Calida and Dinah Salazar

Sunday, May 8, 2011

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 Today is Mother’s Day.


Confusion and sadness initially filled my first Mother’s Day without my Mom.  Should I get flowers in her memory?  Make a donation to the church in her name?  I tried, in my small way, to celebrate the beautiful person that she was.  However it was, of course, not the same.  Since her departure from this world, I am constantly reminded that nothing is the same, and so, I create new traditions 
and expectations.  The heart of Mother’s Day is about honoring the person who carried you for so many months and continued to protect and nourish you well past birth.  I don’t need flowers or cards to do this, I choose to honor her with my actions ever day.  I honor her by being myself.  I honor her with each smile that creeps to the corners of my mouth as her image pops in my head.  I honor her by keeping her spirit alive.  So, I have discovered that this day which could feel so lonely without my mother here to hug and share our favorite Mother’s Day cinnamon rolls, is anything but lonely.  See, she is in everything I do.  This is her gift to me, the lessons and laughter to last a lifetime.  My gift to her is remembering and honoring who she was, and the person she helped me to become.



Sunday, February 20, 2011

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Have you been Jobbed?  As in the biblical figure who suffered every imaginable personal catastrophe possible.  As his faith was tested, he lost his family, home, livelihood, and more.  In the end, he held on to the most important thing, his faith.  Even before my mom was diagnosed, we used to joke that we had been “Jobbed” every time something went awry, which seemed to be frequently.  For Christmas, the year before the cancer, I got her a Job action figure.  Complete with sores and tattered clothing, he certainly looked the part.  Meant to be a silly joke, he quickly became a symbol of our sense of humor and our faith.  From the time of diagnosis, Job became our constant companion, our mascot.  From radiation therapy to Disney World, Job went everywhere with us.  The long days sitting with mom in the infusion center as poison slowly attacked her cancer were made a little happier by the presence of our friend sitting on the IV cart.  He became such an uplifting conversation starter that we bought on for the infusion center.  Sitting on the counter, they affectionately named him G.I. Job.  Job has remained a symbol of faith and the ability to find the silly in most any situation.  He sits on my desk and makes me smile, as he did through many trying times.  If Job survived everything that was thrown at him, then I certainly can!