Saying Goodbye

Dana and her three children

I attended a friends funeral yesterday.

It was beautiful.

As beautiful as funerals can be, I suppose.

Dana Bell was a woman I met a couple of years ago, and her impact was huge on me. She performed in the stage show I produce, Expressing Motherhood and shared her story of single motherhood to three children. As if that weren't hard enough, she had also been living with Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. And for those of you who know me and my personal experience with breast cancer, you’d understand why I sat in the corner of the room sobbing as I watched her in rehearsal that January.

She survived the cancer for two years after that time. She passed away on January 27, 2013.

She was 42 years old. The same age my mother was the first time she was diagnosed.

Oh boy. My heart is a little heavy today.

What I can tell you is that her service yesterday was amazing in so very many ways. It was extremely full and I thought it may just end up being a standing room only kind of deal. Always a testament to what a single person means to so many.

I am heavily comforted to know that Dana had a faith in God and knew she was going to heaven to be reunited with loved ones, including her father. 

Dana was a remarkable woman with a great sense of humor, She had long legs and loved high heels...as proven by her brave performance in the show wearing wig, prosthetic breast and shoes that would make Carrie Bradshaw sigh.

As expected, I had a very emotional time at this funeral. I feel for her children, her family and friends who all watched helplessly. I know that feeling.

Helplessness.

But, then...an amazing moment.

Dana’s sister, Lena, gave a eulogy that made me devour a handful of Kleenex with my eyes. Lena said that Dana had a favorite mug that she used every day and that the mug had the words:


“Be happy. Be a family. That’s it.”  on it.

I looked at the friend sitting next to me and I lost it. The power of my mothers words on the mug I gave Dana two years ago probably helped her through some really tough times. My mother’s words meant something to another woman fighting breast cancer.

The same mug assisting me through my BSF this morning.

I didnt have words then for how I felt, and I honestly dont have words now.
At the end of her service a song was played for us to listen to.

Per Dana’s request.

This is the song below, it’s called The Family Tree by Venice. I had never heard it before, but all I will say is grab a tissue.

But before you do that...grab your loved ones. Tight.

Happy Birthday Mom.

Today she would have been 58 years old.

I’m not going to get all sad and sappy about it, because the last birthday she had was really fun. She laughed a lot, but she always laughed a lot.

She honestly found a lot of things funny, including herself.
She laughed a lot at herself.

She laughed hysterically telling the story of when she ordered some french fries and a fish sandwich at McDonalds and pulled away after paying...neglecting to get her food....forgetting she had even ordered food until 3 miles down the road!

She laughed at that one every time.

On this last birthday of hers, I picked up her cake at Kroger...the first words that came to my mind were “Sweet Rose.” I also went shopping for her at Macy’s and got her a bunch of stuff for fall...sweaters, jeans, tops.

None of which she ever wore. Those kinds of things arent comfortable during chemotherapy. I kind of knew that, but wanted her to feel pretty anyway.
As a matter of fact, I have all of those clothes now...and wear some myself from time to time.

I’m not too sad today...it’s just a sad situation. Birthdays are wonderful days. We celebrate life, right? Well, funerals and death are the same thing. We celebrate life...their life. I’ll be celebrating her life forever.

So, Happy Birthday Sweet Rose!

Her Recipe Box

I have been looking through my mother’s recipe box this morning and you know what the very best part of it is?

It’s not how worn and tattered some of this paper is. It’s as if she grabbed anything close to her to write down a recipe...including folded paper plates and sales receipts from when my dad was selling potato chips. There is no rhyme or reason to it. No Organization.

It’s not that.

It’s not the oil spots that make most of the recipes see-through. Spots that make me understand how frequently she used most of these formulas...stains on pieces of paper that have recipes our home frequently devoured and memories of her hands creating some of these masterpieces.

It’s not that either.


It’s her handwriting.

Her very familiar style of writing that makes me feel she’s just written me a letter.
That she’s alive and breathing...sharing these stories of creativity with me still.

Her handwriting that brings me back to school notes when I was absent in elementary, permission slips for field trips, birthday cards, thank you notes, journal entries......and recipes.

How totally awesome it is to see her write.