Dear Nestlings,
Yesterday was a Bluebird Day. Today is a Bluebird Day as well. I’ve been keeping track of them this winter, more than usual, as you know. I send you pictures of them regularly, even though all the pictures look pretty much the same.
Grandma Kathleen loved a good Bluebird day. Not a cloud in the sky, bright sunlight lifting spirits even if it’s still cold. It’s not a coincidence to me that we’ve had so many Bluebird Days this winter, that instead of the usual gray winter doldrums of Idaho we’ve had this:
and this:
and this:
I’m thankful for my bluebird winter. I’m pretty sure my mother sent it. She knows how I hate winter.
Six months ago exactly, on October 6th, I drove to see my mother for the last time. I didn’t know that, of course. But just like all these Bluebird Days that mean something important, the days and months leading up to that day had been carefully organized as well.
We had asked for General Conference tickets for our family. We’d never gone in person before, and we asked for the tickets late (I knew, because a friend asked early and didn’t get hers) but they still gave us eight.
We drove down early Sunday morning, listening to the morning session in the car. One of you, the one living in Provo, went and sat with Grandma while you waited for the rest of us to arrive. You probably didn’t get to listen too closely. Grandma probably had you doing odd jobs instead. Still, there was a talk that morning that was pretty much about Grandma. I remember listening to it in the car as we drove down and thinking of her. Later that week, when she’d gone, I would know the talk was meant for all of us.
When we got to Salt Lake, it felt like a whirlwind. We rushed into Grandma’s apartment, did lunch, and then rushed out again. We had to get downtown and find parking for the afternoon session. Grandma would have been concerned about that, about being on time (early!), and would have shoved us out the door.
And then it all kept happening. . . Grandma felt sick. We brought her soup. You each hugged her and told her you loved her. I sat with her while you visited with your other grandparents. And then we left. We had to drive home. I talked with her briefly on Monday, but she had a cough, and couldn’t talk too long. On Tuesday, Libbi called, and Grandma had gone home.
All is well, all is well.
Rejoice.
When I think about that time, I am struck by how well everything was organized and how thoroughly we were all prepared. Each of my siblings had their own time and moment with Grandma: Michael months before, so fitting for the son that Grandma always said needed a good lead up to anything happening; Libbi, who got back in time from her trip to be there and send Grandma off to bed for the last time; Emily, who talked to Grandma about tulips on Saturday; Joe, who felt Grandma come and help him with an emergency with Riley’s car. Nothing left to chance in this temporary goodbye.
I am thankful for these witnesses of the care my Heavenly Parents took over my mother’s life and mine. I am thankful for the witness they give me that life goes on after the one we’re living here, that the resurrection we’re talking and singing about this month is real and can be felt by each of us every day.
I know your Heavenly Parents and Savior are taking care of you too. That nothing is left to chance.
Every Bluebird Day reminds me of this love.
And this year those Bluebird Days, they’ve come over:
and over:
and over again:
I hope that whenever you see them, you will remember these things too.
Love,
Mom