Just Two Girls From Hebron

Honoring Our Parents. One Story at a Time.

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Hi! We’re the Ely girls, or we used to be known as the Ely girls, and likely around Hebron still are! Now our surnames are Milliman and Filliatreault.

We were born and raised in a farmhouse on County Route 30 in Hebron, Washington County, NY. We were the fourth generation to live in that home. Built in 1890, it was sold out of the family in 2006. A lot of stories resonate from that home and afterward. We’re here to share the legacy that is our parents, but along the way, you may learn a bit about all those other generations and all the descendants of those people. Woven in. The Family, but for now, we’re here to honor the memory of our parents, Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely (b. July 28, 1946, d. October 2, 2025) and Leonard Roscoe Ely (b. October 15, 1945, d. May 11, 1993).

I’m Christina Ely Milliman, the youngest of the two (on the left). As a child and teen, I was a musician. I played several instruments. Flute, piccolo, and piano are the main ones. In that home in Hebron and at school in Hartford, I played and practiced those instruments 10-30 hours a week. At age 17, I laid them down. For 30 years! Just a couple of weeks ago, upon my Mother’s death, I picked up my flute and played Amazing Grace. A few days later, I unearthed and literally dusted off my black lacquer Yamaha piano. Today, I am a potter and teacher. I own azure arts pottery studio in Richfield Springs, NY, just north of Cooperstown.

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: The Process of Writing and Grief

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook, October 17, 2025

    The first day I posted about the bookmark in my mother’s bible, I wanted to share the story about finding and reading the two at her funeral. The second day, I simply wanted to follow up and share what the second bookmark marking the 23rd Psalm said. Also, I wanted to share the beautiful photo of frost on my zinnia flowers, which I found that morning at dawn when I took Max, our Australian Shepherd Doodle puppy, outside. My newfound love of flowers, which I’ve developed over the last few years, was passed down to me from my mother and is vital to the story of her life and her legacy. By the third day, as I thought about why I was posting these things on Facebook, I realized that I was writing my eulogy to my mother and father.

    My father died when I was quite young, only fifteen. I was too young then, too heartbroken, distraught, and devastated to write a eulogy, let alone to share the words and stories at his funeral. In the days after my mother passed, I will tell you that I could not think of a single significant memory. Not a single one. It bothered me. Indeed, there were significant moments, but I couldn’t put them together. I could not have given a eulogy alongside my sister, but the bookmarks opened my mind to thinking more about her, as one does when they grieve—and then thinking of my father, and the two of them as a couple.

    Over the last several days, I have shared my memories, meaningful moments, and other stories that I hope provide a window into who my mother and father were. Their ideals, their convictions, their personalities, their talents, and, in turn, who I am. I realized also that this space holds people from across each chapter of my life. Some of you have known me since birth, while others have only known me for a short while, as I have moved from place to place for school or work. Some of you were friends in high school, while others are currently students at the pottery studio. But all of you are family or friends. Most of you have never met my parents, I am sure. Especially my father, as he died so young, at forty-seven, the age that I am now.

    I want to thank those of you who read these posts, who commented, and gave me comfort as I navigate these first days after my mother’s passing. But also, to those of you who do not like or comment but have told me you are reading them. To those of you who shared your own experience or memories, I appreciate you. I appreciate your kind words, your thoughtful messages, and your heartfelt gestures. Thank you for reading the words that were so easily written and for listening to the songs chosen to accompany them. I will continue to write as these memories come to the surface, but may do so in the form of private letters to each of them separately, as well as letters to both of them together.

    Please feel free to share your memories of them with my siblings and me here or by handwritten note if you so wish. We would greatly appreciate it at this time. To breathe more life and honor into the story of two beautiful people we were blessed to have on this earth.

    God bless you and keep you. May God shine a light upon you and give you peace. In his name’s sake. Amen. Rest in peace, Mom and Dad, together once again. I love you forever, and always, and will keep you in my heart.

    Song: Supermarket Flowers by Ed Sheeran

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: For the Love of Sugar!

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook, October 16, 2025

    I knew it years ago. My mother had an addiction. She was addicted to sugar! My sister told her version of this story in her eulogy at the funeral. I will tell you mine.

    More than three years ago, I started going to my mother’s once a week. I also began running errands and grocery shopping for her on those days as I made my way to her house in Hebron. The first time I grocery shopped for her, I did not think about what was on the list. She dictated it over the phone, and I dutifully added each item to the list on my phone; that was it. I shopped, adding each item to the cart, again not considering the items as a whole. When I arrived at the checkout at Hannaford in Glens Falls, I looked in the cart. What I realized was that 90% of the items in the cart were composed of sugar. If it wasn’t candy, ice cream, cookies, sugar-laced cereal, graham crackers, body armor, or ICE water, it was fruit (also sweet and sugary). This continued; some weeks, there was more or less sugar. What was consistent was that when I couldn’t find the sugary items at the store, I would shop online at her house for them on Amazon.com.

    I baked for my mother too, often on Sundays, so she could have a couple of treats fresh, as all the meals and baked goods we made for her were frozen upon arrival at her house, if not before. I made her pies, caramel walnut brownies, molasses cookies, gingerbread cookies, lemon bars, lemon brownies, cream cheese cranberry muffins, blueberry muffins, Welsh cakes, peach cobbler, and so many other sweet goodies. On top of that, Brian started making her a complicated frozen, pure sugar delight, combining whipped cream, lemon curd, and blueberries into a semifreddo, which she would conserve until he replenished the stash once or twice a year.

    She also kept a tally of those treats. A list which she tracked, monitored, and had inventoried, often by yours truly and the ladies who assisted her. Once, I went to her house and she said to me, “I think someone ate a lemon bar.” I could not believe it. I dared not even eat a cookie as I baked them, or a brownie as I cut them and packaged them, let alone do such a thing as this in her own home. I was relieved that it was not me! No way was I going into that territory.

    So, there were the baked goods, but there were also the Werther’s, peppermint patties, Dove milk chocolate, caramel candies, mini-Snickers, and a host of other stashed candies. As we’ve been sorting through her house, my sister and I have found candy everywhere. A couple of Dove stashed here and there. They are all over the house. She also “hid” the bags of candy in a Schwan’s sales 5-gallon ice cream container in her closet with an old green towel on top of it. Only two people knew where they were hidden: me, because I had put them away, and Evan, because it was their secret pact. In addition, she always had cookies and cream or vanilla ice cream, as well as other flavors.

    Don’t forget the Stewart’s Dragonfruit or rainbow sherbert, depending on the day. Plus, there was always a backup stash in the freezer in the basement. Oh, but what about the honey in her tea? The tapioca and yogurt in the fridge? The Folgers or Tim Horton’s cappuccino. The Bevita bars and Milano cookies. The dried fruit. Wait, was there more? There was always more sugar lurking somewhere!

    Did I mention that a second shelf of cookies, pies, and treats in my mother’s freezer was baked goods that my sister baked, as well? Our mother lived on sugar. Survived on sugar. But you know what, as Brian always said, she was in so much pain every day from her physical ailments and health problems, that who cares. Let her eat what she wants! If she wants to eat sugar for breakfast or all day long, let her!

    So here I sit in my house. A house that I try so hard to keep sugar out of. And as I sit here writing this, there are Dove, Werther’s, Lindt truffles, and lemon Milano cookies on my kitchen counter, pints of ice cream from the weekend in the freezer, and the sourdough brownies, Revel bars, and a tin of cookies from Mom’s in my freezer. Mom’s Bevita bars are in the cupboard alongside her 2-pound bag of dried cherry stash. I realize that, somehow, this has descended on me over the last fourteen days, a collaborative effort involving my sister, Evan, Paul, Brian, and me. She is with us, sharing her love of sugary goodness and all her favorites. God bless her, and God do help me!

    P.S. Did I mention that her sister Mary thought she was on a gluten-free, sugar-free, lactose-free, no salt diet? YES! Aunt Mary got a very different grocery list when she shopped for groceries for Mom! That, though, is a story for another time.

    Song: Holy Water by Marshmello & Jelly Roll

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: Happy 80th Birthday, Dad!

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook, October 15, 2025

    There’s a huge party going on in heaven today! Today is or would have been my father’s 80th Birthday. On one of the days that followed my mother’s death, or perhaps it was at her funeral, Cindy said maybe Mom wanted to go home, to be with him for his 80th birthday.

    I wrote about my father while in high school, sometime after his passing, but when his death was raw enough that the words flowed out of me like they are now about both my parents. Some years later, Kendra Hamilton shared those words with me, written for a creative writing assignment in Mrs. Friday’s English class. Below is what I wrote:

    The Majestic Elm

    There he stands on top of the world watching our every move, hearing every word, seeing for miles. He knows our faults and strengths, after all, he has watched us for years. We are his children.

    His branches spread across the plain: strong and majestic. He possesses strength, both physically and emotionally. He has gained physical might from enduring the strong wind which rushes through him night after night. He has acquired inner strength from those who look up to him. He is revered by all the animals of the forest, from the tiny mouse, to the bold elephant, to the towering giraffe.

    Some call him the King of the Land; he is so majestic and so powerful that all who stand before him tremble at his towering appearance. He looks out upon these fools and laughs, knowing he is not overpowering nor one to be feared. He stands firm and solid, but he is just like you, like me; he has emotion, too. Many times he has stood alone longing for companionship, crying tears of sorrow and of loss.

    He longs to be free. He is held there by those who need him: his acquaintances and friends. He is tied to the ground: stabilized by his massive structure and, at the same time, restricted from the freedom he longs to attain. He spends hours watching the birds soar in freedom’s path. He glances out but cannot see beyond the distant hills. He asks himself what is beyond the hills and blue sky. Hoping that someday he will find out.

    His roots hold him down. Each root has a name etched in its surface: burden, expectation, fear, transgression, sin. He regrets the mistakes and misjudgments he has made, longing to correct them and their effects. He wishes he could go back to escape the trap they have caused. He has endured sleepless nights, quaking from the sorrow he feels.

    Over the years, he has planted seeds and watched them grow into small trees; guiding them along their path, helping them develop from the inside out. They look up to him, longing for him to show them the way. He helps them get through the obstacles they face. He has guided them well; they have grown in the semblance and likeness of him. They, too, are strongly revered. He loves his seedlings and would do anything for them. He would hate for them to be harmed. He would let man cut him down for kindling before allowing harm to reach them.

    He has given advice to all the animals, steering them in the right direction. He has wisdom far exceeding the years he has stood there and has used it to help those who need lasting advice on matters of the world. He has been there, like a rock. He has endured ridicule and has been praised.

    The wind, rain and hail have pounded against his bark, and snow has piled against his trunk. He has stood strong in the scorching sun and in the sub- zero weather. His bark is weathered, but he does not complain.

    He is getting old now and his bark is becoming brittle. He has endured a hard winter, no longer possessing the strength to endure the cold and change of the seasons. He has fought his ailments as best he could. Slowly, limb by limb, he is dying a fast and painful death. The animals look upon his deteriorating structure, praying that he will get better but knowing that he will not. Man, too must have seen this, because one day a surgeon came and tried to repair his decaying frame. Quickly, his time is passing; his days are numbered. The animals hoped that spring would bring him new life, but it has not.

    He is almost gone now, but is still fighting his ailments, which afflict him. He is still sharing happiness, laughter and strength with those around him. His bark is gray and dry, leaves are falling, limbs are dropping close to the ground. One day, early in the afternoon, a mouse looked upon him and saw that his life was nearing its end. She tried to help but was not powerful enough; he was gone.

    They gathered around in sorrow, grieving. His branches comforted them. Many times, they had stood in his shadow and found strength in the likeness he had spread. His words were wise, and his strength was empowering. They longed to possess the qualities he had shown them so often. He loved them, and they loved him, too. Death’s hand has taken him away. His presence will never be forgotten.                                  

    Christina L. Ely

    What I know today is that there is undoubtedly a celebration—a big party with lots of laughter, joking, smiling, joy, and abundance. And I am sure an array of sweets to partake in. My parents, all of my grandparents, Ely and Pelletier, all of my great-grandparents, my uncles  – John, Bob, Ruben, David, and Henry, my aunts – Joyce, Yvonne, and Jane, and my cousins – Bobby, Suzanne, and baby Cora are together in one big family gathering to celebrate his 80th. What a party that must be! And Mom is there for it and with him. Bless her heart.

    Song: Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven, played by Daniel Barenboim

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: The Selflessness of a Son-In-Law

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook, October 14, 2025

    Brian and my mother had a special bond. From the beginning, they were fond of one another. They are very similar in many ways in terms of their personality. They are both summer babies. Her birthday was July 28th (a Leo), his August 28th. (a Virgo).  Although they are not the same astrological sign, the three of us once discussed the possibility that if one was born late and the other early, they would align with the same astrological sign and thus share similar personality traits. We wondered what my mother’s due date was. Was she born early, on time, or late? She did not know, and my grandmother passed many years ago. What we do know is that my mother was certainly not a Leo, which is what prompted this conversation.

    Brian would do anything for my mother, recognizing the tremendous physical pain she endured daily, knowing the heartache she suffered after my father’s passing, the continued medical problems that arose, the hospitalizations, and her general daily plight. She loved it when he would cook for her, and he was always quick to ask her, first and foremost, what she wanted for family dinners and special meals, so he could know what she would enjoy. For the last several years, we spent every holiday with her. Never wanting her to be alone on any of the major holidays. It was very important to him that we made this happen.

    He gave me space to be with my mother these last three years, and he provided it selflessly. To go to her house once a week, to spend time with her. He gave me the freedom and support to spend the equivalent of about five to six months of my time over the last three years with her. Time that I will never regret. The time when I was able to not only help her with daily tasks, errands, and appointments, but also get to know my mother better, hearing stories and reminiscing. To get to know HER. That time, it cannot be taken away from me. I will never feel guilty. It was a gift that he gave to both of us—a pure, selfless gift and act of kindness.

    The days after her death, leading up to her funeral services, were spent in Hebron with my sister, Aunt, and cousins. It was hard not to be with him, and I know it was hard for him not to be there too. He loved my mother. It broke my heart at her burial to look at him and see his eyes well up with tears, to see his heart break, to see those tears roll down his face one slow tear at a time. They had a bond; he cared for her. Whatever brought her comfort, connected her to the outside world, gave her peace, or occupied her mind, he supported it fully and unconditionally. I may never fully understand what she meant to him. That is in his heart and in hers. But I know that I am indebted to him for giving me the grace to be with her, to support her, and to bring her little bits of happiness and joy in her final years.

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: First Memories

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook, October 13, 2025

    For the last week, I have been thinking about what my first memory of my mother is. This is a really difficult question, actually. I woke up thinking about it again this morning. I believe, though fuzzy like a dream, not crisp like a true memory, it is standing up in my crib in the bedroom at the top of the stairs of the old house. I have my arms raised, and though I cannot say it was Mom that picked me up, I cannot proclaim it could have been anyone else. It is dark in the room, which leads me to think it is nighttime. I was born 7 weeks early, and I am told that I was late to do every milestone as a baby and young child. I am sure that if standing, I probably could have climbed out of that crib, but I did not.

    If not that, I cannot say it is with certainty a first memory, but I have two fond memories of my mother that are vivid. Being the youngest and very tiny as a child at that, I inevitably sat in the middle of the backseat of the car between my siblings. Every Sunday on the way to church, with no headrest in the way, I would watch my mother. She would unzip the purse on her lap, always a black one, take out her lipstick, lower the mirror and apply the pink, frosted tone. She would put it away and then take out her dress watch, bangle and wedding rings and put them on. Church or a family party were about the only times we would see these pieces, as before I was eight years old, my parents ran the family dairy farm, and her best jewelry could not be worn, except on special occasions.

    The second vivid memory is sitting next to my mother in church. I would rest my head on her side and she would put her left arm around me. I could smell her Shalimar perfume. While resting in the security of her arm, often during the sermon, I would stare at my parents’ hands. They most often held hands in church, especially during the sermon. Their fingers intertwined, my father would rub her hand, back and forth with his thumb. I always thought it was so sweet, endearing and deeply caring. It warmed my heart then and still does now, a symbol of their enduring love.

    Last Tuesday, as Brian and I sat together alone next to my mother’s casket at her burial, our own hands holding onto one another, I stared at the etching on their gravestone. The one my mother had chosen to have carved in pink granite to memorialize them when my Father passed so many years ago. It is a heart, with two hands holding one another. The female’s slight hand in the foreground with a simple band on the ring finger, just as she had always worn, thinned and smoothed by years of work and toil. I realized then that this memory held a place not just in my heart and mind, but it was a symbol for her of their enduring and everlasting love until the end of time.

    Song: Cheek to Cheek by Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: Sisters

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook October 12, 2025

    It is lovely to have Cindy and Paul here for the first time since 2017. Evan, of course, has visited us annually or biannually for the last eleven years. I am not sure when the last time was that a photo was taken of just Cindy and me. I think this selfie taken in Little Falls by the Erie Canal yesterday captures the essence of us both together and separately. If you know us both, you might agree. And yes, she is our father’s child – always cutting up, making faces, and joking around! I, our mother, am always the serious one. Together, we embody them both perfectly.

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: The Gift of Music

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook, October 11, 2025

    I always thought it was my father who connected me to music. I now realize it was Mom, too. Like me, she always had music playing in the background. From the time she got up in the morning to the time she turned on the TV for her shows at night. One of the best gifts Brian and I shared with her was her Alexa device. (And know Mom would get quite frustrated when “she” did not play the right thing!) We both loved the coffeehouse on Sirius XM the most—our daily go-to.

    What is funny is that my mother, though in her 60s and 70s, loved pop music. She loved Lady Gaga, Pink, Kelly Clarkson, Adele, Carrie Underwood, and so many other pop stars, whom I don’t even know who they are, because she was more up on pop culture than I was. She’d often say, “Did you see what Lady Gaga wore at (xyz)?” “Did you hear what (fill in the blank) did at (xyz) award show?” My response was often: “No,” “Who is that?” “There was an award show?” She would stare at me like there was something wrong with me, or say, “look it up on Google,” or maybe roll her eyes at me for being so uninformed. (All with pure love, mind you. And a smile on her face.)

    I wonder (if like me), if music wasn’t playing from a speaker, if there was a song running through her head instead. What were those songs? I wish I knew just one of them, if so.

    This is the song I believe she sent me as I turned at the light at the intersection of Route 20 and 28 in Richfield on Wednesday night. As I was crying on my way home to a place she is not, she gave me this.

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: The Second Bookmark

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook, October 10, 2025

    The second bookmark marking the 23rd Psalm in my mother’s bible is a yellow postcard with yellow and white flowers on it and Psalm 100.

    The Lord Is Good

    Sing to the Lord, all the world!

    Worship the Lord with joy;

    Come before him with happy songs!

    Acknowledge that the Lord is God.

    He made us, and we belong to him;

    We are his people, we are his flock.

    Enter the Temple gates with thanksgiving;

    go into its courts with praise.

    Give thanks to him and praise him.

    The Lord is good;

    his love is eternal

    and his faithfulness lasts forever.

    What I did not do that morning at my Mother’s funeral was turn the card over. Yesterday morning I did. It was then that I realized the true reason that postcard is there. It is addressed to Mr Leonard Ely, RD# 2, Granville, NY 12832. Postmarked April 29, 1987

    It reads:

    Dear Len,

    What a wonderful voice you have! -so full & resonant. Thank you for sharing it with us this past Sunday. So many were blessed by your gift. We’ll have to find another opportunity for you to use it.

    In Christ,

    Becky (Edwards)

    My Father was a rich man. Rich in character, love, compassion, empathy, humor and laughter. He was rich in friends and family. He loved well and received it in return. He also had a phenomenal, deep, rich bass voice that would make your heart sing, make you smile instantly, and cause your eyes to tear. It was out of this world. A voice that I have never forgotten. I can hear him sing in that church, and his voice carrying to the rafters to this day over 32 years after his passing.

  • Eulogy for Mom and Dad: The First Bookmark

    Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

    Published on Facebook, October 9, 2025

    Native American Prayer

    I give you this one thought to keep-

    I am with you still-I do not sleep.

    I am a thousand winds that blow,

    I am the diamond glints on snow,

    I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

    I am the gentle autumn rain.

    When you awaken

    in the morning hush,

    I am the swift, uplifting rush

    of quiet birds in circled flight.

    I am the soft stars that shine at night.

    Do not think of me as gone-

    I am with you still-in each new dawn.

    When I opened my mother’s bible to read the 23rd Psalm at her funeral, this was one of two bookmarks she had placed there. This prayer is printed on the back of Malcolm R. Lundy’s funeral card. For those of you who do not know, the Lundy’s were our immediate and most dear neighbors in Hebron. They have always been there for us. I am grateful I found it and read it only moments before walking up to the podium and could share it with everyone present, and now with all of you.

  • Eulogy for Mom

    Written by Cynthia Ann Ely Filliatreault and delivered at the funeral of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely, October 7, 2025, Argyle, NY

    A mother is the greatest, strongest, and most lasting teacher her children have.  Mom held her children’s hands for just a little while, but my mom will hold many of our hearts forever. 

    The first memory of my Mom was just that of her holding my hand as we walked through the cow pasture, bringing the cows in for evening milking.  As we walked, she was quizzing me on the cows’ names, that she was also trying to learn.  I also distinctly remember her having to let go of my hand during that walk in the pasture near the stream.  She had let go if only to hold my left boot as I had wandered a bit too close to,… shall we say the “muck”…., mom was trying to help me pull my foot, hopefully with boot still on my foot…out of said “muck”.

     Talking of that day, years later, she told me I was just about two at the time.  She said I knew the cows’ names better than she did at the time.  In telling me the story those years later say ever so gently however, that I was not so good about following directions that day about the “muck” and not placing said foot into the muck. 

    Let’s just say that I did not learn that first lesson about the “muck, there would be more incidents over the years with said boot needing some assistance to be extricated (with my foot still inside), from the “muck.  Generally, with Mom’s hands for support and coaxing as the sucking, downward force of the “muck” tried to overtake not just my boot and foot but me as well… Those hands “saved” me then, and sadly, her hands were one of the first signs of one of her greatest life’s physical challenges.

    Fast forward a few years, many will remember the year of the must-have Christmas gift- The EZ bake oven –  a small child-sized oven fully equipped with one 15-watt light bulb.  Guaranteed to “bake” a cake. 

    Mom also was “so inspired” to teach me how to bake that year.  The year I wanted the EZ Bake oven in the worst way for Christmas, Mom and Dad thought Jiffy baking mixes and a little adult supervision in the kitchen at age 7 was a much better idea for a couple of reasons. The primary reason from my father* (we will come back to this) as there was more cake to share and it would be a better skill to have one day when I was a Mom.  (Little did I understand at that point the ulterior motives.) *** Again, we will come back to this in a bit. 

    As we looked through Mom’s bible in preparation for this service, we found a recipe on the page she had highlighted a verse: (Isaiah 41:10).   So, do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you.  I will uphold you with my righteous right Hand. 

    The Recipe found there, written in her hand, was as much my mom as anything I have read in preparation for today, as anything I could come up with on my own.

    “Recipe for Living” Credit unknown

    Take 2 heaping cups full of patience

    1 heart full of love

    2 hands full of generosity

    A dash of laughter

    1 head full of understanding

    Sprinkle generously with kindness, add plenty of faith, and mix well. 

    Spread over a period of a lifetime and serve everybody you meet.

    My Mom, if anyone I know lived this, her life through from the patience to the love and understanding.  With my Dad at her side, I can assure you there was a bit more than a Dash of laughter, which I am so sure made those years they had together, although too few, that much sweeter and richer for her. 

    Understanding and forgiveness were her superpowers. I could break her heart one moment as a teen, and she would be forgiving me in what seems now as the next breath.  If there is one thing she continued to the end to try and teach me, it was to be slower to anger and quicker to forgive.  Filling your heart with love will leave not just the people around you richer but you as well. 

    On the other side of the same note with the Recipe was a “Prayer for Another Day” credited to –  Jane Merchant

    “Let me do gently all I must do.  From morning till evening all the day through, cuddling, correcting, clothing and feeding, remembering trifles loved ones are needed.  Let me be gentle as I should be.  Father in Heaven deal gently with me. 

    I have had a very hard time in the last 30+ years reconciling how a God could take such a strong man who suffered so little in comparison to my Mom and leave my mom with such heartbreaking medical issues to suffer so much pain, anguish and when we thought the worst had come more setbacks and pain to pile on. 

    Mom I am sure would, if I ever dared speak to her about that doubt that was present in my heart would quote to me from Proverbs 3 vs 5 & 6 Trust in the Lord with All your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your paths. 

    As I look back now, what she and the Bible knew was exactly what I needed

    I know now, as I never did before,  I needed my Mom all this time to teach me more about faith, forgiveness, or letting go, and primarily to what is the center of who I am today- how to best try and be a good Mom.  For as I have learned and am still learning today on my own remarkable journey with one wonderful son.  A Mom is not all about hugs and kisses but dealing with the mundane and the yucky.  Moms do have hugs and kisses, but they also are there for the non-visible hurts, disappointments, anxiety, and frustrations.  My Mom was this and more for me, always there to listen, but not always to help me figure things out, just to know someone had my back.  She taught me to know that I could do it, I could solve the problem or deal with the situation troubling me.  She was there to celebrate the accomplishments, the victories, big and small.  Unfortunately, she helped me to learn that Sound really does travel slower than light.  The advice she gave me at 18 didn’t reach me until I was 40+.  As I was so late joining the game as a mom.  And she was right; it is the best job I have ever had and is not a job at all when done in partnership with the one you love. Being a Mom, as she taught me is like having the sun, moon, and stars all close within reach and knowing not to reach too far and to just let them shine their own light the brightest with you as the sky in the background, ever the support and background cast.

    I have often thought I was biased about my son Evan until I overheard Mom tell one of the nurses just how smart he is and what an athlete. I was coming down the hall when I first heard. I stepped aside and just listened, and she went on and on.  Being a Grandma was her true, and I think her favorite calling in life.  It is just too bad about that sound thing, perhaps if it had been a light show rather than some dissertation on why it is important to dust before vacuuming….maybe if I hadn’t been forty-one when Evan was born, I could have gifted her with at least one more.  But then again, I wouldn’t want to test my luck with getting one a little more like me and a little less like the “perfect” child we were blessed with. 

    A mother’s love is like a circle; it has no beginning and no ending.  And with that, I am going to bring you back to the EZ-Bake oven.  So all these years I have blamed my dad for all the cookies, cakes, and sweets I had to bake, be it for a snack, a get together, my cake decorating business samples and test trials, competition with his mom on who could bake the best sugar cookie.  Well, this week I learned the real truth—or that is how I see it right now.  Mom was preparing me for her long game; she baked the best pies, very few cookies, cakes, or much other than biscuits for short cake when we were growing up.  She helped train me to do the baking, and my sister and her sister, my Aunt Mary, helped to uncover the real primary and secondary reasons for me not getting my Easy Bake oven.  —If I baked as a kid, she and I both made Dad so happy (well, except the one time he ate a little too many of the twelve dozen cookies), and the secondary or possibly main objective, who knows. She was training me to be her final years’ main dealer of all things cookie, cake, brownie, sweet decadence, and then, when we thought we had run out of ideas, let’s reinvent the brownie with a little sourdough discard and cream cheese frosting. 

    All this time though Mom had her sister my Aunt Mary believing she was nondairy, gluten, sugar and salt free,  Meanwhile I delt in meals on wheels of our own kitchen Brian, Christ, Evan and I in Mac and Cheese, Lasagna, ham, oh and let’s not forget every possible iteration of chocolate, lemon, sugar cookie, brownie, cakes, pies, custards, semi Fredo’s…Ice creams, candies, and a little fruit here and there. 

    We learned this week that Mom made her grocery list based on who was doing the shopping.  Christy or I were afforded the lists made of 90 % sugar and audit Mary, oats, beans, gluten, sugar, and salt-free goods.

    So you see, being a Mom is just like a circle, there is no beginning and no end, the love you share once started never ends and is only made better with a little sweetness, some call sugar, I call hugs, kisses, and memories to last the rest of her life and mine. 

    I love you, Mom. I do hope that in the absence of space and time, you hear and feel what you didn’t from me in your last breath.  I will love you for the rest of my life and into the next. 

    Rest in Peace!