“You weren’t always a willing participant,” she smiled as she reminded me on one of our last face-to-face visits this spring.  Mom and I were reminiscing about gardening back when we lived on the farm.

Mom always planted a huge garden and, to me, it felt like I spent my entire summer in the garden. I know I wasn’t always happy about that because I felt all my friends were out having the times of their lives (camping or riding their bikes) and there I was, working every waking minute of my life, in the garden. I would pick five gallons of raspberries and when I looked back at the first row of plants, they were ripe again and ready for picking. These were the memories I had as a young teenager.

Then came the year when mom decided to expand the garden by adding a large plot out near the cow pasture near the neighbours – to grow extra potatoes so she could give them away in the fall. I wasn’t impressed at all but after a few days of hilling the potatoes, I realized I could take my transistor radio out with me and could listen to the Top 40 countdown while hoeing. Life as a teenager got better, it seemed to me.

Mom loved gardening – whether that was vegetables, fruit trees or flowers – perennials and annuals. I recall the excitement she had when the seed catalogue arrived in the mail and she’d carefully fill out the order form and wait with anticipation for the seeds to arrive in spring. She was always willing to try growing new things – asparagus and grapes are just a couple of examples of that.

In her last years, Mom and I bonded over our love of gardening (yes, I eventually came to love gardening) and we spent much time at greenhouses and garden parks. When she spotted a plant she didn’t recognize, she would always want to know what the plant was called, whether it was a sun or shade plant and whether it had a fragrance. She never stopped wanting to learn about plants.

I will forever be grateful to Mom for being patient with me to teach me so much about gardening.I am also thankful for her patience in teaching me how to harvest the garden bounty as well. 

Thank you, Mom, for sharing your great love of gardening. Flowers will forever remind me of you! Our garden is blooming extra beautifully this year! I’m sure you and Dad are looking down from heaven and smiling!

It's been hard to know what to say over this past week since Grandma passed from this home, onto her forever home with her Heavenly Father. So many memories I could share but there's something bigger that has had an impact on me.
Our boys are almost 17 & 15 and when our youngest was born, between my husband Darell's side of the family and mine, they had eight ... EIGHT Great-Grandparents. Wow. While they don't remember their Great-Grandpa's who passed away in 2005 and 2010, they do remember Susie's husband, my Grandpa and their Great-Grandpa who passed away in 2015. And they also remember their three Great-Grandparents that passed away in 2019 and now Susie, their Great-Grandma and my Grandma. I guess I've come to realize that we have been spoiled ... well, blessed is a better word. So so blessed. I am humbled and so overwhelmed with the love poured down through the generations. The foundation that has been laid for us on the prayers of the generations that came before us is too much to wrap my head around. Sounds like a pretty good representation of the love of God.
Grandma, Susie, was one of those who went before me and was part of my family who raised me to love Jesus. She prayed for me, she loved me and she has always been there ... my whole life, she's just always been there. I grew up in Tofield, always minutes away from their house, and have since, never lived more than an hour away from Grandpa and Grandma Warkentin. But now they are both gone and that void is hitting me in an unexpected way. I mean, of course I knew the day would come and the passing of each loved one is unique in the way it affects each one of us, but I never realized the security I had placed in knowing that Grandpa and Grandpa Warkentin were ALWAYS there.
I miss you both. Thank you for your love, for your prayers and for always being there.

See you again in eternity.
Love you,
Dori

Sundays With Susie – The rain is gently falling this early Sunday morning just as the chirping of the birds punctuate the quiet start to this day. We always knew this day would eventually come – that day when we would no longer be spending it with Susie. Today we are quietly reflecting on what was.

Yesterday, we laid mom to rest in a tiny cemetery out in the countryside surrounded, in part, by tall spruce and green-leafed forest. The pouring rain slowed and then ceased as the noontime graveside service began while mom’s children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren surrounded her. Prayers, poems and inspirational thoughts were shared. We recognized the fact that spring was definitely mom’s ‘season’ and, in this season, she has passed. It was the time of the year that she looked forward to with such anticipation – as she meticulously would plan and plant her massive garden filled with vegetables, perennials and annuals and as she carefully tended to her numerous fruit trees and berry plants. The strains of “I’ll Fly Away” played on as family laid red roses on her casket. And then, as the casket was lowered slowly into the ground, the deafening sound of chirping birds filled the air with their melodious song from the surrounding trees as if to say, ‘Farewell, Susie, farewell’. The beautiful sounds filled my heart. As we all slowly walked away, the sprinkling of the rain started – what incredible timing.

The immediate family then gathered to share a meal made up of some of her favourites – spicy Chinese food, cheesecake and maple walnut ice cream and dessert wafers. Recently, Fatima and I had been asked, “So, what are you going to do now on your Sundays?” I opened my fortune cookie and I felt like what I was reading was a note from my mom. “Getting away for the weekend with help clear your mind”. 

There was time to reflect and share funny stories, and those heartfelt memories that each of us experienced with mom. A recurring theme was how mom was such a great hostess – her home was always open to anyone, not just family - for a home-cooked meal, tea and fresh baking and there was always a comfortable bed for anyone who needed lodging. Words of encouragement, support and thankfulness stretched into the early evening before bidding farewell to family.

To the many, many friends and relatives that showered the family with bouquet after bouquet of beautiful flowers and perennials, of gift baskets, and food - our heartfelt thanks to you all. Mom LOVED flowers and she was truly surrounded by gorgeous flowers this weekend (as was her wish) just as we are surrounded by the colours and scents of all the blooms today.

And so in this spring season, as the intoxicating smells of lilacs fill the air, as the sweet aroma of blooming apple trees waft through the breeze, and as we see the colourful pink double-flowering plum tree burst into bloom, we will always be reminded of Susie – our mom, our grandmother, our great-grandmother, aunt and friend.

Goodbyes are not forever. Goodbyes are not the end. They simply mean I’ll miss you, until we meet again!

Her hands held me gently from the day I took my first breath.
Her hands helped to guide me as I took my first step.
Her hands held me close when the tears would start to fall.
Her hands were quick to show me that she would take care of it all.

Her hands were there to brush my hair, or straighten a wayward bow.
Her hands were often there to comfort the hurts that didn't always show.
Her hands helped hold the stars in place, and encouraged me to reach.
Her hands would clap and cheer and praise when I captured them at length.

Her hands would also push me, though not down or in harm's way.
Her hands would punctuate the words, just do what I say.
Her hands sometimes had to discipline, to help bend this young tree.
Her hands would shape and mold me into all she knew I could be.

Her hands are now twisting with age and years of work,
Her hand now needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt.
Her hands are more beautiful than anything can be.
Her hands are the reason I am me.

Poem by Maggie Pittman

My memories of Aunt Susie always include her warm, gracious smile. She was one of my Pioneer Girls leaders and I remember her teaching us how to do macrame.  I have seen and been so impressed by her hardanger. I also have a random memory of her explaining to me how she had painted the woodgrain finish on her kitchen cupboard doors using an odd shaped rubber tool. She was hard working and always welcoming. She will be missed.