Recently my sister and I were going though some things in my Dad’s closet and came across a storage container.  Upon opening it we found a treasure of items my mother had saved, keepsakes, memories, stored away to be discovered years later after her passing by her children.   Upon opening it I find a photo, a letter, my dad’s WWII diary, calendars for many years telling each day of their lives and what they did.  But it is Mom’s diaries I find that touch my heart the most, reaching deeply to something inside of me, something deeply rooted.  

  The diaries cover what I would call the golden years of Mom and Dads life.  Years of happiness, years of joy, years of family and friends they so enjoyed.   But though out those years there was a shadow, always lingering.  As I read each day, each month, each year I see the love Mom had for family, for life.   She didn’t express many feelings, instead just writing the facts: Dec. 9 - Coral spent the night with us.; March 30 Dixie’s Birthday; July 26 – Carole came up to help with mom, and so on, recording events with the family, with friends, with life.  But it is the shadow that weaves in and out though each year, an occasional mention here, another there.  It is the shadow of her mother, my grandmother.

  As I come to the last page of her first diary, closing in December 29 of 1998, Mom writes one of the few times of her feelings, about the shadow:

  “Another year has ended.  It’s been a good year for us but a terrible year for poor mom.  We pray that the Lord takes her home soon where she will be out of her misery.”

  I read these words and tears flow from my eyes, and I am hesitant to open the next diary for I know grandma died the next month.   It was a blessing, but a great loss.

Larry Mixson, June 12, 2019