"The closing of a door can bring blessed privacy and comfort -- the opening, terror. Conversely, the closing of a door can be a sad and final thing -- the opening a wonderfully joyous moment." - Andy Rooney

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"None of us has the perfect family. Families include people with all sorts of difficulties - alcohol or drugs, crime and prison, people who don't talk to each other; families who had to leave home for work. Joseph and Mary had their family difficulties - their child could have been killed by the mad King Herod, and they couldn't go home for fear of him; Joseph died leaving Mary a widow, and Jesus was murdered in front of his mother. The holy family know what family life is about, in its good and loving times, and its bad times, and our faith is a support to family life. Pray this day for your family, living and dead." Sacred Space, 12/28/2008

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August 23, 1930 - December 14, 2008 Dolores Mae Jacobs Jansson

Born in Deerfield, Kansas; Died in Wichita, Kansas

Married on February 28, 1948 to Conrad Vernon Jansson in Harper, Kansas

7 children, 11 grandchildren, 6 great grandchildren

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My hope for today is that mom is in heaven, smiling, breathing easily, and pain-free, as she looks down over us and recognizes the touches of good that she left in this world. Mom was so tired of hurting and being sick. I hope, also, that she saw how many lives she touched. There were so many people at her funeral and uncountable others who wanted to be there but could not get through the weather to do so. Wichita was shivering under at least six inches of beautiful white snow...beautiful to me, that is, not so much to others who experience snowfall every winter.

Mom's service as very nice, a mix of dad's memories, traditional music, and scripture. Mom's picture sat beside her ashes on the altar, a photograph that I had never seen. It was one of dad's favorites - mom is laughing, with an ear to ear smile beneath her pure white, thick, curly hair. On the backside of this photo, hidden from view of the attendees, was the first picture in my blog of mom at age 17 - a formal studio photo. Two photographs spanning the lifetime of mom and dad's marriage of 60 years.

As I listened to mom's euology, I wondered if I had known her at all. So many things that I did not know about mom that I started to question whether they were true. In reality, it does not matter. How is it possible to summarize seventy eight years of life, sixty years of marriage, seven children, eleven grandchildren, and six great grandchildren in a few paragraphs? We each have our own memories of who mom is to us.

I remembered how I almost missed one of the most precious events in my youngest

daughter's life by questioning reality. Haley was standing in front of her favorite painting at the High Museum of Art, Vincent Van Gough's "Starry Night". She was totally in the moment with this beautiful original painting, breathless and teary-eyed.

I was questioning the painting's authenticity, compared to the painting I had seen in New York at the Museum of Modern Art. It seemed that the size was different. Thank goodness I caught my judgmental, "my reality is reality" self before I missed the real magic of the moment - Haley's precious reaction to seeing the painting that she loved so much right before her, within an arm's length.

Seeing that view through her eyes while observing her reaction taught me a valuable lesson. Mystical, transient, intimate moments can be lost, crowded out by needing to be right. I am glad I remembered this lesson, finally, as I replayed mom's euology in my mind afterwards, realizing the gift of a glimpse of my dad's eye view of his life partner. This is a lesson that I must never lose.