Love Hard.

Openly.  Honestly.  Vulnerably.  Without regret.  Because nothing is promised.

 Nothing.

 A few years ago, my husband, Tom Walsh Super Genius, attended 6:30 AM mass every morning.

You see, our son, Tommy, a Corpsman in the Navy, was on his first of three tours in Iraq at the time.  And so Tom, went to church each day to pray.  For strength and courage for T.  For faith and acceptance for himself.  Because I believe this is faith:  accepting a circumstance, regardless of the outcome, and knowing, deep down, everything really will be okay.

While attending mass at St.Chris each morning, Tom met a woman named Flo.

Flo is 91.  Tom is not.  But age didn't matter.  Because Flo is like light and love and beauty all rolled into a real live human being.   And well, Tom is sort of like that too.  And so, you can see, how these two beauties would naturally connect.

Flo has hair as white as the fallen snow, styled into a little bob cut.  Her cheeks glow from the inside out.  And her jubilant blue eyes, well, they tell a pretty special story about her 9 decades on this Earth,  without saying one word.  You can't help to not be drawn towards Flo.

Sometimes, Tom would bring Emma, Cozy, or Bella with him to church before school, those many years ago, because the girls adored that one on one time with Daddy.  (Abby and I, being the sinners of the group, preferred sleep, and asked them to pray for us).  And so, Flo, slowly but surely, began to meet and become acquainted with each member of our tribe.

Our last meeting of circumstance at church, took place on Christmas Eve.  As our family sat, taking up an entire pew, waiting for mass to begin, in walked Flo, who slipped in two rows in front of us.   Immediately, Bella got up to embrace Flo and invite her to sit with us.  Charlie, seeing an opportunity for hospitality, followed her big sis, and before you knew it, the priest was walking down the aisle.  Mass had begun.  And the trio of Flo, Bella and Charlotte sat together, while the rest of our family, perched a few rows behind.

 It was like this little miracle that I was blessed enough to observe.  Flo, smiling from ear to ear, while Bella patiently held Charlotte on her hip.  It was beautiful, really.

After mass ended, Flo invited us to her home to hear some music that she had written, and wanted to play on the piano for us, that very night.  But having it be Christmas Eve and all, we set a date for Sunday, mid afternoon, two days later.

When we arrived, I observed almost immediately, Flo's home was immaculate.  Flo had made sure her Christmas lights were lit up brightly on her tree, and that her manger was set up, just so.  She even had a lamp placed so that Jesus had sort of a spotlight on him.

She explained, "Oh, I just love having the manger set up.  But I need to remember to turn this lamp off when I go to bed, because it makes this moss here, on the manger very hot"  We all nodded in understanding, and I thought silently, "Oh my God, I hope Flo doesn't go up in smoke one night."  But then I was like, "Jesus totally has Flo's back."

As we entered her kitchen, she explained that she had made a cake from scratch, which included a secret ingredient.  Carefully, she cut and served each of us a piece on fancy dishes, with cloth napkins.  Even the table cloth had been ironed.

"I want you all to have a slice of this cake and see if you can figure out what the secret ingredient is," she said, with a glint of anticipation in her eyes.

 I was sort of hoping it was Bourbon, or Tequila, or anything with a high alcohol content.

The girls started calling out like we were on a game show, and NONE of us got it.

"Carrots!" No.

 "Zucchini!"  Nope.

"Coconut!" Flo shook her head back and forth - the universal sign for NO.

Finally, we all threw up our hands, and proclaimed, "We give up!  Tell us what the secret ingredient is, Flo!"

She smiled, the way that someone who has a secret that they are about to share with you would, head cocked a bit to the side, leaning in, gleaming cheek to cheek.  "It's beets,"  she said patiently, but finally relieved to be sharing this news.  Then she explained how she couldn't find fresh beets at Safeway, and hoped that canned beets would be okay, but wasn't sure of the measurement because the recipe called for a cup.  And would one can of beets be sufficient?  She had better get two cans to be on the safe side.

And as Emma cleared the dishes, and Cosette and Charlie came and went through her sliding glass door into her backyard, Flo told us about her life.  Flo raised two kids, a son and daughter, for the most part, solo.  Flo's husband, became very sick in his early 40's, and the doctors could not diagnose the illness, that piece by piece, was stealing his ability to live.

I tried walking in Flo's shoes for a moment, and it was incomprehensible.  Two small children, and one extremely sick husband, with absolutely no diagnosis or treatment in sight!  I know if I was Flo, I would have felt incredibly scared, resentful, angry, worried and FRUSTRATED!

In fact, Flo had to find a job to support her family, and quick.  Luckily,  by the grace of God, she found employment working at the phone company while her kids were in school, but home in time to cook them a hot meal.  After work, but before dinner, she would go to the library and read medical texts, looking, scouring, hoping to find an answer to cure her ailing husband.

And she did find the answer.  And doctors did come to help.  But it was too late.

When I asked her, "Flo, you are so calm while you're speaking about this.  What do you attribute that to?"

Without hesitation, "My faith, prayer, and meditation."

And I'm telling you what: when a 91 year old woman is dishing out that kind of info, it's time for me to start taking notes.

Next, it was time to make our way into the living room, where Flo wanted to share some music that she had written.  "I didn't even know I could write music, but then one day I just figured, why not?"

I began to love this lady more and more, by the second.

Flo had never remarried, because she just wasn't interested.  She had already loved and lost "the one".  But she shared how she had gone on a cruise in her late 80's (not to be confused with the 1980's), and met a very nice man.  A man who doted on her.  A man who paid attention to her.  A man who danced with her into the late evening and early morning.  She never knew her heart could feel this way again.  And when she returned home, she knew immediately, she had a story inside of her to be poured out on the piano keys.

We all listened, mesmerized, as she played 3 songs, all dedicated to this brief period of time in her life.  She played with her heart, vulnerably, and telling her truth about how she felt from this experience...all through music.

"Flo, what happened to this guy?"  "nosy/no boundaries" me asked.

"Well, we lost touch, and I heard he remarried another woman.  But, you know, I am okay with it.  I was just surprised that a man could still make me feel that way."

Sigh.  Wow.  Acceptance in it's most perfect form.

Like, if I was Flo, I would have stalked that guy...big time.  I would have sent letters declaring my love.  I would just randomly show up at his barber shop, while he was getting a hair cut/nose and ear trim, because, well, you know, 'I just happened to be in the neighborhood.'

Not Flo. She has class.  Acceptance.  Faith.

She played a song she had written for her daughter, all the while, telling the story behind the notes, sometimes singing or humming along.  Flo narrating, "And here's the part where she rises up from her divorce, realizing she'll make it, she'll survive!" big, hearty keys being played.

YES!!  I believe you, Flo.  She rose up, and continues to rise up because you're her very awesome-sauce mom.

Just as we are making our way to leave, Flo noticed that Charlotte had been quietly looking at a doll, perched in a rocking chair, near her fireplace.  "Would you like to take that home with you Charlie?  It's about 50 years old, and was made by a very dear friend of mine."

Charlie lit up, and nodded, with an enthusiastic YES!

Flo, then, took each of our daughters one by one, into her painting studio.  Yes, Flo also paints, and continues to take painting classes, because I guess even at 91, she continues to be open to learning and discovering.  And it was in this room, that she gave each one of our daughters a gift.  Each treasure was different, but these were things, that she no longer needed to hold on to, and was grateful to pass on.

I looked at Tom, and glancing back, we had the same epiphany: she is getting ready to go.  Flo is dotting her i's and crossing her t's.  And doing so with grace and love.  But more importantly, with gratitude.

Because Flo has Cancer.  But she's not scared.  At her age, she has chosen life over the standard treatment that would most likely kill her before the disease.

Flo prays.  Flo meditates.  Flo receives Reiki healing through her son.  Flo has faith in a divine plan.

You see, we lost someone in our family about two weeks ago.  Tragically.  Unexpectedly.  Without rhyme or reason.  My cousin's 19 year old son, PJ,  was killed in an accident.  He had just gotten off a shift at  work, at an elderly care facility.  It was  3 o'clock in the afternoon on a Monday.  I never knew PJ, but this is what I have heard about this remarkable young man:   PJ was the Valedictorian of his graduating class the year before.  He was going to college and knew that he wanted to study medicine, working in either Pediatrics or Hospice.  PJ, without question, knew he was loved.

And yet, he was taken.  Without explanation.  Without understanding.  This child who had given so much in the short time that he graced us with his presence.

And so, Charlotte and I have been praying very hard each night for the Francois family.  We pray for his loving parents, Peter and Shari, as no parent is made to endure such an inconceivable loss.  We pray for PJ's brother and sister, Ashley and Spencer.  We pray for his grandparents, my Uncle Jim and Auntie Nancy, who were always there, without fail, for Foxy and my family, as my own mom battled Cancer.  We pray for Shari's parents.  We pray for his Auntie Nanette and Mark.  And we pray for his long time love, who he would have most likely, married, as they were high school sweethearts.
We pray for clarity, and peace, and comfort in such a devastating and confusing time.  We pray for PJ in Heaven.

Each morning, I wake, it feels like someone has punched me in the stomach.  I'm constantly thinking about Pete and Shari, and I ask, "Lord, please shower them with your grace.  Please let them feel your presence in this dark time.  Please walk with them."

 A few nights ago, Charlie looks at me, and says, pondering "Mama, I know that you're my Mama now.  But I just can't remember who my Mama was before you," like this wasn't her first rodeo.  She had done this "life" thing before.  Which I'm totally down with, by the way.  But I certainly have never discussed this spiritual philosophy with my five year old.

"Well baby, next time we come here, how about you be the Mama, and I will be the daughter," I suggest.

"Mama," she says with an exhausted sigh, "when we die and go Heaven, we get to choose to be a daughter or a son.  I will have to make that choice, as your mom," she finishes up.

I'm thinking Caitlyn/Bruce Jenner would have totally appreciated a heads up on that.

In other words, life here is a blink.  A whisper.  A song.  A vapor.

 And nothing is promised.

Without a doubt, PJ left this earthly world, knowing he was loved.  Loved by all of his family, loved by his friends, loved by his girlfriend, and loved by the elderly folks that he cared for at his work.  Many of whom, I'm sure he will greet as they transition to The Other Side.

And PJ continues to be loved by the very one that created him.  I don't doubt this, not even for a second.  This morning I was awakened by an extremely authoritative voice.  It said clearly but with conviction and without question, "Rest assured.  PJ is walking with me now."

And for the first morning in almost two weeks, that pit in my stomach disappeared.

Love hard.  Openly.  Honestly.  Vulnerably.

And without regret.