the chance to get to know her and be around her beautiful spirit. Thank you for reading!
What a beautiful tribute to Vera, Candace. Your writing is so lovely, and I’m grateful you were able to share that small piece of a wonderful woman with us. Thank you!
Thank you so much for your kind words, Lisa – I felt so blessed by my time with Vera, that it only felt right to try and share about it here! I’m so glad to hear her story resonated with you.
Thanks for sharing Candace. Vera must have been a very special woman and you also have a special gift for distilling your experiences and reminding us about the beauty and impermanence of life.
Thanks so much for your kind words, Nikki – they mean a lot. My experience of getting to know Vera, only for her to pass away so suddenly afterwards, has truly reminded me how fleeting life is. We have to honor and be present in every moment, don’t we? Although I am so often forward-thinking and living in the future, the only guarantee we really have is right now.
Absolutely stunning. It brought me to tears. What a wonderful lady.
Thank you so much, Carmel, and for the lovely note on Facebook! Vera’s passing was so unexpected, but I feel tremendously grateful for the time I did get to share with her. She set a true example of how to spread love and joy to those in our lives.
Candace, thank you for writing such a beautiful piece about Mom. It has taken me this long to read and enjoy your warm and loving impressions of her. I also think it’s pretty neat that so many of your friends have commented on this piece and are quite moved.
She is a great lady and when I grow up I want to be just like her….. btw I’m the eldest of us 6 kids. I know she is adjusting just fine on her life’s next great adventure because her heart is open and accepting and attracts like minds. Just like you! so I look forward to meeting you in June.
It’s wonderful to hear from you here, China! It was such an honor for me to work on this and try to put into words how blessed I feel to have known your mom, even if for just a short while. I heard so much about you and your sisters while I was staying with her, and can’t wait to meet you all in June. Sending lots of love your way! xo
I know this is an old story but it is very moving. Living every moment is very important. We don’t know what is in store for us a few minutes from now, or years down the road. We often take for granted the people that we love, but they may not be there in the future. Things we dream about but put off can easily be lost to us if we don’t take the opportunity to reach for them. Those are words to live by.