Hello friends,

I apologize that it’s been a while since my last blog. I’ll be honest and say that I’m
struggling with the approaching one-year anniversary of my mother’s death by suicide. I
have been dragging my feet on this blog edition—sometimes in our grief we just can’t
find words. So, if it’s ok with you I would like to tell you some of the wonderful things
about my mom. She was so much more than how she died.

My mom, Gretchen Hohn Olson, was born and raised in the neighborhoods of Portland,
Oregon where Beverly Cleary brought characters like Ramona, Beezus and Henry
Huggins to life. Perhaps it’s what inspired mom to become a twice published young
adult novelist.

When she was little, my grandmother was known to pin a note to her dress that said,
“don’t feed me”. Apparently, she and her friends liked to home hop and were always
asked if they ate breakfast, where she would always cheerfully answer “No!”. In this
cozy Portland community, mom first showed her entrepreneurial aptitude when she
formed what may have been the world’s first Tree Climbing Club. She may have been
the only member…

Fast forward to college, where she was an Alpha Chi Omega sorority sister at Oregon
State University. It was here that she met my dad on a blind date. She graduated with a
degree in journalism. Before she settled down and got married, she moved to New York
where she and a couple other young women shared a one-bedroom flat in Manhattan
and became a trans-Atlantic flight attendant for TWA. She was very glamourous.

Eventually she and dad were married and together grew our little farm from a hope and
a prayer to a robust commercial blueberry operation, of which she was very proud. She
was an amazing wife and mother. Completely devoted to both roles. She organized
bake sales, led Bluebird/Campfire Girl groups and never missed a game.

Play was her love language, especially when it came to her grandchildren. She created
a world of imagination for them. I remember times coming home to find her soaking wet,
running through sprinklers with the kids. The house was always destroyed after she left
but the kids were full of laughs and their hands and faces sticky from unlimited
popsicles.

She was a terrible driver and couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. We could good-naturedly
tease her about these things, and she took it like a champ. She was a philanthropist
with the heart of a poet. She loved crocuses in Spring and finding the perfect seashell.
Her favorite book was “A Gift from the Sea” and her favorite flower was the daisy. She
brought joy to everyone who knew her, and she never met a stranger.

I know how much she loved me, and she knew how much I loved her. I am so grateful
that for 47 years she was mine. I miss her every day. She was beautiful. Love you most,
mama.

Ginny Gardea,
Smile Advocate