Memories of My Mother

I have written about my mother many times here. Mostly about our lives in her later years as we both dealt with her declining health and dementia. I’ve been thinking a lot about her the past few weeks with Mother’s Day this Sunday and her 3rd heavenly anniversary on May 23rd.

My mother and I had a close relationship yet it was intermixed with differences that led to frustrations with one another. One of the last birthday cards I got from her had a colorful bug on the front. Inside it said something like.. “mothers and daughters sometimes they bug each other, that’s just what they do.” That was the best and truest card I ever got!

However, in remembering my mother these past few weeks my memories have gone further back than the last few years of her life to things I remember from my childhood. For most of that period in time my mother suffered from depression. As a young child, I remember many occasions where I would see her sobbing, crying tears of of great sorrow as she sat alone. Sometimes she would share her pain with a friend through her tears. At those times I probably overheard more than I should about her heartaches and the abuse that she suffered.  

Even while dealing with depression she managed to try and look on the better side of life. She was resourceful and talented in a variety of ways.  She was an extremely good cook, she made the best fried chicken, not battered – only floured but it was crispy and juicy beyond belief. Other savory favorites she made were fried potato wedges that she tossed in flour before frying which made them come out so crunchy; yellow squash casserole cheesy yummy, it was like a vegetable version of mac and cheese… she made scrumptious mac and cheese too.

In the sweet department she would make peanut brittle that was always perfect. One of her specialties was fried raisin pies.  I know it sounds weird but they were delicious.  I tried making them once and they were OK but it was a bit of a fiddle and I am more the make-it-quick kind of cook.  (I attached a picture of my attempt that was 2011 and I’ve not made them since).

My mother worked off and on as a waitress and she also took in ironing to earn extra cash. In addition, we lived in the country and she always had a big garden; she canned her vegetables and made special relishes (chow-chow as they call it in Texas).  I remember summers in Texas pulling weeds in those big gardens, it was hot and those rows seemed like they were a mile long.

Mother was also an excellent seamstress. She made most of my clothes and her own clothes. She always said she had wanted to be a designer and she would draw her own patterns for ideas she had. She would make the most elaborated western shirts for my step-father. Many people admired the swirled and elaborate yokes and matching pocket flaps she created. She bought fancy pearly snaps from the Tandy Company and attach them to the shirts with a special die and a hammer.

I never remember her taking even a sip of alcohol but she loved her Pepsi Cola in a big mayonnaise jar with a paper towel wrapped around it held in place with a rubber band. Speaking of mayonnaise, she loved mayonnaise and peanut butter sandwiches; just thinking about watching her eat them still makes me cringe. 

She was a woman that always had a heart for God. We attended the Baptist church and one of my earliest memories in church was sitting beside her holding her hand. She was a woman that sought God, she was faithful even though she had many struggles in life. She always did the best she could with what she had and she relied on God as her strength and her shield.

Mother’s Day 2021 was the last Mother’s Day I spent with my mother and just 5 days later, I was called back to Texas to say goodbye. She died on Sunday, May 23rd, Pentecostal Sunday, I played the hymn “Softly and Tenderly” and sang along with the music softly in her ear.

“Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, Calling for you and for me.
See on the portals He’s waiting and watching, Watching for you and for me…Come home, come home, Ye who are weary come home…”

This Mother’s Day my mother is home. She has no more pain, no more sorrow, and she is singing praises to her Lord and Savior.

Mother and me 1986

My attempt at fried raisin pies.

Remembering Mother

I’ve been thinking all week about my Mother and also today on what would be her 90th birthday.

I reminisced about her last few weeks and the time Paulette and I spent with her.

Eight months before she passed away, she had an arterial blockage. At the time, I was gently encouraged to keep her comfortable and let her go peacefully but I could not face that.

Although her dementia took away a lot of her memories, she was still engaging and she could be so funny and brought joy to others. So I pushed for surgery, which was technically successful, it restored the blood flow but she never walked again. With Covid fears and restrictions still in full swing she declined rapidly.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have approved the surgery, before that she seemed to have lots to give in life. Either way, it was a no-win situation. Had I let her go then, I think I would have still gone through a period of guilt. I am sorry she had to suffer.

It comes down to the final verse in this Wm Randolph Hearst poem ~’The River’

“So don’t ask why –
We live or die,
Or whither, or when we go,
Or wonder about the mysteries
That only God may know”

I love this picture of my Mother. It was taken two months after the surgery. I had given her the pearls my auntie sent her and she let me braid her hair. We spent the afternoon singing hymns 💕 It was hard to leave that day, but it was a day I will always cherish.

Drama

So much drama! I read the news, I look around me and it seems the drama is never ending and I want it to stop. It is exasperating. Yet, I wonder if the generation before me felt the same? I definitely had some strange ideas and beliefs when I was young.

Not only did I have some strange ideas, I also did some foolish things. There are things I would really like to forget, but they serve a purpose to remind me about how far I’ve come and what I have learned along the way.

This morning, I came across this poem I wrote in 2016. After reading it, I have some hope that one day, just as I did, these drama creators will look back and realize it was only a lot of drama.

Perception © by Trish B.

Just One More Time

Grandparents: the father or mother of a person’s father or mother. Like everyone else I had four, but saw only one more than once in my childhood, that one was my maternal grandfather who lived In Houston near where I grew up. My maternal grandmother and my paternal grandparents lived in Virginia.

My paternal grandfather, Aubrey Allen, died when I was 10.  The last time I was with him I was six months old just before my mother moved back to Texas. My auntie tells me he was a kind and loving man who struggled later in life with debilitating illnesses. My paternal grandmother,  Alease,  told me many times that the day we left Virginia he held me and cried saying, “They are taking my baby away and I am never going to see her again.”

I left Virginia as an infant, I did not return until I was 27. My Grandmother Alease, as well as my Aunt Thelma, stayed in touch with my mother throughout my childhood but my first memory of her was in 1968 when my brother graduated from high school and she came for a visit. She was 60 years old, eight years younger than I am now… funny how she seemed older.

Alease Virginia – 1983 – Age: 75

After that visit, I saw her once five years later when I lived in Florida and she came for a visit. We corresponded frequently but it was another 9 years in 1982, when she was 74, before we saw each other again. That year I visited Virginia for the first time since 1956 when my mother took me to Texas.  

That visit became the beginning of building a relationship and making up for lost time. I visited often after that, every couple of years. She loved me unconditionally and loved to tell me about the past. Even after all the years since leaving Virginia, she would tell me every visit with teary eyes, about Aubrey’s emotional goodbye.

In all the years I visited her, we would spend hours looking at photographs, talking about the past, sitting next to each other and just holding hands. She had some of the most amusing colloquialisms many of which I wrote down, so as never to forget. Saying like, “She ain’t got enough sense to pour piss out of a boot.” or “You can’t run the roads and keep house.”

She was resourceful and made good use of her time. Well into her 90’s she crocheted lap blankets for the “old folks” in the nursing home. She also crocheted dish cloths from cotton string yard. I still have several unused ones in my kitchen drawer. Saving them because —- I don’t want to forget.

My Grandma Alease passed away in 2006, at the age of 98. God gave us many years to catch up. Often, when I spoke to her phone in the 25 years before she passed, she would end the conversation by saying, “I just pray to God I can see you one more time before I die.” It became almost comical because I would go for a visit, and I wouldn’t be home more than a week, and when I spoke to her, she would say it again!

I went to Virginia the week before she died, and I spent time with her while she was in the hospital. The day I left, they moved her back to the nursing home under hospice care. Sometimes she was in and out of reality but when I lean down to kiss her goodbye she looked at me and said, “Hope I see you one more time.”

She passed into glory on April 12, 2006 on the first night of Passover the Wednesday before Easter. I flew back to Virginia to say my last goodbye. I know it is not the end because I will see her one more time, one time that will last for eternity.

Forever {Sister} Friends

“Friendship like the flight of birds;
Cannot be put in written words,
Never has a poet penned,
All it means to have a friend.”
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I bought a set of stationary back in the 1970’s that had this quote on it, I have never seen it anywhere since and I cannot find any other reference to Longfellow. However it remains a favorite of mine.

I was told that I was a person who “chooses friends carefully.” In truth, over the last nearly seventy years I have had four friends that I would call “forever {sister} friends.” There was a time I longed for a close friend, a time I felt isolated and alone. I think I was selective about who I got close to, because of fear. Fear of being judged, fear of rejection, fear that as I wrote once…“Am I the problem? Why do I lock others out? To protect from the hurt, Or is it from Fear? That they might discover… What’s hidden in here?”

The first FSF I had was Mary. I met Mary in Anchorage, Alaska in 1974, I was 19. We were living at the top of the world, isolated, and we lived as if there were no other people on earth. Mary was older than me, she was funny and outgoing. We shared so much and she was a friend that helped me to begin to come out of my shell. She told me once, “Why do you always wear brown? You look like you’re dead.” Truth is I was just trying to blend into the background. Mary and I have been friends for nearly fifty years. We stayed connected to each other from around the US, from Alaska, to Texas, to Colorado. Mary is in South Carolina now, me in Seattle but we still talk and laugh about those good times in Alaska.

FSF number two is Debbie. We met in 1977, in Denver. Debbie and I have had some rough spots, we were total opposites both born in 1955, she is older by 3 months. My ex thought she was a bad influence on me but isn’t that the way it goes? The greatest friendships have a yin and yang combination. I married young and really had no wild and crazy side when we met except for what I gained from Mary (Debbie took up where Mary left off). She was a natural comic, quick and witty. I always would tell her that Rosanne was nothing compared to her.

Over the years we have been there for one another… births, deaths, divorce, and we have shared the lowest lows and the highest highs. There is not much we have not shared with one other. Debbie and I have not lived in the same city since 1984. We still see each other, more the past few years because we both understand tomorrow is not guaranteed. Seven years ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The bad one, but really they are all bad. Prayers are answered because after seven years of treatment, she is still cancer free.

After I moved to Seattle, I longed again for a friend. Debbie and I wrote and talked often, but it is not the same as having someone to share your day to day life with, go shopping with, someone you can laugh and cry with. I had a few acquaintances, neighbors and co-workers but no Seattle Forever Sister Friend. It was the dry season of my life. I wrote a poem (prayer) about this longing for a friend in 1993 and in 1999 God answered my prayer when I visited a local Messianic Congregation.

There I met two FSFs. The first one was Becky. Again, I tend to gravitate to the outgoing extroverted type. Becky, also six years older than me ran the Judaica shop/bookstore at this congregation and we hit it off from the start. I started going with her to conferences, and as we were both in our 40/50’s by this time we had a lot of catching up to do. We went to California, Texas, Canada and Mexico together and although we had common hearts, our habits and personal traits were totally different. I am the morning person, she not so much; she was all into Dancing with the Stars, me true crime; she loves to dance (organized dance), me two-left feet and just move with the music; she knows the scientific names of all the plants, I just know they are pretty; she is mocha lattes and I was just coffee, I was kinda plain Jane and she knew all the latest beauty tips. It was with Becky I had my very first pedicure. Who knew that could be so great, oh what had I been missing? Becky and I have a similar look and people often mistake us for one another or think we were sisters. It was at the pedicure place one day when a woman asked the owner if we were sisters, she said, “No they just look alike and they both have big hair.” Yes, we have big hair!!

Becky cared for her husband who was in failing health. She was loyal and devoted; she sacrificed herself to care for him until the end. She has been a loyal and devoted friend as well. She’s never afraid to tell me if my thinking is not right but always loving me, quirks and all.

Finally, but not least, there is Shoshana. The kindest, most loving, non-judgmental person I know. She is a FSF/Soul Sister. We are only a couple of years apart in age and her wisdom has blessed me many times. She also had a tough childhood and her compassion for others is a heavenly gift. Sometimes she gives so much of herself she forgets to take care of herself too. I think that is where I come in, possibly God put me in her path so that I can remind her that she is important too and she needs to take time to put herself first. In turn she reminds me that God loves me no matter what happened in my past.

I think maybe there is a point in life where you can no longer make new FSFs, or new old friends. I would never presume to know it all though, God has surprised me more than once. The qualities I value in all my FSFs are; they are trustworthy, loyal, honest, people of faith, people who have a deeper understanding of life and take the time to find the joy in every day.

Our First Thanksgiving

Tonight I am am thankful for Chrissie ❤️

This picture was taken on our FIRST Thanksgiving together (1982), this year will be Thanksgiving number FORTY!

On that first Thanksgiving in Denver Chrissie got up from the table and fixed plates for my little dogs Lucy and British.

He can be fun that way and as I have expressed before he can be all business. He is smart, I am often amazed how he can hold all that information in his brain. He works hard. He is not afraid to take risks and often it is the secret to his success.

Beyond that he is generous to many without pursing any acknowledgment or gratitude. He shows mercy to those who have hit bottom and have made poor decisions and offers support. He is passionate about his dreams. He brings breakfast in bed and then cleans the kitchen. He chokes up over sentimental movies (more than I do). He can be mischievous. He loves his sons. He loves God.

He is a blessing (a favor or gift bestowed by God) and I am blessed to have shared so many Thanksgivings with him.

Love Lifted Me

I once wrote about whether serendipitous events were by coincidence or divine appointment and whether God can use any means to send specific messages. I believe an experience that touched my heart today is more than a coincidence and one of those times that God’s message was for me.

It started this morning when I posted this picture because today is six months since my mother passed. I woke up thinking of her and she has been on my heart all day and this evening.

In 2012, Chris and I took my mom to Israel with us; to say it was a challenge was an understatement. During that trip I realized how badly her dementia had become. Chris was a saint, because some days I lost my patience.

During the entire journey my mother sat behind me in the car and she hummed or sang the hymn “Love Lifted Me”. Over, and over again, for 10 days. I was convinced it was a power struggle and she was doing it just to spite me. Several times I tried to change the tune. I tried playing music on my iPhone (even gospel music which she loved) but “Love Lifted Me” continued. At some point and I don’t think I was very nice about it, I asked her to please stop.

This November I have been making a daily post about thankfulness and things in my life I am thankful for. I often start with a quote from wise people that have passed their wisdom down to us.

This day’s quote was, by Samuel Butler: “Let us be grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only. ”

Oh how true is that! I wrote about my heart that could be ugly and less than what God wants it to be. Reflecting back now I know, sadly some of days on that trip my heart was not where God wanted it to be.

So tonight I posted “Reflection of My Heart,”to my blog and logged onto Facebook to share it there. In my news feed were ‘suggested’ videos as usual and the first one up was Randy Travis singing “Love Lifted Me.”

Coincidence, I think not. I do not even own a Randy Travis CD, album or song. I picked a quote to write my “thankful” story without any particular situation in mind and my mother was on my heart because of the time since her passing. Three things came together today and combined they sent a message that struck deep in my soul.

Yes, I played the video of “Love Lifted Me” all the way through and my heart could hear my mom’s voice humming along in the backseat as we traveled through the Holy Land.

Here is the link. Randy Travis. Love Lifted Me

https://youtu.be/5KX-TnmSNqQ

Intersections

Warning.  Old ladies must be careful and stop at all intersections. I got a call this morning… someone asking me to take them to the ER in Issaquah. We got there at 9 by 11:30 the doctors had decided to do a test and they asked me to step out of the room. 

I came out and started down one of those long hospital corridors when all of a sudden BAM… I felt like I was hit by a bus.  I went flying across that 10ft hallway, landed on my arse, and hit the wall with my head.  It was not a big yellow bus, but it was a young 6’ something Justin-bus of the human male species.  

60E01375-A8F8-460E-9C69-FA202524CE58A lady came running out if the ER and after a few minutes and accessing everything, I got up.  She asked me if I wanted to see a doctor but my thought process said no  – they were swamped and other than my wounded sense of dignity, and a sore wrist, hip and head everything still moved.  I didn’t want to waste time for someone to say, “Looks like you got knocked on your rear!” Therefore, I declined.

I could make some comparisons here, such as, the other intersections in life that catch you off guard.  The loss of a loved one, a tragic diagnosis,  dealing with aging parents, aging and retirement. These intersections should also be approach with caution.  Take the time to look both ways and reflect on all possibilities  and outcomes.  Should you get sidelined, stop, take a deep breath, pick yourself up and move forward.  Life is a highway with many crossroads. Proceed with caution but stay on the road to the final destination. And…

Always slow down at intersections!!

Child of my Childhood

just a young girl, a child
very meek and very mild

suffering abuse
of adult mistrust and misuse

desperate to escape
the next incident of childhood rape

summer of nineteen sixty-nine
appeared a tall hero and seemingly lifeline

not as much a child as man
together, young formed a plan

to many foolish though it seemed
somehow a life was redeemed

a child within the union set
left behind the evil threat

this child born of desperate time
a living doll that was mine

infant years held strong love
this doll of mine i write of

so many years between
understanding was lost… unseen

mother child in heart retains
regrets of youthful mistakes and pains

now this child of my childhood
long has left age of boyhood

starting now a fiftieth year
since child became a mother here

love, frustration, hope and despair
all have been a part of this pair

both older now and wiser still
overcoming lost good will

reaching out to understand
events that all the years have spanned

child of my childhood know
love was always there to bestow

to a child who forever changed
a life that needed rearranged

the years that life will here to span
know you were part of God’s intended plan

from a burden path a child was set free
heart full of gratitude forever for thee

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Why Old Ladies Wear Lots of Jewelry

Something I remember from my youth, southern ladies draped in jewelry;  a ring on every finger, some with two, bracelets up their arms and three or four necklaces of varying lengths.  Gold, silver, diamonds and gems sparkling like a star filled night.

I’ve read, in looking at this phenomenon, that it’s possibly the flashy jewelry  takes away from the “wrinkles, thinning hair and double chins” Interesting theory, but no.

Back then, in my schoolgirl days, I wondered if it was just an exhibition of wealth.  These rich old ladies adorning themselves with jewels to show they’ve made it. Looking like a walking, talking jewelry store, jingle and jangling with every movement.

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However, now that I am hitting my mid-sixties,  I more fully understand. Each morning I get ready for work and put on my favorite daily-go-to-bracelet and I rotate a few favorite earrings and necklaces; three or four pieces and done.   I wear the same basic things every day.

The amazing thing is that over the 37 years of marriage Chrissie has given me lots of fabulous baubles. Some I have not worn more than a handful of times, on “special occasions.” They are safely tucked away in their velvet boxes. Occasionally I check on them, open the box and admire them but almost never wear them. Too much for everyday I thought, but I lately I am thinking, “How many more special occasions will I have left in my lifetime? “ I should wear them more than one every now and then. I need to stack up on bracelets… maybe four one one arm two on the other.  Either I am going to enjoy these baubles or they will just go to the next person down the line and to me they would have been just hidden treasures.

So here it is, the real reason old ladies wear lots of flashy jewelry is because we realize time is short and we realize there was no reason to save these baubles for special occasions. Everyday we old ladies wake up and put our feet on the floor and face the day, it is, a special occasion.   So here we come, love or not, we are going to sparkle and shine.

Patsy & Joe’s Castle

There’s an old white house with blue trim out FM27 in Fairfield, Texas.  Even though it had aged and lost most of it’s glory many years ago, it was Patsy and Joe’s castle. A simple house in the country.

Before I left town I went by that old house one more time. I stood outside the back door for a moment and looked at the crape myrtle trees blooming on the edge of the porch.

It was warm but not hot, there was a slight breeze and after the overnight storm the air was fresh and clean. I noticed the birds were singing and the combination of all the things made me realize the peacefulness of this old place that they loved.

It was their home sweet home.

I took this small video clip with the flowers that were still blooming and the that birds that were still singing.

Just to remember. It will probably be my last visit here as well.

The Book of Mother: My Story

 Last summer looking for some guidance, advise, help and yes, probably sympathy I joined a group called Caring for Elderly Parents.  I was trying to make decisions regarding my mother’s care.  I found all of the above there and after a few weeks I realized I was only one of many who were facing these challenging decisions. 

I have found there are no “one solution fits all all” answers. Also, rules vary state-to-state but I feel I have moved past the crucial decisions and accepted I did the best I could for my mother. I did it without the help of my biological siblings but with overwhelming love and support from my step-brother and sister who have shown their love and devotion to my mother in tangible ways.   

Some of the things I learned and my thoughts are listed below in the hopes some points may help others  on their  journey. 

  1. Family. Even though you have siblings, you may be the only one willing to make decisions. I was lucky because even though mine did not participate, they were quite happy to relinquish any say in decisions I made.  I did not even waste my breath telling them how useless they were. They know it. They can live with their decisions, I can live with mine. 
  2. Guilt!  It is awful, over-powering but do not let it defeat you.  My mother had fallen and broken her hip but for the 18 months prior to that her doctor had told me because of her dementia, the time was coming that she should not live alone.   I live 2200 miles away and had been making 3-4 trips a year to try and help her stay independent.   When the time came after recovering from the fall, she was walking and discussions were started about whether she could go home. At that point she ramped up the pressure.  “I want to go home! I want to go home! I don’t care if I go home and drop dead. I’m going home”.   It was a tortuous couple of weeks.  I, myself, vacillated day to day about the right decision. Accepting the fact your parent is aging and can no longer care for themselves is hard to believe and navigating that role reversal takes an emotional toll.  Don’t let anyone tell you what “you should” be doing. If only others could see the battle going on within your heart they would keep their opinions to themselves.  That also goes to companies that are trying to sell you something. There is one commercial that says…”because we promised Dad we’d keep mom at home.”  That commercial makes my blood boil. How dare they take advantage of the guilt burden we are already carrying.  Trust yourself, grieve, pray, rest when you can and don’t let anyone rush you. When it is right you will know. 
  3. Debts.  One thing you may find is that your parents were good at hiding problems from you, a problem many experience.  Before my mother fell I had taken over paying her bills because she had lost the ability to track and manage funds as a result checks were bouncing in our joint account. Only after she fell, I found my mother had several credit cards with high balances that she was behind in the payments and she had never told me about. I called and tried to explain the situation.  I told them I could make very minimum payments for her which I did out of her funds.  When it was decided she would not go home, I called and told them she could no longer make these payments as the state would be taking all of her funds for her care. They tried to pressure me to pay her debt. Don’t do it. Any funds you have you may need to buy personal supplies for your parent. My mom is left with only $60 a month to buy toiletries, medical supplies, or snacks. Use your money to care for your parent. The credit card company agreed to take the risk of extending credit, I did not.   If they want to sue an 85 year old for a debt, although large for her it is small potatoes for them, well let them try.  I learned that in TX where my mother lives there are protections for Social Security funds. So sorry Capital One but we are done.  
  4. Trust. Trust but verify. After my mother fell the lady handling her Medicaid application at the nursing facility kept assuring me they had filed an application. After months of checking in with her, I called one day and found she had been dismissed… no application had ever been filed. I finally processed the application myself. It took many calls to the state and oftentimes just calling back and getting another person is worth the trouble.  If you find someone that actually knows what they are talking about,  see if you can get their direct line!  
  5. Document. Trying to keep all the details of this period taxed my sixty-something brain.  I got a spiral notebook and started documenting everything. Calls to the nursing facility, calls to her utilities and other bills, passwords for her accounts on state agencies and even calls to my mother. Often day-to-day it was interesting to see what she remembered one day that was gone the next. It has been a valuable tool and also serves as a journal to remind you how far you have come and reassure you that you will make through to tomorrow, to next week or month.  I call my book, “The Book of Mother. “
  6. Forgive. Finally but not least, forgive yourself, forgive your parent and try to forgive others. Through my own journey, I went through a multitude of emotions and feelings about my mother.  Love, sadness, anger, frustration and sorrow.   The hardest to deal with was anger… I was angry that my mother hid things from me, angry because I felt she was  being manipulative and then I was angry at myself for feeling angry.   It happens.  I have someone I can voice these feelings of anger to without feeling judged and that helps, because I think more than anything it was an anger that I didn’t want to accept the fact that my mother was getting old.  Many of these things, although she may have done them in the past,  she was not doing them purposefully now.  Now I try to direct my anger at the disease that takes away your mind and independence.  Forgive others… that is difficult. I won’t go into depth here but just know, the evil in man’s heart knows no bounds and it shocks me to know what people will do and how they will take advantage of the elderly.  Thankfully there are fewer of these people and more of the loving and giving types. 

I am running low on thoughts for now. It has been 5 months since my mother’s doctor told her she could not go back to her home of 45 years.  I am now in the process of dismantling my mother’s life and possessions even though she is still here, that has it’s own challenges. My mother told me the other day that she didn’t want to go home anymore. ❤️ I think the past few years she was battling to survive physically and mentally, but now is cared for and loved.  She feels safe and can rest for the rest of her retirement years.

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