death

It was supposed to be a routine visit to see your mom…just a random Thursday that you happened to be in town. Your last few visits had upset you, as you saw your mom in decline – difficulty putting a name with your face, not wanting to get out of bed, speaking softly with her eyes closed. Doctors were consulted, medicinal dosages were altered in hopes that these physical changes were pharmaceutical aberrations and not something more dire. There was no warning or foreboding intuition of what the morning would bring.

Minutes later you would be holding a warm and familiar body containing a heart that no longer beat. Hope turns to despair, faith to doubt, firm ground suddenly giving way to the quicksand of confusion, fear, and shock. My phone rings, your picture shows in the display and I instinctively smile. The sickening sound of your tears and the catch in your voice are alarming – what’s happened, are you alright, have you been in an accident? Mama’s gone…what? Mama’s gone…

And just like that, everything comes to a crashing halt, but absolutely nothing stops.

Take your time, but if you don’t want to be charged for the room, we’ll need you to get everything out.

Sorry for your loss, but the contract on the sell of your mom’s house is no longer valid.

I know this is a difficult time but we’re going to need a check to cover the unpaid funeral expenses.

Take as much time as you need from work, but payroll is due.

We walk down the hallway of the memory care facility with the smell of bleach and antiseptic clinging to our nose. At the end of the corridor is an elderly lady clutching a babydoll close to her chest. Vacant looks surround us but I know that these are human beings that all have a story; people who love them, and miss what they once were. They lived vibrant lives and made a difference in their community, raised kids, paid taxes and lived through World Wars. Now they look at us in bewilderment as we walk into a nearly empty room – the space that was once the home of their friend and sojourner. A few more odds and ends are packed up and the door is closed on one life, but will soon open to another beautiful but broken soul. In the dining room Fall decorations are being put out in preparation for a Halloween celebration. Plastic pumpkins are placed on the tables and brightly colored paper leaves are scattered around. The symbolism is not lost on me that Autumn is all about death. The blooms have now faded, the colorful foliage will turn brown, and soon the wind will blow them from their life source. The naked trees will mock us in their reminder that life is fleeting. In the stark moment I cannot yet envision the new life that Spring ushers in… only the harsh Winter that is near. I wonder if you see and feel what I do, or maybe you can see beyond – I hope so.

I stand in front of a graveside gathering to offer words of healing and hope. I feel your gaze but I intentionally look anywhere else, afraid that the heaviness of this moment may be too much for us both. My eyes drift to you – the gravitational pull is too great between us, and I look. Your eyes reflect back only your inherent beauty, your graceful poise, and your unquenchable love of family and friends. I see the long and tearful hugs from your girlfriends, the clinging embrace of my father, and I fully understand why you are so loved… why I love you.

Today is your birthday.

This is the day that your mother labored and cried out in pain and eventually pushed you out into a waiting world. She looked at you in all of your vulnerable glory, and an inseparable bond was forged. The umbilical cord that connected you was cut but a new lifeline emerged. This new creation was something that only a troubled mother and her baby girl would ever know. The mystery cannot be explained and is best left to the secret places of your spirit.

Today, loved ones from near and far will wish you a “Happy Birthday”.

Happiness is subjective and a product of circumstances, but your joy comes from a deeper place and emerges solely on the condition of the heart. In good conscience I cannot ask you to be happy on this day but rather I ask you to let us collectively walk in your grief, in your pain, in your loss, in your memories of better times, with laughter and stories of the old days, recollections of riding horses, and playing in the creek, and running to your mama’s bed when you were scared, proudly showing off your new babies to their granny, easter egg hunts, and holiday meals – and recent times when you and your mama remembered the mystery that formed at your birth. Roles were reversed; now she was vulnerable and you were the protector. Together, you talked and laughed and remembered, she would become scared and look to you for safety. Life has now come full circle, as your mama has travelled back through the birth canal to her temporal death, and has been reborn into eternity. Your lifeline to her is now and forever an infinite one, not bound by the limitations of time and space or human frailty. This is the place where we all find our joy and embrace our oneness with all things mortal and immortal.

Soon our tribe will gather and light candles and sing the refrain “Happy Birthday to you…” but it’s not a hope or a request for you to feel something that’s momentarily absent. It’s a declaration of our our happiness that you were born, that you grew in wisdom and grace, that you overcame and became an encouragement to others, that you raised two amazing daughters who still need their mama, that you chose me of all people, to be your life partner.

“I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in

I’ll never meet the ground

Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us

We’re far from the shallow now”

Forever your love – Happy Birthday

Lauren, Myrtle, Jackie, Amanda

The Homeplace – Now Under Contract

November is naturally a time of reflection – tree leaves have left their autumn glory, the night comes quicker, and a favorite sweatshirt takes the place of shorts and flip-flops. The pending Thanksgiving holiday forces us to put aside our trivial grievances and be grateful for the people in our lives and the things that we so easily take for granted.

I had the year that a dad could only dream of. Both of my amazing daughters got married within 6 months of each other. I had the unbelievable twice-in-a-lifetime opportunity to preside over both ceremonies.

I had the year that a son could only dread. I watched helplessly as my mom heroically fought but ultimately lost a bizarre and complex fight for her life.

These intertwined milestone events and subsequent range of emotions has left me strangely void of the ability to articulate in words, the depth of my thoughts. I imagine myself as a struggling painter who has a vision in his mind that he wants to convey but has no idea where to dip the brush into the color palette or where to put the first stroke on the canvas. Somewhere in this abstract, I hope to find the story.

My dad chronicled mom’s illness from the beginning, and his journal entry for the new year stated the following:

The Hospice assessor came today to check Loreen’s progress. She concluded that Loreen had reached a plateau, as far as physical and occupational therapy are concerned, and therefore therapy services would be discontinued. The nursing, and nurse assistant services will be continued. Loreen is gradually becoming weaker, and more confused, symptoms which have been prevalent in the past when she has had urinary tract infection.

This was a typical day in my hometown of Lynchburg, Virginia that would repeat itself in peaks and valleys for the next 7 months.

Meanwhile, the typical day in North Carolina was filled with wedding portraits, vendor contracts, table settings, and decor…

In March of 2013 Trenton proposed to Lauren in Wilmington, NC. They were high school sweethearts who had weathered the long distance challenges of college and the Marine Corps. A wedding date was set for the following March. Jackie and I were over the moon with excitement as we anticipated and planned for the big day.

Lauren’s Wedding Shower in Lynchburg

On February 2nd, my extended family in Lynchburg hosted a wedding shower for Lauren.

It was an incredibly special day for all of us – that mom could not only attend but looked and felt good. It was a time of expectation and hope. We made arrangements for mom and dad to travel to Raleigh for the wedding.

Lauren and Trenton’s wedding was held on March 15th at the Stockroom, on Fayetteville St. in downtown Raleigh. That morning, I was at the venue helping with last minute preparations when I got a call from my dad telling me that mom was not doing well and they were not going to be able to make the trip. I wasn’t surprised but I felt an immediate pang in my heart and a lump in my throat that I pushed back.

From the St. Patrick’s Day festival that was happening right outside the Stockroom doors, to the looks of adoring glances stole by the bride and groom, the wedding was truly magical. The place and time, the vibe, good friends and family, all came together in a confluence of celebration. The absence of my mom and dad cast a slight shadow – and at one point in the service, my voice gave way to the gravity of the moment as I reminded the couple of their heritage of faithful love:

Lauren – your grandma and grandpa just celebrated 61 years of what it means to be there each other “for better or worse, in sickness and in health”. For the last 30 years, your mom and I have been soul mates in marriage.

As I said those words, I thought about the reserved empty chair in the front row that had my mom’s name on the placard. Like a time lapse movie playing in front of my glistening eyes, precious family moments flooded my consciousness. The night before, at the rehearsal dinner, I had given Lauren this note written on a napkin.

Lauren, years ago I would pack your lunch for school. The brown bag would be loaded with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a baggy of chips, a fruit snack, a nutty bar, and a napkin. The napkin would have a message from me that I hoped would brighten your day and inspire you. Those days are long behind you, but I thought this might be a good time for one more napkin message. I’m so happy for you, and feel so blessed to be a part of your wedding day. It’s tough to think of losing my baby girl to the care and responsibility of another man, but I know Trenton will take good care of you. You were born for this moment and I’m so very proud of you. You’ve been a most wonderful daughter, you’re an amazing teacher, and you will be an incredible wife and mom. I can’t wait to see how your life continues to play out. If you ever get discouraged or need an encouraging word, you know I’ll always be here for you. No matter what you need or when you need it, I’m only a call or a text away – Know that our hearts are eternally connected. So go and be a big girl now, do big girl things – but I’ll be watching from a distance and smiling with love and pride, at my baby girl.

Love, Dad

The day is a blur but as I look back at the pictures, the one common element in every frame, is pure joy – a joy that allows you to dance without inhibition, to hug a little longer and a bit tighter, to laugh till you hurt, and to push the cares of the world aside for a moment. Every moment of that day reminded me of how very fortunate I was to to be a part of the giving and receiving of such passion.

My 51st birthday was April 23rd, and Jay’s plan was to ask Amanda if she would agree to be his wife, the night of my celebration dinner out – on the 26th. The evening got unexpectedly complicated (we can laugh about it now) and Jay ended up proposing the next morning. Little did we know that Amanda would opt for an abbreviated engagement, exactly 6 months from her sister’s wedding! Wedding plans were put into overdrive with a chosen destination venue of picturesque Addison Farms Vineyard in Asheville, NC.

Soon we were having the déjà vu experience of driving back to Lynchburg for the extended family wedding shower – this time for Amanda and Jay. I remember having the radio on and hearing the song Say Something by A Great Big World. I was listening to the lyrics and thinking of mom, and tears quickly clouded up my vision as I drove… the collision of my overwhelming joy for Amanda and my sense of gloom over mom’s suffering was too much.

And I – will swallow my pride
You’re the one that I love, and I’m saying goodbye
Say something I’m giving up on you
And I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you
And anywhere I would have followed you, oh
Say something I’m giving up on you

My dad’s journal entry for that day was as follows:

On Sunday the 13^th , Mandy was having a wedding shower, and everyone came here for lunch, four generations were represented. Loreen had a downturn that morning and couldn’t get out of bed . Each one came in and spoke to her, and she acknowledged their presence…

Before leaving the house, dad called Amanda and Jay into the bedroom where mom was, to give them their wedding gift. It was a Bible that was inscribed with a special message, and mom roused long enough to hug them and tell them they were loved.

Six days later I was back in that same bedroom holding on to my mom’s hand as she took her last breath. My sister Amy laid across the bed, her head on mom’s chest, having released her dearest and best friend to a better place. My brothers, with their wives, and my niece, clung to mom and grieved. My greatest encourager, Jackie, held onto me as I held tightly to mom’s hand. I was as much relieved that her struggle was over, as I was sad. I had the high honor of offering the eulogy at mom’s funeral.

Time stops for no one… and so, on ThursdaySeptember 11th we packed up as much stuff as we could fit into my Jeep and headed to Asheville for wedding weekend #2. My daughter Amanda, is the consummate planner and risk avoider. She had talked her sister out of the notion of an outdoor wedding and had been adamant that she would never put her wedding day at odds with the whims of mother nature. Things don’t always happen the way we envision them – Note the picture of a tent being assembled for an outdoor wedding…

The Weather Channel app had a million hits that week and they were all from me. The weather in Asheville is unpredictable at best, but when we got heavy rain the night of the rehearsal dinner, I went to Amanda and said – “so… if it starts to pour down rain in the middle of the service do you want me to just pronounce you man and wife and make a run for it, or what?” We decided to ‘believe’ for good weather, and made no exit strategy.

Nothing helps to heal a gaping emotional wound like the soothing salve of love. Our family found an abundance of it in a beautiful cabin situated on 20 acres of stunning mountain and river vistas. The cabin slept 16 and we tried to fill it up. Many of my extended family stayed with us, including my dad, who would take long reflective walks in the morning before anyone else was awake. We talked a little about mom and how she would have loved to have been with us, but I kept her conspicuous absence at arms length. On Saturday morning, Amanda wandered into our empty bedroom and sprawled across the bed with her furry four legged child, Finley. As she lay there contemplating the day, the sun broke through the mountain clouds and shone brightly on her face. In that moment she knew in her spirit that God was going to show her favor on this day.

The bride’s maids all arrived for a festive brunch and retreated to the basement family room for hair and makeup preparations. I sheepishly walked down the stairs, realizing that I was intruding on this sacred space. I half apologized to the wedding party as I explained that Mandy and I have a common interest that I don’t share with my male friends, our appreciation of Oprah and her Super Soul Sundays. We’ve been inspired by the likes of Brene Brown, Dr. Wayne Dyer, Elizabeth Gilbert and others and who have spawned many deep philosophical conversations between us. I had picked up a book at Barnes and Noble entitled What I know for Sure – The back cover had this Oprah inscription:

“I know for sure: Your journey begins with a choice to get up, step out, and live fully.”

That was my prayer – that she and Jay would live fully and fearlessly, that they would dream big and then step headlong into those dreams, to live them out.

In spite of Amanda’s revelation, we arrived at Addison Farms with ominous clouds overhead. I walked the majestic vineyard and felt a deep spiritual connection with creation. Whether a fanciful notion of my conjuring, or a cosmic reality – I can’t say for sure – but I felt my mom’s presence with me, and I spoke to her for the first time since being at her death bed.

The guests assembled under the tent, the wedding party entered, I walked Amanda down the aisle and took my place, to begin the ceremony. It was beautiful and intimate, and I was able to keep my composure, until I followed a reading of the love chapter in 1 Corinthians 13. My voice broke as I choked back the tears and repeated the words that I had haltingly spoke to Lauren and Trenton:

Amanda – your grandma and grandpa celebrated 61 years of what it means to be there for each other “for better or worse, in sickness and in health”. Today I believe Grauma has the very best view of this blessed day, and is smiling on you.

The moisture in the clouds was so thick that I could feel the dampness on my hands, but not a single drop of rain fell. I knew in my heart that this was mom’s wedding gift to Amanda – that somehow she had cut a deal with God and it was NOT going to rain on this day, in this vineyard!

The story is far from over – for my daughters, it’s just beginning – but for now, I’ve done all I can do with this painting. I let the brush take me where it willed, and it is woefully incomplete. I cannot begin to untangle the overlapping hues of elation and despair, love and loss, release and connection. I’m grateful and thankful that I was a part of these moments. There have been times when I was so full of joy that I was sure my physical body could not contain it. There have been times when I could not stop the tears that dripped into my heavy heart. But this is my year, this is my story…

“To love someone fiercely, to believe in something with your whole heart, to celebrate a fleeting moment in time, to fully engage in a life that doesn’t come with guarantees – these are risks that involve vulnerability and often pain. But, I’m learning that recognizing and leaning into the discomfort of vulnerability teaches us how to live with joy, gratitude and grace.”
― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

This past weekend we were back in Lynchburg to celebrate Jackie’s birthday. My brother Steve went to the cabinet where the family photo albums are kept, to do some reminiscing. To our surprise, among the albums were four individual packets of bundled up memories – one for each of mom’s kids. Like a child at Christmas, I sifted through the old keepsakes that mom had stowed away – school programs, my little league baseball picture, and a poem that I had written for her 41 years ago…