Tamara

When I was growing up,  I believed that the people in my life were.....

Well, part of my family.

My mother made it seem that way.

We lived in a very small neighborhood of Salt Lake.

Many of the people had lived there all of  their whole lives.

My mother grew up there, and bought a home there.

It was so much of an issue for me, that I had a difficult time making distinctions between "family"and people we "loved" or who were "friends."

Mostly, speaking of adults.

There were the Naegleys, Trotas' (who never had children, and lived next door), Wagstaff's, Kirkhams, McDermaids, Merrill's, Streeds,  and on and on.

One family, in paticular, was ALWAYS in our lives.

Tamara McDermaid and her 3 children.

I played with her son "Jer" for as long as I can remember back.

I remember the first time we asked for a "sleep"over.

I think BOTH mother's DIED!!!!

I remember so clearly the way she'd yell,  "JER!" when we were in trouble.
(Although, I only remember ONE time she ever sent me home early.)

When I was 12, my parents decided to move to Cottonwood Heights.

A little known area, South of Salt Lake, at the time.

Within a year, Tamara and her family moved to the same neighborhood.

From a very young age, Tamara, was instilling good values into her children and anyone who stood in her home.

I remember distinctly, talks to Jer and I about honesty, kindness, friendship, good eating habits, sharing, tolerance, and forgiveness.

My mother talked to her  nearly everyday of my childhood, and even adulthood.

In my teenage years, I would come home from school, on many occasions my mother would say, "Will you run this up to Tamara's house for me?"   It would always be some ridiculous thing:
a kitchen tool, a treat, a skane of thread.....

I would arrive, she'd great me with a smile, invite me in, give me a drink, and start talking to me.

Usually, when this chain of events happened, it was because I was struggling somehow, and that was my mother's way of solving the problem. 

And it worked.

As for her home, it was filled with: antiques, cats, sewing machines, a player piano, sugared cereals, crackers, string cheese, sewing projects, needle point, and most of all....quilts. 

Many, Many, Many, quilts.

She was a "master quilter," as my mother always said.

She would buy antique quilt tops.

Bring them home, rework them if they needed to be "Squared Up,"  put them on a quilting frame, and hand quilt them to perfection.

Her stitches were absolutely minute!

When my children came to our family, she taught me how to "piece" a quilt.

  Hand stitch a quilt, and I was hooked!

She helped my mother make baby quilts for my children.

Which, they all  four, still sleep with at night.

In fact, she was the first person to "meet" my oldest child, who is adopted.

She met our Lauren the day before any of our family.

Nine years ago, she was diagnosed with Stage 4 Ovarian Cancer.

She had a very short time to live.

But she met this trial with faith and determination.

(Which she did everything in her life.)

She faithfully, and fearlessly, met this challenge.

She lived 9 more years, with her cancer in remission.

She was a miracle.

It came back 2 years ago, and again, she met her trial head on.

Just before Christmas of last year, the cancer was detected again, and began treatments.

This time, God decided it was her time to come home.

We loved her.