Nola's Turn to Work

Comfort in Connecting

Mom and I were sorting through dresser drawers, boxes, closets, and cupboards when we stumbled upon a box of small wooden blocks perfectly uniform in size.

It was unusual for me to be helping mom sort through her things. I'm generally 2,000 miles away from mom, her tiny white house, her closets and drawers, and boxes of stored treasures.

But this year was different. An unexpected sequence of events dropped me into my mom's house when she became ill this spring. It was obvious from 2,000 miles away that this was not a typical sickness, and after a phone conversation with the doctor, my husband purchased a ticket for me to fly to mom early the next day. I arrived at mom's bedside in the Tom Baker Cancer Centre around noon. That night at 9:30, the doctor confirmed the worst. Cancer. Adenocarcinoma which likely began in her lungs, but had spread to her brain, spine, and liver. This cancer was incurable. Mom was given one to two months to live.

My brother joined us the following day, and we made plans to take Mom home where we would try to care for her until her time on earth ran out.

We spent a week with Mom, reminiscing, setting things in order, and trying to soak in this new reality. Then I flew home to set my house in order and to take my two youngest with me. My husband and school children would join us later.

When I returned to Mom's, I didn't know how long I'd stay, or what our days would hold. Mom was not to going to waste time now that I was in her house. So, we were sorting. It felt wrong to be going through mom's house almost as if we were planning for her to leave us and acting like we were okay with it, but I knew that her heart would rest better if she knew that I knew what was in her house and that we had gotten rid of many unneeded things.

That is when we found the box of blocks. My children and I began to rummage through them as if to find an explanation hidden among them, but each block seemed to be perfect and unmarked. Finding no answers in the box, one of my children asked my mom what the blocks were for.

“Grandpa made them for me so I could stack pans of meat pies in the freezer. These blocks kept the pans from squishing the pies as they froze.” Mom said.

Then someone found a treasure. “Hey here's one that says, ‘Laura keeps working.’”

“‘This one says, ‘Free Meat Pies.’”

“Look at this one!”

I had to laugh when I saw, “Nola's turn to work,” written unmistakably in my brother's handwriting.

I took the block from its matching counterparts and felt the comfort that comes from good memories. I needed some comfort right then. The present was painful. The future loomed like a freight train, and we were glued to the tracks. This block must be saved.

The block eventually found its way to the windowsill above Mom's kitchen sink. I wondered what I would do with it.

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I spent almost the entire summer at Mom's. I watched unexpected miracles happened. I basked in the glory of again living in my childhood home. I fed my family from the kitchen where mom fed my dad, brother, and I so many years ago. I ate cheesecake and drank coffee in a circle with my mom, aunts, and my girls. I savored the stew, the pizza, the Eatmore bars, and many other delectable treats delivered to mom's door.

I sorrowed the losses of the past. I grieved the cruel changes of the present. I mourned the death of future dreams. My insufficiency to be a good mom, wife, and daughter taunted me.

But each day, as I stood by the sink washing dishes in hot, sudsy water, my heart was made lighter by the little, wooden block, and I’d contemplate what I would do with it. My first idea was to cross out “Nola's” with a bold red Sharpie and write “Justin's” above it. But in the end, I just rolled the block to the back and wrote a new message on the opposite side.

My brother will see it when he goes to be with mom today. He will stand by the sink and get a drink of ice-cold water out of the spigot, and he will see “Justin's turn to work.” He will ask mom about it. Maybe he will remember when he wrote on the other side. And maybe it will bring the comfort of good memories.

My brother and I plan to alternate our trips to mom in the near future, but the little block will link our work to each other, to mom and memories, and to our home.

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I love to write and have wanted to start a blog for a while. I'm not sure where all my words will take us, but I hope they will help you connect to the beauty in your own world, inspire you to see a good God, and motivate you to invest in the people in your life.

And food, yes, there will be food. Because I love to cook and because nearly every good conversation happens over food.

I hope you'll come back.

Nola