Tears…

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”

― Washington Irving

This week I started packing my parents items in my home. My daughter had asked if I would do this because they do not visit enough to know what came from where. Therefore, I said I would do so and write the stories that went with them, as I remember to the best of my abilities.

I started in the kitchen.

As I looked at the pots and pans, cast iron skillets and utensils, I began to cry. It was like burying my mom all over again and packing up the things I brought to my house and remembering how the four of us divided things up. Now two brothers are gone as is the things they had that was Mom’s.

Stopping the process of packing. I sat and thought about that time so long ago and how hard it was to go back through and think of how many hours she had cooked those great meals that we probably never thanked her for or said how great they were.

The time is past and it is necessary for the next generation for me to tell the stories so my mom lives on after me. My two children remember her but she never saw my grandchildren.

No one calls her name that I know. I talk to her and Daddy. I talk to Raggedy Ann every morning and night and tell her my stories; the stories of growing up on a farm way the back side of nowhere; wanting to escape and now not being able to find my way back.

Isn’t life strange? Always longing for what we had after it is gone; realizing the worth after the fact; rejoicing over the good times and grieving for the lost times.

Learning to sit in the silence (yes, I know that is the name of a book, however, I said that phrase before I knew there was a book) can be helpful. Weighing the merits of my own life and what I will live behind.

What will they remember about the things I leave behind? They can not have any memories because they were not here when I purchased most of my things. My house was filled with family items. So I guess my stories are two fold…my past, their past.

I do not want to stay here, neither do I want to go back. Mother and Daddy were so proud that I had made my way away from the farm to a better place. Little did they realize that they were in the best place.

Thank you for reading and if you feel like making a comment, please do. I never know what to write anymore.

18 thoughts on “Tears…”

  1. I have such fond memories of your precious Mother. She was so sweet and such a good Christian. I loved her and miss her.

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    1. Oh, Betty, thank you. I miss all of them…your mom’s laugh; your dad sitting out back with his white oak strips…where did the time go? I miss seeing you and Tiny. I am no longer on Facebook.

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  2. I’m moved by your tears, Miss Linda. I wish I was there to give you a hug. Thank God you realize the tears are natural. You know, I’ve thought about these things too. I never really wanted to leave my home, but I didn’t live in a rural area. The only reason we left was to be able to make our way in the world. We were sooo young, and the cost of living in the city where I grew up became unlivable for us (which included a union sucking us dry, so we moved where there were no unions). We had to find a place that was more affordable to live. After we moved, I realized what a dysfunctional family I came from. I was far, far away from all of the craziness, and moving helped me to grow as a person. I didn’t realize beforehand, that moving was necessary for me not only financially, but mentally and spiritually too. Now, all these years later, it seems all I remember are the good things, not the dysfunctional things. How strange. I’ve often wondered if my nostalgia and missing things have to do with an innocence lost … with being taken care of … with feeling loved and secure. In other words, missing childhood when I had no responsibilities. I mostly felt loved by my grandparents who all lived nearby. My parents weren’t a very happy couple and I just felt in the way with them.

    Anyway, I didn’t mean to go on about me. As you can see, I’ve often felt the same as you. But, I wanted to suggest something. When you write down those stories for your kids, if you feel it’s not too personal, share some of them here, too. You said you don’t know what to write anymore, so I thought that might be something to share here.

    Thank you for sharing from you heart. Hugs.

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    1. Lori, thank you for sharing your life, your trials, your learning. I think you have a valid point in that I, too, miss being taken care of. I do not think I was a wanted child and the house became very silent after my siblings were gone. There was nothing left to say. Neither were my parents a happy couple and this in turn affected how the two set of grandparents treated not only them but also me….the difficult child; the one who always said “why”. I think I only wanted to be loved yet did things to make sure that I wasn’t.

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      1. That’s interesting, that you did things to make sure you weren’t loved. I say that because perhaps in doing those things, you were trying to prove yourself right. All you wanted was to be loved unconditionally, no matter what you did. It’s what we all want. I was definitely a wanted child. But, my parents were so wrapped up in their own drama, that anything my brother and I were going through wasn’t important to them. They didn’t divorce until I was 26 and married. Anyway, both you and I ARE loved unconditionally by a much Higher Intelligence than the simple human ego. Sometimes it’s difficult to recognize it though.

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  3. profound as usual
    sometimes we are between 2 places…it is a good place….from there we can opine, the way we want, when we want and as much as we want
    relate to this post as I get older

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  4. Thank you for sharing this part of your heart, Linda. I am glad you are not afraid to cry, to mourn, to grieve, and yet to remember the good times past. I had a second or third cousin write me an email this week that sounds so similar to this blog post. When we were home we took a picture of her mom and sister’s graves and sent them to her. She was so grateful, but sad.

    It’s weird; I am one of those strange sorts that rarely thinks about the past. It all feels like it happened another lifetime ago to another person. When my parents are gone will it feel different? Not sure…

    Blessings to you this weekend.

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    1. Thank you for your words. My sister is like you in many ways. She does not talk of the past. She tells me the past should be left in the past and simply look to the present day and the future, yet she was the history major! My opinion is that we have to understand our history to move forward in a positive manner. Who are we and where we came from is our way of knowing who we are and what we need to change for that new, positive future. Perhaps I am wrong!

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      1. No, you may be right, Linda. History does teach us a lot. It can show us where we need to go in the future, so we don’t repeat past mistakes. It can give us so much.

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  5. Don’t give up, Linda. Keep writing – just when and whatever comes. I look forward to your posts. We have never met, except here, but I identify with much of which you speak. We come from simpler times. They were good. Who knows where the world will go – but we had the privilege and pleasure of seeing what we have seen. (((hugs)))

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    1. Oh, I do feel that I know you as well as, if not better than, my next door neighbor. I, too, look forward to your creations and often wonder how you do what you do. We have seen much on both sides of the ocean separating us!((hugs))

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  6. Thank you for your words. My sister is like you in many ways. She does not talk of the past. She tells me the past should be left in the past and simply look to the present day and the future, yet she was the history major! My opinion is that we have to understand our history to move forward in a positive manner. Who are we and where we came from is our way of knowing who we are and what we need to change for that new, positive future. Perhaps I am wrong!

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  7. I could relate to this post very well, especially cleaning out the kitchen items. I remember crying over a flipper! I guess I was really crying over the many displays of love from my mother when she flipped pancakes for us or made burgers or whatever food it was to feed her babies. The flipper is a unique one because it is so old, but it was unmistakably the one my mother used for decades. It was a symbol of her love for us.

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