{"id":3056,"date":"2017-05-11T05:30:24","date_gmt":"2017-05-11T11:30:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/admin.patheos.com\/blogs\/davidrupert\/?p=3056"},"modified":"2017-05-04T11:04:00","modified_gmt":"2017-05-04T17:04:00","slug":"mothers-day-legacy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/davidrupert\/mothers-day-legacy\/","title":{"rendered":"The Legacy Our Moms Left Behind (It’s All Up to Us Now)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<\/head>

I remember the strange feeling that the key to the front door was in the hands of strangers.\u00a0Mom died that year. Dad 10 months prior. \u00a0The little yellow house in the woods kept the reality of their passing at bay.\u00a0But when the house went away, so did a piece of the memory. But what about the legacy?<\/p>\n

The house had sold. Soon after that moving boxes would stack outside, ready to be sorted. And the new owners would be thinking about what color to paint the walls, adjusting the couch against the front window just so.\u00a0\"Moms<\/a><\/p>\n

There was something about that house that was a lingering reminder of their life. Although I never grew up there \u2014 they moved in while I was in college \u2014 \u00a0every trip \u201chome\u201d was to that place. Most of my adult memories of them are under the shake-roofed home.<\/p>\n

Set in the woods, just a few blocks away from the Lake\u00a0<\/a>they loved, it was nothing fancy. But it was home. Dad\u2019s favorite place was on the back porch, smoking his pipe, cherry tobacco floating through the crisp air. Overlooking the porch was a massive bear, carved from a dead Douglas fir tree that had to be removed. Mom called him Barnabas<\/a> and had, \u201cLove Bears All\u201d carved into the front side.<\/p>\n

She always had mounds of flowers in the backyard, most planted from seed. Mom loved the pr\"Mom<\/a>ocess of seed pressed to soil brought alive by water and sunshine. I can still see her fussing in the yard with her gloves pulled tight against her hands. She watered them every morning, singing hymns and talking to the blooms in a clear voice of encouragement.<\/p>\n

Just before the house sold, I made a visit. I was surprised to see so many of the flowers alive. A long, hot summer with no one to care for them, and they did their best to survive. Some, even flourished. \u00a0The Forget-Me-Nots craned their blooms to the sun and the daisies shimmied in the breeze to attract a passing bee. I water them and they wave back at me in thanks. \u201cWe\u2019re good.\u201d<\/p>\n

I peek in the windows. The wall where all of the family photos hung is now empty, little nail holes the only visible sign of the generations who have gone on before.<\/p>\n

They were married 63 years. Not all of them were easy. There were failures, disappointments, and deceptions. And there joys, victories and miracles. They never quit on each other.<\/p>\n

Passing on a\u00a0legacy<\/h4>\n

There was really left nothing of any material blessing to pass on. My sister has some memorabilia (She was a saint through the whole process)<\/em>. I have Mom\u2019s jeep with 180K miles on it. Someone in the coroner\u2019s office has her wedding ring (I hope they feel guilty every single day.<\/em>)<\/p>\n

After the funeral and the final bills, there wasn\u2019t much else left.\u00a0But I\u2019m a rich man<\/em>. Today I shuffle through photos, trying to refresh the memories that seem to get a little fuzzy.<\/p>\n

As I look in the mirror, I realize that I\u2019m now the family\u2019s senior generation and the heavy responsibility of legacy now falls to me and my sister and brother.\u00a0It\u2019s \u00a0succession planning, just as it\u2019s always been.<\/p>\n

I still don\u2019t feel I\u2019m ready. I don\u2019t have the experience. I don\u2019t have wisdom. I have a few more questions to ask. I can only whisper them in the form of prayers now, hoping\u00a0the answers somehow work their way into my spirit.<\/p>\n

When the doubt creeps in, I think about those resilient flowers. Left on their own, they\u2019re still thriving with no to care for them except the rain and sun from above.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s going to be okay.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\"Mom<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I remember the strange feeling that the key to the front door was in the hands of strangers.\u00a0Mom died that year. Dad 10 months prior. \u00a0The little yellow house in the woods kept the reality of their passing at bay.\u00a0But when the house went away, so did a piece of the memory. But what about […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2375,"featured_media":3057,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[1651,1654,1652,1653,1655],"class_list":["post-3056","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-generations","tag-legacy","tag-mothers-day","tag-motherhood","tag-responsiblity"],"yoast_head":"\nThe Legacy Our Moms Left Behind (It's All Up to Us Now)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"The heavy responsibility of family legacy now falls to me. 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