5 Daughters, 2 Sons

Today, I am dedicating my post to my mom, as I do every Mother's Day.  She has been gone now for 6 years but it doesn't seem like it has been that long since she passed away. I still think about her all the time and I feel like she is with me giving me the guidance to make the decisions I need to make in my life.  She gives me the strength to face what's ahead, to face challenges that will be rewarding and those that are difficult. I can't pick up the phone and call her to tell her what just happened at any given time but I can talk to her in my mind letting her know what is going on with me and then listening to what I know she would say.  I miss talking to her and sharing my life with her.  I will occasionally read her eulogy that I wrote for her and then read at her funeral in 2009.  I still love re-reading it to remember all that my mom's life was about. Today, Mom, this Mother's Day is for you.


5 Daughters
2 Sons
We are here for you today, Mom. We’ve come from all over the country. Just look around at what you have left behind. Not a lot of women could say they’ve been able to leave such a mark, as you have left. Or as much love, as you have left.

5 Daughters
2 Sons

You were a wife, a friend, a daughter, a foster-daughter, a step-daughter, a grandmother, and a great-grandmother. 

But first and foremost, you were a mother. Your motherly ways molded our lives to the people we are today, all unique individuals, none of us the same.

I can’t speak for my brothers, but to my sisters, how many times did you hear “You look just like your mother”? Well, I heard it a lot. Mom, thank you, because with a nic-name of “Peaches”, I take that as a compliment. Other than appearances, tho, I’m not sure how many of your traits I’ve lived up to. And you had many, many special talents and traits, like your gift of sewing. Renie pretty much inherited that one. Renie actually designed and sewed her own custom pieces and even made her own pattern pieces! When I’d receive a gift from Renie of a homemade item, it would always turn out to be one of my favorite pieces of clothing in my wardrobe. She got that trait from you, Mom. You could sew anything! From Rich’s blue jeans when he was growing up to Lauren’s delicate first communion dress, to stuffed animals, to dolls, like Emily’s Holly Hobby Doll and matching dress for her to wear. I, personally, was not that thrilled about always wearing homemade clothes growing up, but it was amazing the wonders you could whip up on that sewing machine of yours.

I never knew my Grandma Pietcheff, but somehow, I think you were a lot like her. Your father came from Bulgaria to farm in Northern Utah. When your mother joined him there, she was very unhappy because as you put it, she was “a city girl”. So, your dad took a mining job in Wyoming and they moved there, then on November 11, 1922, you were born. You never knew Grandma Pietcheff either, because she died in childbirth when you were only 2 years old. That’s when you and your dad moved to Park City, Utah. You lived your life there, a small, mining town in the mountains, but as soon as you graduated from high school, you moved to the big city of Salt Lake City to become a beautician, because I think deep down, you were also “a city girl”. 

You were “into” hair and fashion – in fact, the first thing you bought when you started making your own money was that fur coat, we all know so well. 

Sort of reminds me of Carol, as I remember growing up. Carol always had the latest hair do and fashionable clothing. In fact, Carol also worked in the beauty business running a day spa. But even up to the end of your life, Mom, you always loved what the city had to offer – going to the symphony, the opera, museums, library. You always loved to read books. A trait I see in Barbara and Jolene who love to exchange books and discuss their latest read, who belong to book clubs and book exchanges.

Because of all your reading, you were always up on the latest of everything going on, from technology, nutrition, politics – you always had an opinion and never hesitated to give us your opinion. I remember sitting around the dinner table with a heated political discussion going on. You always loved a good political discussion. A trait I certainly DID NOT inherit. But I think Rich and again, Carol, did. Our dinner table nowadays is e-mail and your passion for a moral, well-governed society has trickled down to all of us when the e-mails get going.

And speaking of e-mails, for an 80+ -year old, you were really great with technology.  A trait Bob inherited, now working at Microsoft and being our king of the spreadsheets. When I visit an elderly patient on a Home Care visit, I will automatically look around for their computer so I can show them a great website that will help them. They look at me like I’m crazy!   Oh, I forgot. Not all elderly are like my mom.

Your way of coping when Rich, your last child, left home, was to go technology ballistic. You went into a VCR-taping frenzy and started your rather large movie collection…we all have to decide what to do with now. No problem. Carol inherited your love for the movies. And you always loved a good movie. Growing up, you’d take us to drive-in theaters and let us wear our pajamas in the car. You loved movies, too, that had the handsome hero, the many movie stars that were your favorites – Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and more recently, Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. Even in your 80’s, we could still see a slight blush in your face when you’d talk about your favorite handsome movie star. You had a lot of old time favorites. Just look at your Netflix que. Thank you, Jolene, for introducing her to Netflix. It was one of the best gifts she’d gotten in the past few years.

You were also a lover of animals. I was lucky to have a mom who loved animals, a trait I inherited. You always let me have a lot of pets because deep down, you loved them, too. In the early years, you and Daddy had 2 dogs in Bremerton who both ran away because you didn’t have a fenced-in yard. In Poulsbo, you had Ginger, the collie. We heard lots of stories about Ginger, the collie. How she had puppies, how she pulled Carol by the diaper away from falling into the creek, how she followed all the kids around like a guardian angel, how she just disappeared to go up into the hills to die of old age.. We heard about the horse on the Poulsbo farm who trapped you in the barn so you couldn’t get out. You would always remark on how smart animals were and you had a lot of respect for them. There was Cocoa, the Pekinese, Sammy, the Samoyed, Nicci, the Boxer, and Betsy, the Beagle/Basset Hound that Rich gave you after Daddy died. We would meet at Magneson Park to walk our dogs. I was lucky to have a mom who loved animals.

You loved nutrition, too, always cutting out newspaper articles on the latest findings. I remember when you read Adelle Davis, the bible of nutrition in those days. You always knew better than your doctors because you always knew some nutritional solution. As a preventive measure, you gave Rich cod liver oil – even tho he’d dump it out the window when you weren’t looking. All us kids always thought you were so over the top with your nutrition. But look at us now. Renie and I still take our cod liver oil, and I’ve become a dietitian and she a homeopath.

You loved the photos that everyone would send you. You were never into scrapbooking or photo albums, but your walls were your scrapbook. Daddy always made photo albums but you didn’t want to put them away in a book, you’d plaster them up on your walls. And we never knew which one would strike your fancy. I’d come over for a visit and see some obscure photo up on your wall and you’d say “I just LOVE that picture!” You had some priceless ones, like the one of the 4 generations of women – you, Barbara, Emily, and Sophie. Or the 5 sister together in 1980 at Renie’s wedding. Your apartment was like walking into a time warp. It was obvious that your family was the world to you.

Lastly, your caring ways touched us all. We learned to care from you. Whether it be about politics, our animals, nutrition, our books, music – you taught us to care. Like the way Barbara did for you the last few years of your life. Calling you twice a day to remind you to take your pills, taking you to each and every doctor’s appointment, keeping a tablet of notes from each appointment on your latest medical issues…going for coffee, Yet, in her caring ways, that you taught us, she allowed you to maintain your independence, just like you always let each of us go our independent ways in life. We are all different individuals, but you loved us each equally, just the way we are. And we loved you, too, so much. And we thank you, so much, for the gifts you gave us to make us the people we have become. As you look down on all us all, here today, I know you are so proud of every one of your children. You are gone from this life, but little bits of you will continue to live on in every one of us.