Family

I’ve now celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays without my mom. No “Happy Birthday” greeting, brought a certain melancholy to the milestone. Now I brace myself for Mother’s Day.

Mother’s Day 2014 was a painful blessing. My mom had been struggling with her health for some time and the toll it was taking on her was becoming more apparent. Every holiday or special occasion brought with it a certain finality that this would be the last time we would all be together.

The kids, the grandkids, the great-grandkids, and her sisters showed up this Mother’s Day to truly celebrate mom – to honor her with our presence, to tell her how much she was loved, and in some ways, to say our goodbyes.

They say that the camera doesn’t lie, but sometimes it allows us to push back the cares of this world so that we can smile on cue. On the count of three…there was no smile from mom, only a wistful look-away as if thinking of some other time, some other place, perhaps when life was not so complicated, so difficult.

Mom would take her final breath 8 weeks later.

In the days following, I sifted through countless photos of mom, each telling parts of an otherwise incomplete story.

There is this vintage shot of a confident young woman, hands on hips, showing scandalous amounts of leg.

The glamorous engagement photo with sultry eyes and hollywood starlet looks.

The young mother of three troublesome boys who would tempt fate one more time, 7 years after me, to get the baby girl she always wanted.

The loving sister to eight siblings, who adored her.

The passionate adventurer.

The cherished grandmother, great grandmother and mother-in-law.

The devoted, loyal, faithful wife.

The fearless fighter.

My first love, my last mother’s day

Looking back on that day, I’m so very grateful to have been there… really there, fully aware, fully present, holding onto each moment as if I’d never get it back…knowing I’d never get it back.

My heart aches for all the heavy souls, this Mother’s Day. Some mourn, as I do, the loss of an unconditional love and kindred spirit that is incomparable. Others mourn for the person that never was – the mother they always longed for, but never received.

The life lesson is the same for both of us – to cherish the life we have been given, to be thankful for the people who love us, to forgive the people who have hurt us, to be courageous and humble, zealous but wise, open hearted but protective.

These are the attributes that my mom embodied and tried to instill in me. These are the attributes that the mother of my daughters have beautifully instilled in them.

This photo journey helps chronicle the story of the mom I knew, but also reveals the existence of a story about the mom I didn’t know. Mom was content to live in the shadow of others, never seeking the stage, the attention, or the glare of the spotlight. She raised four kids of her own and invested her life in hundreds of others as a career-long preschool teacher. She was the epicenter of every family gathering, yet never the center of attention. She could easily get lost in a room of people, but her absence looms forever large on those same gatherings.

As is often the case though, I waited too long to ask her the questions that I long to hear answered now. If I could roll back time, I would sit with her on a beach somewhere, with our toes in the sand, and I would ask her about her life, and I would be quiet and listen to her speak… What was it like growing up as one of nine kids? What were Christmas’s like? What did you want to be when you grew up? When you put on those short-shorts, and put your hands on your hips, did you feel invincible? Was your wedding day magical? Did you really want four kids? What went through your mind when the doctor handed you baby boys that you named John Porter, Mark Lynn, and Phillip Amory. How pleased were you when the doctor said, “it’s a girl”, and you blessed Amy Loreen with your own name. How hard was it to raise four kids almost single handedly, while your husband worked two jobs to keep food on the table? I’ve got a thousand more, including new ones like – Did grandma fly with you into everlasting? What’s heaven really like? Is Jesus totally amazing, and does he really speak the King’s English?

One day, when jobs and deadlines and obligations are no longer an excuse, I’ll take eternity to discover the mom I never knew. For now, I’m forever thankful for the mom who knew me.

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…