Mom never taught me how to French braid. I'm actually not even sure she knew how to do it herself. If she did, then she taught my sister, then let my sister do all of the braiding in the house. But she never taught me how, either way. So now that Lydia's hair is getting longer, stringier, and a little less curly (and quite the hot mess) I gave it my best go this morning. 
Clearly, I never learned. Oh. My.
Moving on.
It's been an astonishing 6 years since I took a trip to Wal-mart on a Sunday evening with my friend Terri, had a spastic exchange at the check out counter when I found out mom had a stroke/seizure, lost my debit card and saw my mom leave one ER via med-vac for another ER. I call January 25,2009 the "changing of the guard" in her life story sometimes because that day something drastic happened. The slopes we had been skiing on for 21 months had abruptly taken an immediate 90 degree downward path off the black diamond. We all knew the direction she was headed, it was only a matter of time.
This season every year gets me because I can recall so many vivid memories of what happened, what I ate, what I was wearing, noises I heard, etc (but I can't even remembered if I brush my teeth sometimes each morning?!) and the weeks that follow always bring the mellow out of me.
Yesterday, I heard a fantastic sermon on protecting the sanctity of life and how God is able to work life even in the midst of death and even in my moms process/stages of dying, never once was there a disrespect for the life she was living. There were so many folks that surrounded us who were changed by the perseverance of mom and the family, despite the horrible prognosis. I am so grateful for a pastor who reminds us that God desires us to restore a reverence for life among the nations!!
So, if you catch me dazing it's probably because I'm lost in those great memories of my mom in those glorious last days, or I'm really trying to perfect the art of French braiding in my head. But more than likely, it's not the latter.
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