Mom and Dad

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I was looking through some pictures, and thought that I would share. These photos of my Mom do her zero justice-you can tell that she is pretty, but she was even far more gorgeous than these pictures let on. There used to be a few photographs that did her justice, but they have been lost. She will be 90 in September. My Dad lived to be 95. Thank you so much, Lord, for the incredible blessing of my parents!

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Published by Judy Campbell

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15 thoughts on “Mom and Dad”

  2. I was so grateful to the minister who presided at my mother’s funeral, a longtime family friend, for mentioning and reminiscing about her beauty!
    Now I am dealing with my sister’s death. I still can’t believe I have to write that. But she, plump and voluptuous all our lives, shrank, shriveled and faded under the evil hand of illness. Little by little, like a malign nurse, it withdraws everything we treasure: you don’t need those shining cheeks any more dear, come now, be reasonable, all that hair? You don’t really need the strength of limb to go outside, Mortal illness says: Be still, and know that I am god.
    I will tell about my sister’s masses of curly red-gold hair, how during her time in Russia people would stop her on the street, finger a curl, and marvel, “Как в сказке!” ( like in a fairy tale). Yes I will give her back her beauty and vigor to the extent of my own pitiful power.

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  3. Yesterday, for a few minutes I found some minor relief in planning the burial of her ashes. I wanted to do it Feb 5, I pictured us standing in the snow, a landscape like the Russian tales she loved about Lord Frost, and I would tell about the сказке comment and then I would tell the story of the line I chose for her tombstone:”For there is no friend like a sister”. It’s from Christina Rosetti’s “Goblin Market”, an English fairy tale. I found some comfort in that. When someone dies, I’ve noticed before, as long as the funeral is being planned you have the illusion you are still doing something FOR the person. It’s the easy part of bereavement, really.
    And it was all arranged, I was about to start notifying people—but then I got a call from the cemetery: “There’s snow on the ground, we don’t think we can bury anybody now.”

    What. The. FUCK?!?!?

    Number one, this is the Poconos, where we grew up, where the maybe 10 inches of snow, max, that we’ve got on the ground now would hardly merit anybody’s notice! Or AM I still living in Pocono Lake, Pa? I could not believe this.

    Number two, what do people do whose decedents have not been cremated? I mean, winter is the season of death, it’s when a lot of people die! Do they have to pay for refrigeration until spring? And spring comes late on our plateau.

    My BMD says it’s all due to Covid. Nobody will do their jobs if there’s any obstacle, any inconvenience at all. The gravediggers don’t wanna get out their machines when it’s COLD! It isnt “safe”…

    This may seem minor, but it ripped away the tiny, scanty shred of consolation I had found in composing my encomium, in imagining a scene I know she would have appreciated.

    Oh well. Just one more ‘nail in the coffin”, as they say 🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😢😭!

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      2. Simon, you live in the foothills of the Himalayas. I live in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. Where I am is very close by to Tanglewood. It’s a lovely venue where they play all kinds of different music outside in the summertime. We have lakes, and woods, and mountains. It’s all very nice 🙂

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