Be an Overcomer

There are some things in my life that bring me to a full sweaty mess.

There are many more things that bring me to my knees in a puddle of tears or a need to vomit.

Tonight it was tears.

I went back to Hospice House where my mom died, with dad at her side, on December 26th.

I felt a pull to go back, but also a humbling fear that brought me to tears. I knew that I needed to do this for myself. I knew I needed to overcome my overwhelming feelings of grief and love, despair and compassion that Hospice House brings up for me.

I drove my car north followed by a bright, clear moon and clean roads, as I did many times last fall visiting mom and dad.

I arrived at Hospice House.

I entered the very familiar building and went to a chair to await the seminar about grief and the holidays. I tried not to look too hard, but it was the same.

Beautiful spaces

Christmas decorations




I sat. I cried. I listened to great strategies on Christmas in the midst of grief.

I wrote a card with my mom’s name on it and placed it on the memory tree.

I had some juice and cookies and took a wander down the hall to room number eight.

Yup, it’s still there.

Yup, mom still isn’t.

Unless she’s now a man. A bald-headed one.

Nope, no mom here on earth.

A checked out the fish tank down the hall.

I walked back to the living room and put another name on the tree for my Auntie Gail. I remembered her putting her son, Michael, on the memory tree last Christmas. My cousin was killed in a motor vehicle accident many years ago. I put Michael’s tag on the tree and told him how much his mom loves him.

And then I walked out.

An Overcomer of my emotions.

An Overcomer of fear.

An Overcomer of doing the hard stuff.