When my mom passed in 2014 she left a legacy of acceptance, trust, and love.
She also left twnety seven journals, hand-written on the front and back of every page.
I always knew she journaled. She didn’t keep it a secret and said that when she had sought help for depression there were two active things she came away with that helped tremendously. Walking and journaling. The walking probably extended my dad’s life an additional twnety years because he did it religiously with her…two miles a day. Rain or shine, snow or sleet…it was the postmen and my parents out there.
The journaling probably kept her centered. I’ve tried to mimic her for years and never been able to keep up. I journal, but I’m not a faithful journaler.
At any rate, for the first year and a half after her death I glanced at a few pages of her journals, got overwhelmed, and passed them on to my sister’s to read. Finally a few weeks ago I asked for them back and started to read them, word by word.
I’m not sure what happened to the journals prior to 1999. This is the first one in the twenty seven that I have, but I know she started writing way before then…she probably started between 1969 and 1975. I have an idea those journals must have gone in the trash when my parents moved from Baudette to Forest Lake after they retired. That would coincide with the dates I have.
Her journals are filled with family, life, deaths, births, marriages, accidents, divorces, friends, relatives, travels and thanks. She gave thanks and prayed for healing, mostly for others around her, in almost every entry.
I’m enjoying seeing thorugh my mom’s eyes again. Feeling both thankful for this one final gift she gave herself and us, her children, and emotional for traveling through so much of her life…Dad’s life…and our life again as well.