I could write a poem right now –
find a word that rhymes
like vow, bow, DOW, maybe cow –
but I don’t wonna
and instead I’m gonna
go back to bed and sleep.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell, great 21st century nut
Here is a picture of a cow with her new baby. Photo by me.
Five years ago today we brought Moz into our home. The nurturers from hospice came in and showed us how to care for Mom. Moz and I spent the afternoon telling each other how much we loved each other. At the end of the day it became hard for Moz to speak, but I was greedy. I needed to hear it one more time. “You love me, don’t you?” And I’ll never forget the expression in Moz’s eyes as they locked onto mine and poured her love into me. I knew exactly what she was saying to me with her eyes: “You KNOW I love you!”
No one loved me like Moz loved me.
Early the next morning, as I lay sleeping on the couch next to her bed, she passed on. I could feel her brush by me in my sleep – it was this beautiful, joyful dream – full of peace and joy and love.
Since Then
It’s been almost five years since then,
but it feels like yesterday that you left,
brushed by me as I slept, on your way
to the other side of infinity.
There are still days when I think I should
pick up the phone and give you a call.
But I know I don’t really need a phone
to talk with you. I feel you with me –
here and now.
The sons are both married now; and Dad
has gone – joined you on the other side
of infinity; I’m retired, sort of; and we have
a new president. Everything has changed
and nothing has changed since then.
I feel your love. You must feel mine.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell, from Since Then
The Brush of Angel Wings
The end was like the beginning –
the oxygen machine breathing,
making the sound of the womb,
a soothing rhythm in the room
as she slept on the bed next to me.
All is quiet, but for the pumping
of O through her mask. In my dreams
I feel the light brush of angel wings
and fear is replaced by freedom
and limitless joy that comes
through an opened heavenly portal.
I open my eyes to see the battle
over and done. She has won.
I rise and stand on holy ground.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell, from The Brush of Angel Wings
“…individual good derived from God, the infinite All-in-all, may flow from the departed to mortals…”
– Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures
“Marriage should signify a union of hearts.”
-Mary Baker Eddy
Scotty brought me flowers to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I’ll attach a photo below. Aren’t they pretty?
On March 31st Scott and I will have been married 38 years. I couldn’t have foreseen, on our wedding day, what was coming down the line – I couldn’t see that there’d come a time when I’d need to bring Mom into our home; I couldn’t see that there’d come a time when I’d become responsible for Dad’s health and finances and well-being. I couldn’t foresee the struggles and challenges – and all the good stuff, too – when I married Scott. But I sure couldn’t have picked a better partner to have beside me through all of it – through the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Every single time we’ve been up against the wall, Scott’s come through for us. When I was feeling overwhelmed and exhausted as we cleaned out my parents’ house, Scott said, “We can’t quit. We don’t have a choice,” and mopped and packed and dusted and swept right alongside me. When we realized we needed to find a place for Mom after she was released from the hospital that last time, and I asked Scott how he felt about bringing her into our home, he said, “We’ll make it work!” and took lessons, with me, from the hospice nurse so he could help care for her. When I asked him if he wanted to climb Mount Baker with me, and then Mount Adams – he didn’t hesitate to join me on those adventures and – knowing I’d suffered a glissading accident when I was a youngster that had given me a terrible fear of glissading – he helped me work past my fear on the way down from Adams and showed me, again, how much fun glissading can be.
He was with me when our sons were born and with me when I said good bye to my parents for the last time. He was the one I went to when I discovered Mom had passed as I slept on the couch next to her bed – I wasn’t sure she was really gone, and woke Scott to ask him to come with me to her bedside and check. He checked on her with me and said, “She’s gone, sweetie.” He was there with me during that moment of recognition that Moz had moved on – and was there to give me the strength I needed in that moment and in the weeks to come. He was there when Dad needed help in the bathroom, and there when Dad celebrated his 100th birthday on Rainier. He’s been with me through both the sublime and the ridiculous.
Scott helped build our home – he did the plastering and taping, sanding and varnishing, of our physical home; and helped nurture the love and security of our mental home, too.
I can’t imagine how I’d have gotten to this point in my life without Scott beside me.
Scotty brought me flowers to celebrate Valentine’s Day, but he’s showed me his love every day for the last 38 years.
“Matrimony should never be entered into without a full recognition of its enduring obligations on both sides. There should be the most tender solicitude for each other’s happiness, and mutual attention and approbation should wait on all the years of married life.”
-Mary Baker Eddy
I know. We’re already two months into 2022, but better late than never, right?
Here are some of my favorite photos from 2021: autumn in Bellingham; seal on the Oregon coast; hawk on the tree outside our window; sunrise in Skagit County, WA; a gladiola gift from a friend; snow geese near Bow, WA; flipped reflection of Skagit Valley daffodils; a couple of photos from Neskowin on the Oregon coast; Mount Rainier; an owl in our tree; and otters scrambling on a rock in Bellingham, WA.
(Photos by Karen Molenaar Terrell.)
These are the people who know me
and love me anyway – just as I am.
I don’t need to hide away the pain
and be the ever-smiling savior
for them – they don’t dump shame
on my head for being human
or for saying the wrong thing
or sometimes making the wrong choice
or sometimes raising my voice.
They know what’s in my heart
and trust me. They see the good in me
and help me see it, too, through
their eyes. They are my refuge
and my shelter, and my home.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell
About Dunbar’s 150.
Something really precious just happened. Christina and Andrew went out last night to celebrate Lunar New Year, and this morning I wanted to hear all about their celebration. Christina told me what they did last night, and then she told me how she would be celebrating Lunar New Year today if she was with her family in Australia. I suggested that she and Andrew should go to the local Vietnamese restaurant for dinner tonight to celebrate, and I told her I wanted to pay for dinner. I got out my checkbook to write a check. Christina’s face lit up and she said that it was just like the “red envelope” – on Lunar New Year’s the young people go to their elders and give them a blessing for the new year, and the elders give them money in a red envelope. So I found an old red Christmas card envelope and put the check in there. Christina gave me a blessing in Vietnamese and then translated what she said in English – her blessing was so beautiful and dear: “Mom, I wish you much happiness…” And then I handed my new daughter the red envelope.
I sit at my laptop at 5:00 in the morning
waiting to see what will appear
and my poet-son (“Stealthman”) quietly joins
me with his notebook and pen and sits near.
Poet-son and his love looked at apartments
yesterday and I know they’ll be moving out soon –
I know wherever they are they will bloom.
The cats are fed and one puts his paw on me
and meows for me to stroke his hair
while the other watches us from the top of a chair –
watching the poet-son and me
as we wake and write and type.
I feel it. The day is just starting, and ripe
with possibilities of what might be.
I enjoy this perfect moment, with the cats
and the son close by me.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell
“To those leaning on the sustaining infinite, to-day is big with blessings.”
-Mary Baker Eddy
(Originally published on bellinghambayblog.)
So a cool thing happened this morning: I was up in Bellingham, doing my walk, and when I got to Boulevard Park I saw a man using one of those ball launchers to fling a tennis ball to his dog. I was smiling at the dog as I came around on the path. And then – to my surprise and delight – the dog nabbed the tennis ball his human flung to him and brought it to ME! He laid it down at my feet and looked up at me, hopefully. I’m pretty sure the dog was smiling. I picked up the ball and threw it back towards the dog’s human – but the ball only got about half-way there. The dog picked it up and brought it back to me again! I was so tickled that the dog chose to include me in his game. I threw it again and the dog went chasing after it.
Birch, the dog’s human, told me his dog’s name is Bridger – like Bridger-Teton National Forest in Wyoming. (One of my mountain-climbing dad’s favorite places.)
Bridger made my day.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell
Here’s a picture of Bridger smiling at me…
My beautiful friend and former teaching colleague, Jill Bailey, passed yesterday. This morning I’ve been going through our FB messages to each other, soaking up her wisdom and kindness, and I found messages she’d sent me just after my mom passed – messages about the process of grieving. But… it felt like these messages were fresh and brand new – like she’d just sent them to me – like she was sending me inspiration and wisdom to help me through mourning HER passing.
Today is also the second anniversary of my dad’s death. Finding Jill’s messages this morning couldn’t have come at a better time.
I want to share Jill’s wisdom with everyone who is mourning her today.
Jill wrote:
“…Karen, my dad told me shortly after my mom died that he believed that the most important word from Psalm 23 was THROUGH. This scripture can be recited by many…The Lord make me lie down in green pastures, etc. The word THROUGH is only in the chapter once. People picture lying down in green pastures and God walking alongside them through the valley of death, etc..They see themselves THERE. But my dad said go THROUGH it. It is the only way to truly process and heal (get through it) the death of someone you love dearly. He was correct. We can’t shut it out, forget or not deal. The waves of grief crash and we have to dive through…”
And in another message, Jill wrote:
“…this grief we go through tends to be solo and honestly no one can truly feel or understand its intensity (at times)…I am sorry that you are going through all the tough stuff that death leaves for the living. I know, I know people say, ‘everyone goes through it.’ It doesn’t help to hear those words. It just truly amazes me that so many people deal with this grief day to day without acknowledgement. And I guess I want to do that – acknowledge you and what is happening!…This is a very hard time. (As I state the obvious.) Please know you are hugged and understood. Jill”
Two years ago today: The last time I saw Dad alive. He died the next day, before I could get to him.
January 18, 2020
Dad is in bed. His eyes are closed. He’s very still, but I see his chest moving. He’s still with us. I lean over and kiss his forehead and say into his ear, “Hi Daddy. It’s Karen.” (There’s no response at first. Then his eyes open and he looks at me.)
Dad: (Weakly.) Karen.
Karen: I love you, Daddy.Dad: (I can feel the effort he’s making to mumble the words.) Ah uv you.Karen: (Smiling at Dad – my heart filled with tenderness.) You old mountain goat. (That’s what Mom had always called Dad – and it comes to me – out of the blue – to call him that. Dad smiles at me. And now I find myself singing to him – that old Jeannette McDonald-Nelson Eddy song that he and Mom used to sing to each other…) When I’m calling you-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh… (I see Dad perk up a little. I get this sense that Mom is calling to him.)
We don’t say much after this. I stay for a while, stroking Dad’s forehead, and watching “Maverick” on Dad’s television. Every now and then Dad opens his eyes and checks to see if I’m still there. Eventually he falls back to sleep. I leave to go home and fetch my husband and son for a return visit. When I arrive home and describe Dad’s condition, the husband and son immediately let me know they’re with me and we go back to Dad’s house.
We enter Dad’s room and approach the bed. He’s sleeping. We pull up three chairs and watch him for a while. His foot is moving back and forth. I approach Dad’s bed.
Karen: Hi, Daddy. It’s Karen. And Andrew is here. And Scotty.
(Dad opens his eyes and looks at me.)
Karen: I love you, Daddy.
(Dad’s eyes are locked on mine and he nods his head at me once, twice. An affirmation. I nod back at him. He reaches up and holds my arm and squeezes it gently. I hold his hand and squeeze. He squeezes my hand back.)
Karen: Here’s Andrew, Daddy.
(Andrew sits close to his grampa. This is his time with Grampa. Love is exchanged. This time belongs to them and it’s not mine to share in words.)
Karen: And here’s Scotty.(Scott grips Dad’s hand and receives a strong grip in return. They both grin at each other. Male bonding.)
We all feel when it’s time to leave and let Dad get back to the business of sleeping. I get up and kiss Dad’s forehead and tell him I love him. Scott says his good byes. Andrew is the last to leave – he gets a strong good bye handshake from his grandfather before he leaves him to sleep.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell, The Second Hundred Years: Further Adventures with Dad
Adventures of the Madcap Christian Scientist 