Advice

You should only flip meat once,

Turn pancakes after the bubbles start to pop,

And always cook eggs on low.

Get those shoulders back,

Walk with your head high,

And if you are happy, tell your face.

Keep your eyes on the road,

Don't swerve to miss animals,

And never drive over five in parking lots

Flip your wrist when you shoot,

Lean into the curve,

And don't reach over the bar.

Keep your tongue in your mouth,

Your hands to yourself,

And when I come down those stairs,

Those feet better be on the floor!

No one can make you angry

Unless you let them.

Remember the past,

Dream about the future,

But live today.

Get off the phone.

Be home by midnight.

Get an education.

Show some respect!

Help your mother.

Smile.

Be nice.

Set high goals.

Are you listening?

Well, Chuck, I can't say that I have always listened to you in the past,

but today I did the one thing you've been telling me to do for years...

I married my best friend.

Thanks for the advice. I love you, Dad.

Ruth

 Ruth 1933-2022

Like her biblical namesake she’ll be remembered for her 

kindness, loyalty, obedience and faith. 

She was…

A silent answer that not only turned away wrath, 

but somehow mastered the ability to completely ignore it. 

Forgive it. Forget it. 

She was…

A lover of the Lord

Emulating meekness, patience and service

Reading daily scriptures to her hungry young boys as they 

snarfed down breakfast then undoubtedly left her with 

dirty dishes to clean without complaint.

She was…

An “I figure no matter how bad I have it, 

somebody else has it worse than I do,” kind of person. 

The glass was always half full, 

And tomorrow the sun would inevitably shine.

She was…

The first to offer an, “I thought maybe you could use these,” 

while displaying her latest yard sale finds. 

From kitchen tables to Dirt Devil vacuums, 

to household gadgets and more…

Never did second-hand feel so first-rate. 

She was…

A chocolate Wendy’s Frosty, Keebler club crackers, 

frozen green grapes and three million tons of food storage 

“just in case” of a rainy day.

She was…

A Steno notepad full  of perfect loopy penmanship,

an impeccable record keeper, 

The memory for the family

And a stasher of seemingly endless cash. 

She was…

A macaroni and tomatoes, 

green peppers in cottage cheese, 

and a can of Campbell’s soup kind of cook.

Never claiming anything close to “fancy” 

Whether dressing a salad or herself. 

She was…

Known to say, “It’s just another day” or “no big deal” when celebrating 

birthdays, anniversaries, or graduations, perhaps to deemphasize 

the pomp and circumstance so many value “these days”

over the simple joy of being together.

She was…

The last to complain or criticize but the first to say, 

“Well, that’s just so and so” when explaining away flaws of family members– 

Be it moodiness, a terrible temper, the lack of a filter, or the in-ability to stay awake on her couch during a visit…

All flaws she herself did not possess but readily overlooked in others. 

She was…

One of the first to hold our babies 

But the last to offer parenting advice,

Choosing love, patience, charity, and compassion 

Over correction or condemnation.

She was…

A mischievous, giggle when reminiscing 

about the fruit picking fun of The Dirty Dozen 

and a hearty laugh upon seeing a “for his eyes only” 

Valentine given to her youngest son. 

“I thought it was cute,” was the only judgment she offered.

She was…

Two short legs trotting beside me in the emergency room, 

hoping to shield me from the shock concealed by a canvas curtain.

Then, within a matter of minutes, she became the 5 ft nothing pillar of strength I literally leaned on after the doctor told us it was too late

and we made the short long walk

together to tell my children.

She was…

Miles of stitches, sewn into the many quilts 

and first aid bandages she created to comfort others. 

And more recently, she was a set of large-print scriptures 

read aloud in a lonely, silent home.

She was…

A big sigh accompanied by an “Oh…I just putter around here and there,” 

which was code for, “I accomplish more in a day in my 80s 

than most people half my age and younger.” 

But it still wasn’t enough to help her feel productive. 

She was…

A worrier, a mother and grandmother who 

fought to stay here with those she loved,

But longed to go home to her eternal companion, 

her grandson, her siblings, her parents, and her baby.

And now, 

she is…

Our angel, our continued advocate, our mother, grandmother, sister and friend.

Her struggles to endure replaced by eager 

reunions taking place on the other side, 

offering those of us left behind some comfort and peace 

as she whispers through the veil, 

”All is well…till we meet again.”

Thank you, Ruth,  for being our example of charity, productivity, righteousness, frugality, wisdom, service, and love. In my 30 years as a member of this family, I never heard you say an unkind word about anyone, even when you were the sounding board for many of our complaints. 

From baby blessings to baptisms, church talks to birthdays, deer hunts to missionary farewells, homecomings, weddings and funerals. Thank you for sharing so many of life’s beautiful, tender moments with all of us, as well as sharing the most bitter and challenging. We love you and will forever honor your name through the lives we lead and the choices we make. We are blessed to call you our mother, grandmother, sister, and friend–another angel now lifting and encouraging us from the other side.

Ex

Ex is for excited:

Exonerated from a life alone.

    An exercise in faith 

        Taking a chance on the extraordinary.

Ex is for exceptional:

Exhilarating fresh starts.

    An excerpt from a new happily ever after,

Two imperfect souls striving for excellence.

Ex is for expectation:

Learning to read foreign expressions. 

    Extinguishing fears when they flare. 

Trying not to exhume the past, only to exacerbate the present.

Ex is for experience:

Exacting an ideal amid delicate baggage bursting with inexplicable pain.  

Examining motives behind inexcusable action.

Exuding compassion while ignoring common sense. 

Ex is for excuses:

Explaining away hurt—real or imagined—in a pretty little head.

            Quiet, curt exchanges passing in the hall

    Expunging emotions that still exist, even when ignored.

Ex is for extrapolation:

Exertion triggers contempt

    Exasperated efforts meet dismissal.

                    Exploited weaknesses, raw and inflamed, react. 

Ex is for exhausted:

Holding a collective breath, waiting to exhale…

        As tolerance levels exceed the bubbling brim.

            A time bomb of eggshells set to explode.

Extol. 

        Expend.

                Extend.  

                        Exist. 

                                Expire.

                                        Ex is for ex-husband.

Reflecting on a Decade

I suppose all decades represent seasons of significant growth and change because let’s face it, would our lives really be worth living if one stretch of time wasn't distinguishable from the next? I knew going into this decade I would see the last of my thirties. I would launch my children into the world of adulthood, and my role as a mother, a wife, a teacher and mentor would continue to evolve--possibly to the point of painful discomfort--I just didn’t know to what degree. 

I had no idea this would be the decade I would find my voice with The Central Utah Writing Project--starting a personal blog, submitting articles for publication, traveling on assignments, and benefiting from lasting friendships with co-directors and other Fellows who not only encourage me to keep writing, but to keep living. 

The past ten years took me to Vernal, Boulder, Mesa, Minneapolis, Washington, Vegas, Charleston, Port Townsend, Victoria, Nashville, Boise, and Irvine for work and fun. While many trips to Atlanta, Yakima, Logan, and more than a few small towns in Idaho connected and reconnected me with family in ways that can only be described as healing--worthy of heartfelt song. That is, if I could sing... 

It was a decade of coaching, pioneer trekking, deer hunting, camping, fishing, 4-wheeling, temple dedicating, skiing, crossfitting, teenage driving, missionary farewelling and homecoming. It brought the beginning and ending of outlandish dance proposals and their even more clever replies, track meets, basketball games, plays, dance recitals, orchestra, choir and rock concerts. It was a decade of discovery and accomplishment mixed with the brutal realities of life. 

In many ways, our family's past decade reflects a microcosm of life itself. Half of it spent for the most part on track, its trajectory seemingly predictable, comfortably common. Until it wasn’t. Until death stole my mother from me a good ten years sooner than I had anticipated. And then, as if it hadn’t taken enough, stole from me and my children again some 163 days later--this time taking the head of our family, our leader, our trusted, wise mentor and friend. The only thing worse than losing my husband of twenty-three short years, was knowing that Kyle only got him for twenty, Lane eighteen, Anna fourteen. Perhaps enough time to leave a lasting impact, but certainly long enough to leave us all desperately longing for his counsel and love yet given. 

And so, the second half of the decade was spent in a humbling, numbing fog, grappling with the unknown as we were not only knocked off course, but were forced into a world that vaguely looked like it did days, even hours prior. Since 2015 we have learned to both embrace and resent the word resilient in our home. Social media, gaming, fast food, and Amazon Prime--the world’s empty antidotes--gave us some reprieve but not like our faith, connection to family, and the volumes of heartfelt prayers sent up in our behalf did (and let us not discount the impact of a good therapist and medication that sometimes make the world just a little easier to face).     

The second half of this decade took me to my knees with grief, despair, and prayer. It saw me rocking widowhood for a whole nine months before deliberately deciding to break every rule in the widow handbook, hoping to spare me and my children from anymore pain. But instead, we faced new challenges and opportunities for growth that death alone did not offer. Spending the past few years as a newlywed in my late forties, trying to create a new life while hanging on to some of the past, and watching my kids struggle then give up on college, religion, and relationships was not what I expected in this stage of life and has been almost more than I could bear. But by the same token, this unexpected, Plan B approach to life has taught me to worry less, especially now that I know what it's like to live after all you've planned for and hold dear turns to dust in an instant. The worry isn't worth it and only steals from what may be known as the good ol' days...much sooner than you think.

Now we find ourselves pressing forward, walking into the next decade bound together by hope. This past year has taught me to accept my children’s choices as I have gained a firm testimony of  the integral role agency plays in all our experiences here on earth. Likewise, my children have taught me to trust them in their decision making as they have fully trusted in mine. While the healing balm of gratitude has always been a key factor in my life’s happiness and outlook, the past six months especially have confirmed to me, with some of the most intense realization, that God is in the details. He does not forget his children, and he keeps his promises when we keep ours--mothers' especially. How can I not be grateful, full of hope?

As I dare look ahead to the next decade, I imagine I will officially earn the title of Grandma. I suspect I will get a master's degree and perhaps put it to use by becoming a principal. I plan to finish what I hope will be a memoir worth reading, live my fifties to the fullest, and find a low-impact exercise I honestly enjoy. That said, I have every intention of continuing to eat whatever I want without gaining weight and doubt I will ever learn to sing or play an instrument as my "goals" have indicated the past four decades. I plan to retire from teaching at some point but will stay in the classroom as long as I can, or until former students quit approaching me at the grocery store to tell me how much they loved having me as their teacher. I will more than likely say goodbye to my in-laws and a few aunts and uncles but hopefully no one before they are ready. I plan to read more good books and spend far too much money on clothes, skin care, and eating out. I pray my children will continue to include me in their lives as they realize the undeniable impact they've had on mine. I hope I am afforded opportunities to spend more time with my siblings and extended family as they keep me connected with my parents and my past. Finally, I hope to cultivate the love I need to invest in and benefit from all of the beautiful second chances I have been blessed with in this life. 

Pray more.
Love more.
Connect more.

If I am allowed to do these things with and for those I love, I will consider the next decade a success. I wish the same for you as you both reflect and project on your life in the days ahead. 

A Widow's Return

A Widow’s Return--a tribute to my Grandma Reeder

For years she peered from her side kitchen window, 
An empty house, an empty table, a lonely heart. 
The occasional visit brightened her day 
But was often overshadowed by hours 
Of vain anticipation, anxiously awaiting the simplest of events.

Now, expectation is satisfied.
Her table is surrounded–never to be empty again.
Gone are lonely dinners, empty mailboxes, and silent phones.
Hungry arms now greet her as eternal embraces grab hold,
Never to be loosed again.
Hands, once wrinkled and calloused, reunite with youthful vigor.
Clasped forever, all voids are filled.

For months she stewed and worried
About passing through the veil,
Her vision and memories clouded by earthly limitation,
Her heart trapped between this life and the next.

But now, she is free.
Perfect faith overrides the doubt that once confused.
Understanding tempers fear as she soars high above
The concerns which once held her bound.
While friends and family gather,
Vivid memories replace faded photographs in her mind.
The blur of life is slowed, focused.
Quiet recollections euphorically contemplate the years.
All is clear again.

For days she suffered as her body failed.
Loving visits met silence, strength dissipated,
And the load grew too heavy to bear.
Clinging to what pride and dignity remained,
She endured it well.

Now, patience is unnecessary.
The wait is over on both sides of the veil.
Hearts reach out as joy assuages pain.
Laughter replaces loneliness, unvanquished truth
Fills the gaps of the mind.
A life of work is rewarded and labor rests.
With shouts of acclamation, a lovely daughter returns Home.
No longer a widow. Never again, alone.

Christine Cluff Thompson
September 26, 2009

The Giving Void

On Friday my daughter surprised me at work with one of my newfound favorites from Chick-fil-A--a very rich and highly addictive frozen lemonade. But along with her thoughtfulness came a flood of bittersweet memories. As she walked toward my desk and our eyes met, all I could see was her dad bringing me my weekly Cafe Rio fix four long years ago. Her eager-to-please, smiling eyes mirrored his so uncannily, it may as well have been him extending the heartwarming gesture. In that moment, I saw his love for me reflected in her. Yet another way life after loss does not allow for happy times without the sting of sadness seeping in, especially when we are on the receiving end of love--love that we ache and long for from those who are no longer with us.

Of course I didn’t want to share this with Anna in the moment because I have found that when I do express the bitter-sweet connections, my children (and others) often refrain from offering the sweet in an attempt to shield me from the bitter, not realizing that this is entirely unavoidable. It just is. It’s part of life after loss. And so, I remain quiet...and grateful for the opportunities I still have to give and receive from some. But sad because I can no longer give to others, an undeniable truth I haven’t dared explore...until now.

I was again reminded of this gift giving-receiving dilemma upon opening the mail later that evening when I found that my sister had sent a care package filled with what she called “A taste of home,” complete with homemade sugar cookies, applesauce cookies, and raspberry jam--all Mom’s recipes, all made in her kitchen, all made with the love she would have sent were she still here to share her favorite holiday with us. And while the sweets brought smiles and comfort, they too highlighted how much I miss the chance I once had to both give and receive from those who taught me HOW to give and love so fiercely in this life.

This year's Christmas shopping has been the most difficult to date as I have found myself feeling hollow and numb in the midst of buying for family members, friends, and colleagues. Even though I'm confident I have found exactly what they might want or need, I realize I am missing out on one crucial opportunity: I miss buying for him. Period. Not because I knew his tastes so well or because I got it right most of the time. In fact, more often than not, I knew I had totally missed the mark with workwear, golf accessories, or shoes he didn’t like or need. But still, I miss buying and doing for him. Likewise, I miss his failed and not-so-failed attempts at buying for me. Two perfectly paired awful gift givers who got really good at feigned satisfaction over the years until we finally agreed to shop together, leaving the surprises for Santa and the kids.

Now, alongside my yearnings, longings, and achings, I realize I can still buy for those I love and revel in their delight as we gather together this season. I realize I have been blessed with a thoughtful, loving second husband who is one of the most adept, heartfelt givers this family has ever known (thanks to his generous nature and Amazon Prime!). I realize I can still give my children a piece of their father by sharing stories and memorabilia with them.  And yes, I recognize I can donate items in my late love’s honor. I can perform acts of kindness and service in his name. I know there is much I can do in his behalf to keep his memory alive. But (and this is a really big but…) I will never again share in the beautiful exchange that takes place when one buys, wraps, and watches as their (missing) loved one opens a gift personally selected just for him. I will not share in the joy of gift giving with him...or my mom...or my dad ever again. The three people in my life who taught me the priceless nature of giving, both the tangible and intangible, are no longer here to share in the reciprocity inherent in gift giving--the symbolic reason for the season as we like to say. And while I cling to the blessings my children, Rod, siblings, and friends are in my life, the void left by those now on the other side is unfillable. That is the power of love. Therein lies the power of giving, I suppose.  

So this holiday, when we are fretting about buying or making the perfect gifts, I hope we can enjoy the fretting. Enjoy the process, the anticipation, the satisfaction, and maybe even the disappointment. Whether our gift-giving is so totally right or so miserably wrong, let’s enjoy the fact that we can still serve and buy for in-laws, spouses, children, and all who play an integral role in making us the givers and receivers we are. Let’s eat it up. Revel in it! Because we never know when the opportunity to give will be taken from us--when we will miss seeing our love wash over their grateful faces or hear their voices of genuine (or feigned) appreciation say "Thank you" one last time as they fold that unwearable shirt, set it aside, and pat it...with love.