Dear Nilza,
Happy Friday The Thirteenth,
Its odd that I like this day so much. All of my recent Friday The Thirteenth's have been pure pain. Today feels different.
Nilza, thank you so much for loving my father. Thank you for being willing to change your entire existence to be with him. You struck me as a strong, and genuine woman. I like you. And I could not be more grateful that my Father will be loved and taken care of. That was Moms job. I would like to share a snap shot of Stephanie Danise Winward Evans, My Mom.
I suppose the first thing about Mom is that she loved dad. I haven't seen another relationship that looks anything like what theirs looked like. For example, I never heard my parents argue. Ever. I mean, I am sure they had disagreements, but there wasn't ever tension or periods of discord. They laughed a lot, they were gross in the kitchen, kissing all the time. It was beautiful. He was the singular most important part of her universe. She made it explicitly clear that He was Her priority. Always. dad first, everyone else next.
Mom had a love for humanity that I didn't inherit. She saw the best in everyone, and She gave of herself with that sight. She was always going out of her way to help others, lightening their burdens in anyway she was able. She took her service of mankind seriously and made a difference in the lives of many.
Music was a huge part of Moms soul. Her instrument was the piano. I think it was Her form of meditation. She would always use the little radio in the kitchen. Often I would come visit her in the mornings and find her listening to BYU radio while she did the dishes or her typing. She would swap songs with my kids and dance around the house. She used music everywhere. For talks, for quotes, for fun and eventually for work. To this day Mom is using music to talk to my family.
Mom was a very spiritual being. She had a deep and profound love for her religion. It led her through her life and was what she always had one hand on. For my life, she always had her other hand on my dads. Together they leaned on that faith to endure pain that I can not fathom. When my grandpa died, things changed. I was 15, and I remember the day that I watched death change my mom for the second time. As an adult, I now have an inkling of how She may have felt, but I won't ever know how hard She cried on my dad. I know that it changed her forever. Her spiritual vibration became tighter. She was more aware after that.
Then, Sara died.
And when its just that sentence, it sounds short. But, it wasn't short at all. It was long. It was scary, and hopeful, and tragic. And my parents held onto each other and to us. And their faith. Watching it as a young adult was horrifying. Seeing my parents agony, being helpless and afraid. And that's just what they allowed me to see. I imagine they shielded us more than I will ever know. I can't begin to comprehend what kind of damage this did to them. I can only say that again, mortality changed them. Changed all of us.
I think Sara's death played a hand in why time stopped at Grandmas House. My Mom Loved being a Grandma. It didn't matter what was going on, if the grandkids came by, the world was put on hold. She made certain that each of them knew how valued and loved they were. She was a safe place, and a warm hug. Often accompanied by chocolate chip cookies. It was heaven on earth for them, and for mom. This role, the role of Grandma is a hole that won't ever be filled. She embodied it.
Mom was a rare, selfless human. In every area of her life she sacrificed so that other's could have what they needed. She never thought of herself first, if it all. Her light was bright and infectious. Her words were carefully chosen and to the point. Her love was unconditional. She was an example to me in ways I have yet to learn.
She raised us well. She taught me to be better than I often am.
On that note, the parts of her that live on in me are grateful knowing dad is being loved.
Enjoy the beautiful autumn. It is a stunning time of year around these parts.
Be Well~
Jill
Happy Friday The Thirteenth,
Its odd that I like this day so much. All of my recent Friday The Thirteenth's have been pure pain. Today feels different.
Nilza, thank you so much for loving my father. Thank you for being willing to change your entire existence to be with him. You struck me as a strong, and genuine woman. I like you. And I could not be more grateful that my Father will be loved and taken care of. That was Moms job. I would like to share a snap shot of Stephanie Danise Winward Evans, My Mom.
I suppose the first thing about Mom is that she loved dad. I haven't seen another relationship that looks anything like what theirs looked like. For example, I never heard my parents argue. Ever. I mean, I am sure they had disagreements, but there wasn't ever tension or periods of discord. They laughed a lot, they were gross in the kitchen, kissing all the time. It was beautiful. He was the singular most important part of her universe. She made it explicitly clear that He was Her priority. Always. dad first, everyone else next.
Mom had a love for humanity that I didn't inherit. She saw the best in everyone, and She gave of herself with that sight. She was always going out of her way to help others, lightening their burdens in anyway she was able. She took her service of mankind seriously and made a difference in the lives of many.
Music was a huge part of Moms soul. Her instrument was the piano. I think it was Her form of meditation. She would always use the little radio in the kitchen. Often I would come visit her in the mornings and find her listening to BYU radio while she did the dishes or her typing. She would swap songs with my kids and dance around the house. She used music everywhere. For talks, for quotes, for fun and eventually for work. To this day Mom is using music to talk to my family.
Mom was a very spiritual being. She had a deep and profound love for her religion. It led her through her life and was what she always had one hand on. For my life, she always had her other hand on my dads. Together they leaned on that faith to endure pain that I can not fathom. When my grandpa died, things changed. I was 15, and I remember the day that I watched death change my mom for the second time. As an adult, I now have an inkling of how She may have felt, but I won't ever know how hard She cried on my dad. I know that it changed her forever. Her spiritual vibration became tighter. She was more aware after that.
Then, Sara died.
And when its just that sentence, it sounds short. But, it wasn't short at all. It was long. It was scary, and hopeful, and tragic. And my parents held onto each other and to us. And their faith. Watching it as a young adult was horrifying. Seeing my parents agony, being helpless and afraid. And that's just what they allowed me to see. I imagine they shielded us more than I will ever know. I can't begin to comprehend what kind of damage this did to them. I can only say that again, mortality changed them. Changed all of us.
I think Sara's death played a hand in why time stopped at Grandmas House. My Mom Loved being a Grandma. It didn't matter what was going on, if the grandkids came by, the world was put on hold. She made certain that each of them knew how valued and loved they were. She was a safe place, and a warm hug. Often accompanied by chocolate chip cookies. It was heaven on earth for them, and for mom. This role, the role of Grandma is a hole that won't ever be filled. She embodied it.
Mom was a rare, selfless human. In every area of her life she sacrificed so that other's could have what they needed. She never thought of herself first, if it all. Her light was bright and infectious. Her words were carefully chosen and to the point. Her love was unconditional. She was an example to me in ways I have yet to learn.
She raised us well. She taught me to be better than I often am.
On that note, the parts of her that live on in me are grateful knowing dad is being loved.
Enjoy the beautiful autumn. It is a stunning time of year around these parts.
Be Well~
Jill
