Ichi-go, Ichi-e

Stick a fork in the 365s; I'm done.

It's been a good writing exercise, and an interesting little journey through the faces and places I have known, but I've spent far too much time since my 38th birthday dwelling on the past. A little mental health break is necessary.

I've come up with all sorts of possible remedies... like starting today and going back, for instance, but I'm unable to re-order my chronologically ordered list for some reason. Perhaps I'm just not ready to sum up the people who currently are part of my life in a mere 38 words.

I need to stay focused on the here and now. I shall indulge, not in the past, but in the present.

Ichi-go, Ichi-e = One Moment, Only Once

165/365, Norm

Once on the same team, we encouraged your daughter to hang with friends rather than study on occasion. I lost respect for you the day you pitied the fact that I was choosing to be “only” a mom.

164/365, Megan

Brilliance and beauty; the first you embraced, the second you never seemed comfortable with. When you chose to talk to me as if your work was beyond my ability to comprehend, the effort of staying in touch lost appeal.

163/365, Alan

You were such a quiet, gentle boy. You farmed. You appreciated your church and family. And then you got cancer and your life was over. You didn’t get the chance to enter adulthood with the rest of us.

162/365, LouAnn

You were just a bit older than me, but we attended confirmation classes together. I was awed by your beauty and your confidence. You were bold and outgoing and fabulously modern compared to your family’s quiet country ways.

161/365, Martha

The first non-relative to ever ask me to do the driving—fantastic Colorado ski trip. Full of stories and 70-some years of wisdom, the coolest co-pilot I’d ever had. You enjoyed your drink and a card player, too.

160/365, Aaron

You will always be the little brother, though you were almost a giant. It’s hard for me think of you as grown with your own children. I picture, instead, the always grinning, head ducking, easily embarrassed young boy.

159/365, Todd

You were just a baby when the feedlot disaster took your father’s life. I didn’t get to really know you until you were a teen, but I always felt that the connection—nearly family—was strong between us.

158/365, Susie

I have so many fond memories of time spent with you, it’s hard to believe we lost touch; driving Martha’s car to Colorado, bumming on the ski slopes, eating chili while recovering from snow burn, your contagious smile.

157/365, Tim

Knowing you felt like a bit of a social lifeline to me. You were kind and a bit protective. I felt kinship, perhaps through our cousin, but perhaps just as an extension of our family history as neighbors.

156/365, Doug

When we were little, you marched us through feedlot troughs where our fathers worked so hard to make a living. You offered to catch me when I jumped. Your dad died and life changed for both of us.

155/365, Bev

You always welcomed us into your home and your life as if we all belonged there, even when we felt we fit nowhere else. In my hardest teen moments, you said the things that helped without even speaking.

154/365, Phillip

Neighbor, relative’s relative, church member – you were a fiber in my life’s fabric. You led Luther League with such sincere enthusiasm. It was so nice to have a role model who was real and flawed and lovably human.

153/365, Lloyd

You had the perfect voice for preaching and a demeanor I could honestly respect. Even though I walk a different path now, I will forever have positive memories of growing up in that lovely church on Beeson Street.

152/365, Clayton

You kept Donald Duck in your shirt pocket and both you and he always had a special word for me at church. I looked forward to seeing you every week and I cried hard when you moved away.

151/365, Lila

I must have been about 7 when I mailed my first letter to your husband. You became my faithful penpal. Birthdays. Anniversaries. For more than 30 years, you have given me the joy of letters in my mailbox.

150/365, Doc

Dodge to Texas seemed like a good idea, but we were unable to make it stick as you did. I think of your generous nature, as well as the wonderful tamales you introduced us to for Thanksgiving fare.

149/365, Jo

Jo Kreger

6/18/1920 - 10/26/2008

You were my husband’s constant; the one he could count on to be there, unwavering in your beliefs about the world and your faith. I will always cherish your acceptance and smile when I walked into the room.

148/365, DeeAnn

The gentle soul (also known as Momma Bob) who speaks softly with conviction and radiates love. You made me feel like family 20 years ago when I was still struggling to put names and faces together. Still do.

147/365, Bob

We thought we were moving to your town, but you moved away… Uncle Bob of the great bushy eyebrows, the fantastically deep voice, and laughter. Your amusingly small dogs, Little and Big, are your trademark per my kids.