What is that? Does it even have a name or did you just create this dish?

These are words that were often spoken at my home as a child.

Mom wasn’t the best cook. Her unique style of cooking was often seen as experiments. We never knew what type of surprise would end up on the dinner table.

Dinner was often a mystery. It was scary, unknown, and either delicious or inedible.

Mom would sometimes use recipes but they were often just a guide. She liked to be creative in the kitchen or maybe she just didn’t like to follow directions. Either way, this made dinner interesting.

When my brother was returning home one evening, he walked over to the stove and looked into the pot. He looked at mom and said “What is this mom, Pinecone Surprise?” Mom looked at him and smiled. “Pete, that is potpourri.”

Dinners were just one of the many things that made mom unique. She didn’t seem to be like other moms’. As young children my siblings and I were drinking carrot juice, eating Brewers Yeast, and digging up flowers on the sides of highways.

I didn’t know any other moms that carried a shovel and bucket in the car at all times. These tools were used when a beautiful plant worth transplanting into your own yard would come into sight. This plant could be growing on a main highway but mom would see its beauty and come to its rescue.

Rocks. Rocks were like diamonds for her. While driving, if there was a pull over spot near a creek, we would jump out of the car and collect as many rocks as we could. The fear of land owners coming and running us off made the adventure even better.

Mom was different and unique.

When my daughter was turning four years old and my son was turning six, we had a birthday party for them both. Everyone showered my children with gifts. Many of them being toys that were bright and created noise.

When my mom arrived, she had a different type of gift. She had a dead mole.

Mom never failed to create a learning opportunity. Mom’s dog, Molly, had killed the mole earlier in the week and mom chose to place the mole in a zip lock bag and put the mole in the freezer. When the day of the party arrived, mom couldn’t have been more excited to show the kids this educational gift. She wanted the kids to see its teeth and feet up close.

They loved it.

Too many, this may seem odd but this was my mom.

Mom would tote around a yellow camera bag at all times. She took thousands of pictures. She took pictures of trees, flowers, plants, nature, pets and her children.

Pictures snap a moment in time that can not be given back. Pictures help our fading memory come alive.

Every Christmas my siblings and I would have to gather for the annual Christmas picture.  We would get into our directed positions and pretend to smile. Our pre-teen and teen expressions being tolerated by mom.

Mom would take the first photo and without fail, it would be the last picture on the camera roll. All of us would gripe and moan over the sound of mom’s camera winding up the roll of film. These photo shoots were filled with chaos, frustration, and rolling eyes.

These Christmas photos capture not only our tradition but mom’s persistence.

When I look at these photos now, I can feel the moment with utter peace.

When mom’s memory was fading, we used her pictures to help resurface fading moments.

As mom’s disease started to progress, her behaviors became more concerning.

One afternoon, we got a call from the nursing aid that helped assist my mother. There was some concerns about bones found in her apartment.

Bones?

My mom had found deer bones and placed them in her bathtub to be washed. She wanted to share these amazing bones with her grandkids.

This wasn’t a concern, this was my mom. She was unique. She saw utter beauty in nature.

On July 9th, we had mom’s celebration of life. It was ten months after her passing.

I felt guilty for not having a funeral after her passing but I knew that my mom wanted something different.

I realize now that the guilt was unfair to myself. A funeral isn’t necessary but allowing space and time for grief is completely necessary.

The celebration of life allowed everyone the time to grieve and process her death. There was no raw emotions that smothered the celebration.

We shared many photos, wonderful food, laughs, flowers, and stories. Our family and friends were surrounded by trees, rocks, and nature. Just as my mom would have wanted.