New Life...

Finally getting the thing you've been waiting for can be incredible!

In my case, it was a simple phone call. 

I saw a strange sequence of numbers come up on my phone and the only reason I didn't silence it was because I caught a glimpse of the word underneath the numbers...Guinea. 

It was my son calling! My heart skipped a beat. 

But, by the time I clicked on the accept button, the call ended. It wasn't long before a voicemail came up. 

Just hearing his voice, loud and clear, coming through the speaker was incredible. I laughed and I cried at the same time. 

Relief. 

Joy. 

Love. 

I had been waiting days to hear him. 

Almost two weeks with no word. 

He was leaving instructions on how to go online and add minutes to the phone the Peace Corps had given him. He told us not to call him as the charges would be astronomical. But if we add minutes to his phone, he can call us. Maybe once a week or once every two weeks. 

Needless to say, I immediately went to the site he told me about and added the most I could. 

I had no idea how much time that would give us. But I just wanted him to call back!

Within a half an hour the phone rang again. 

All these days and nights of worry melted away when he said, 'Hi, Mom!' 

I ran to get Ed and I put Brax on speaker phone so we could hear what he had to say. 

We only asked a few questions and he was off and running. 

So much to tell us about his new life. 

And, boy, is it ever a NEW life. Nothing is the same as the life he knew. 

As I listened, I realized that my mind was spinning but my heart was mending. 

To hear him so excited and hopeful about what he would be able to learn and, in return, to teach these people on another continent--well, it's exactly what I had hoped to hear. 

The quiet resolve was still in his voice. The immense changes haven't dulled his overall goal. He is there to serve and to help. I couldn't have been more pleased. 

He spoke of deplorable living conditions, unspeakable abuses against both humans and animals, unimaginable health challenges, and lack of basic American comforts. 

While I realized I would have never had the strength to do what he's undertaking, I was so grateful to hear him say he is totally immersing himself in the culture and is blessed with the family who has adopted him for the next 27 months. 

He told us he feels safe and isn't fearful of his surroundings or of the community where he is living and will be working. 

With each word, my heart felt better. 

And better. 

A heart healing. 

No matter where our children find themselves, we only want the best for them. 

We want them safe. 

We want them happy. 

While I would not have chosen this path for my oldest son, I am truly ashamed I never thought about how what I want for him is what the families he will be working with want for their children. The Peace Corps is such a natural fit for Braxton. How did I not see it before? I've been so consumed with my missing him and the thought of him being gone for so long. 

It took my son to show me that we have a very short time on this earth and it is our duty to share our blessings with others. 

It's only been two weeks since he's been gone and he's already taught me that we are all humans with the same basic wants and needs. I'll do anything I can to support him these next few years as he fights for others. 

It's no longer about missing my son. 

It's about sharing him. 

He belongs to Guinea for now. 

This is how a mom's heart begins to heal. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

We May Go, But Our Hearts Stay Home...

How can your heart be bursting with pride and breaking with sadness at the same time?

I've been feeling so many unfamiliar emotions these past months. As the months have turned into weeks and then days...I started feeling a way I haven't ever before. 

Our kids have each left to go away for college. 

One by one. 

Those days, moving them into their dorms, were so hard because our life shifted. 

One less child at home. 

We did that four times. 

It became a bit easier with each one and our family adjusted to the new living arrangements. 

Today was different. 

We watched Braxton walk away and board an airplane. 

We can't take a weekend trip to the place he's going. 

How can your heart be bursting with pride and breaking with sadness at the same time?

We've known Braxton was leaving. 

He joined the Peace Corps months ago. 

Yet, the departure date was so far away that I was able to justify it in my mind as a distant event and I was able to rationalize the trip as not something I had to worry about for awhile. 

I watched him unpacking and repacking his bags last night. Double-checking. Triple-checking. How can he possibly know what he needs for 27 months in another continent? 

He's flying out of Illinois and will end up in Pennsylvania for a few days of training. Then, he'll eventually end up in Africa by the middle of this next week. 

His new home. 

He'll be thousands of miles away from us. 

We don't know if he'll be able to text or even call. Mail isn't an option until he gets settled with his host family. So we're not certain how we'll communicate. 

We've always been a family who talks to each other everyday. Even when the kids were in school, if we didn't talk on the phone, we'd make sure we sent goodnight texts. Every single night. 

This is the first time I won't be able to send one to Braxton. 

He won't be able to send one to us. 

I don't like it. 

I like to say goodnight to my kids. Even better, I like to be able to picture where they are. Their dorm room...their fraternity/sorority house...their apartment.

Not this time. 

How can your heart be bursting with pride and breaking from sadness at the same time?

The flip side of my sadness is immense pride. 

My son is going to serve in the Peace Corps and give back to others for over two years of his life. 

I don't think I would have been strong enough to leave everything I know to go another continent at that age. Actually, I know I wouldn't have been. 

Much like parents whose children serve in the military the pride I feel is bittersweet. You know your child is following their calling and, yet, it takes them away from you. It changes everything about your family dynamic. 

We wouldn't want it any other way. But it doesn't mean it isn't painful to watch unfold. 

I've felt like I haven't been able to find the words which truly describe the roller coaster this has put us all through. Unusual for me, I know. Words are not usually a struggle. 

When it comes down to it, I want all my children to follow their dreams when they have that chance. My job is to be supportive and let them go. 

But the mom in me wants them all to be close...within calling distance...within driving distance. 

It will be over two years before Braxton comes home. 

We know this. 

Our family dynamic changed today like never before. 

I'm going to let the tears flow. 

I'm going to let my heart hurt. 

I'm going to pray for his safety.

I'm going to embrace the change because I know how much it means to Braxton. 

How can your heart be bursting with pride and breaking from sadness at the same time? 

I'll think about the world map the kids gave me for Mother's Day which hangs at the top of our stairs. 

Braxton came up with the quote that sits on a little gold plaque at the left bottom corner: 'We May Go, But Our Hearts Stay Home.'

He's not here...but his heart is. 

I told him this morning...as I was telling him goodbye...that in order to change the world he has to experience it. And I am so proud that he wants to do this service for others. 

I'm extremely lucky to watch my child go and live his life how he wants...following his passion.

But I'm also not afraid to say I'm going to have bad days when I just want him back with us. With me. 

It's going to be a struggle. I'm going to try my best to remember how blessed we are. 

This 27 months apart will make us love each other even more. 

How can I see anything but positive in that?

It is what it is. 

p

 

And the Second One Has Left the Nest...

Blaize left this morning. 

Suitcase in hand...along with whatever else the train allows passengers to take aboard with them. 

Somewhere in his stuff is an air mattress he'll sleep on for the week. Along with various items of necessity to get thru one week without furniture and all the creature comforts of home. 

Within the past few weeks, Blaize accepted a job in Chicago with Jim Beam. Beam Suntory, to be exact. He'll be a Corporate Communications Specialist. 

I have no idea what that truly means. Even though he's tried to explain it to me, I just know that as he describes his duties...his face lights up and his expressions tell me that this is the type of job he's been waiting for...looking for...since graduating this past May with his Master's degree. 

It wasn't easy. It wasn't cheap. He spent lots of money going to and from interviews in Chicago. He'd be in the top three. Then, the top two. Then, the call would come that there might be something else coming soon but they'd given the position to someone else. 

I kept telling him I was sorry but felt the right job was out there and he was obviously on the correct path. 

It wasn't happening as quickly as he'd hoped. But Ed and I were happy to have him stay at home for as long as he needed. 

Five months. 

Now, he's employed and has a studio apartment in Wicker Park. 

It happened. 

Right when it was supposed to happen. 

We'll go this Saturday to move all the furniture, clothes, and other stuff he's packed up to begin this new adventure. 

Damn. 

I'm so proud. 

I realized that we've now seen our two oldest sons move away to take jobs and become the independent men we raised them to be. 

This is what parents hope for. Happy children. Self-sufficient and strong. 

I know this is a blessing. 

I'm thankful he'll be close enough to come back home. Again. A blessing. 

But, as with all mom's, there's that part of me that would have loved to have him stay home even longer. Living in his bedroom with all his things piled around him. 

I'll miss the random plate or glass that Blaize is known for leaving out on the end table over night. He can never seem to remember where the dishwasher is. 

I'll miss seeing him when I get home from work. And I'll miss having him ask what we're doing for dinner. The upside will be that we can now add onions to all our dishes because he's the only one who doesn't like them. 

Where in the world has the time gone? How did he grow up enough to be moving away and starting a 'real' job? 

This life-thing sure has a way of sneaking up on you. 

It's not an ending. 

It's a beginning. 

This will be a side of Blaize I've never seen before. 

I can't wait to get to know him. 

If possible, the love continues to grow for my son. 

This man who used to be a boy. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

Frozen in Time...

I watched the colorful, lighted balloons making the ascent slowly up into the dark sky above. 

The hushed crowd stood with heads tilted up, following as the balloons became small dots. 

Several people were around me, yet I felt as if I was by myself. 

I began to tear up. 

It was unexpected. 

I had been doing fine. The atmosphere was so upbeat and positive. So many people coming together for these two young adults who were taken too soon. 

It was another day of celebration for Leo Alfano and Morgan McKinnon. It was the third time we'd come together like this. A fundraiser for A.B.A.T.E. in their name. 

But, this year, it was also Morgan's 21st Birthday. The balloons were released in her honor. 

Maybe it hit me because we'd recently celebrated our own daughter's 21st, too. 

The stark reality hit me hard. The what-if's and the why's. 

Picturing Morgan at 21. Picturing Leo at 22 or 23. What would they look like today? 

I found a chair near the waters edge and sat down. People talking all around me. Laughter and music in the background. 

I couldn't help but look back up at the sky. 

The balloons were gone and all I could do was keep staring. 

I'll come to these Celebrations as long as I'm able. I know that. Because I loved these kids and love them still. My family feels the same. This was the first year all six of us were able to come together. What a blessing. 

But my feelings are changing, I think, in terms of how I see this day now. The incredible pain has numbed some. In its place is this sadness for what won't be. What can't be. 

Frozen in time. 

These two can't have the normal things we enjoy each day, each year. 

Obviously that's what happens when one passes away. 

But really feeling that, deep in my soul, has begun to happen more and more. 

Frozen in time. 

My memories with them have an expiration date. There will be no others. 

Damn. I would do anything to change that. 

I noticed my son, Blaize, looking down at me and asking what was wrong. He saw the silent tears. 

I told him I just needed a moment and I'd be ok. 

I wiped the tears and smiled a tiny bit. 

It was a time to celebrate and that's what I was going to do. Sometimes we need a minute to regroup. Sometimes we need a minute to really feel. I had my moment and there will be more. But not now. 

Leo and Morgan would want me to hold tight to my loved ones and continue living...continue making memories. 

I'll do that. 

For them.

It is what it is. 

p

It Used To Be Your Birthday...

You would have been 78 today. 

We would have celebrated. 

Probably dinner topped off with cake and ice cream. 

Presents. 

Laughs. 

Love. 

It used to be your birthday. 

That all stopped so many years ago. 

In fact, it's sometimes hard to remember the birthdays we did celebrate together. 

But they're there. Deep in my memories. 

It's amazing how my heart has glazed over in a futile attempt to ease the pain of your loss. 

It doesn't work. The devastation still seeps in. 

I got that book of poems out tonight. The one you gave me a few months before our worlds changed. 

I rarely open it. 

Instantly brings tears to my eyes. It's too much. 

I think I opened it tonight because I had a glass of wine. Must have been fate. The kids went on a late night run to the liquor store and asked me if I wanted any. I said yes. Took one last swig in the kitchen, before I headed to bed, in your honor. You would have loved that. You did enjoy your wine. We didn't drink often enough together. I loved when we did. It's those types of moments that make me smile through my tears. 

Do you ever stop needing your mom? Do you ever stop missing her when she's no longer here? Does the immense loss ever lessen? 

I think of you everyday, at some point, whether consciously or unconsciously. 

Damn. I miss you. 

The poems helped. They make me feel

closer to you, somehow, and I need those minutes when I can forget the stark reality of a life without you in it. 

I found myself drawn to your note in the margin tonight. 

Reminding me that you're still in my heart to listen. 

It's not what I want. I'd do almost anything to have you back. I know that can't happen but it doesn't make the wanting any less. 

So, for another birthday apart, I'm holding you close in my heart. 

Happy Birthday, my sweet Mama. 

I hope you truly can hear me. 

My heart is full. I'm almost positive you're there. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

 

 

 

 

Most Cherished Time of the Year...

We'll soon be leaving for our annual family vacation. 

Sometimes, it's just the six of us. 

Other times, Ed's aunts and uncles also go, with their families, and we have a family reunion, of sorts, on Okaloosa Island. One of Ed's aunts actually found the condo complex where we stay and we haven't missed a year. 

It's our most cherished time of the year.

We pack up our well-worn suburban, affectionally named the 'Fun Bus,' and there's not an inch of space to spare. But it wouldn't be a trip without the discomfort of being in such close proximity for 14 hours. 

The hours allow for us to reconnect. 

Sometimes we talk, sometimes we listen to music; other times the kids all have their headphones in. Lots of reading goes on. And, of course, the attempts to sleep as you sit upright in a seat which are mostly unsuccessful. 

It's our most cherished time of the year. 

By the time we reach Florida, we're all more than ready to be there and out of the suburban. 

We've gone so many years that we have the routine down pat. 

Once inside the condo, we all breathe a sigh of relief to have arrived and, even though we've seen the sight so many times before, we continue to be surprised and amazed at the beauty of the ocean outside our balcony sliding doors. 

Our days are filled with sunshine and sunscreen. Also, a variety of beach appropriate drinks. It's a time for experimenting and finding a new combination to add to our usual list. 

Our nights are filled with fabulous food at our favorite restaurants. Some well-known and some out-of-the-way lucky accidents. Whatever the case, we are extremely full and satisfied after each trip. 

Nothing earth shaking happens over this week. 

Nothing besides what we know and love. 

It's our most cherished time of the year. 

However, this will be the last year our six will be going together. At least for a while. 

We know this for certain. 

Braxton will leave for Macedonia in September. His Peace Corps commitment will keep him overseas for 27 months. 

I realize how blessed we are to have the years we've had together. Vacations are a luxury and we know it. The time spent with one another is priceless. 

So, this year will be earth shaking because we'll all know how special these days are because they are numbered. 

Ed and I have always hoped our summer vacations will continue to include our four kids and, when and if the time is right, their future families. Long after we're gone, we pray the kids will continue this tradition of spending an entire week, uninterrupted, with those they love most in this world. 

So, the battered suburban will head out soon. As loaded down and as crowded as usual. 

I know, that as I look around from the front seat beside Ed, I'll see the five people who are my everything. 

Traditions continue. 

Bonds tighten. 

Love grows. 

It's our most cherished time of the year. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

 

When It's Hard To Breathe...

Some days, it's hard to breathe. 

Doesn't have to be anything monumental that happens. Sometimes it is. But not always. 

Today was one of those days for me. 

It started normally. 

It's ending with me sitting in my car beside my mom's grave. The gnats got so bad that I had to take cover in here to finish this blog. 

After work, I found myself tired but nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. It was a beautiful day outside and the kids at work were as cute as ever. 

But my emotions were set off by simple interactions once I was home. I could feel anger and frustration building. Not quite sure why. These things don't always make sense. They just hit you. 

I tend to share my feelings a lot. 

A lot. 

To my family and to my friends. 

It's never a surprise where I stand. 

Yet, even though I'm a very verbal person by nature...I'm also a very private person by circumstance. 

Few know my deepest thoughts. 

Too painful to share. 

Easier to keep safely tucked away. 

Tonight, I blew. 

Had to get out of the house. Had to come to the one peaceful, solitary place I find comfort. 

To see my mom. 

I sat on an old t-shirt I found in the back of the suburban.  Laid it on the grass. Plopped right in front of her headstone. 

Her grave is right on a corner of Ebenezer Cemetery and several vehicles drove by. They must have thought I was crazy. 

But, still I sat. Playing some music on my phone and talking to mom. Trying to get perspective on whatever had overtaken me earlier. 

She always had a way of helping me through issues. That hasn't changed. 

The sun's going down. I know Ed will wonder when I'm coming home. 

Time to go. 

She's done it again. I feel more centered, peaceful, and calm. 

Thank God for the places we can go...where we can let it all out when it's hard to breathe. 

My mom is that place for me. 

I talked. 

She listened. 

I took a deep breath. 

I let it out. 

I can breathe again. 

Until next time, Momma. 

It is what it is. 

p

'We may go, but our hearts stay home...'

Mother's Day has come and gone. Ed, Braxton, and I went to Champaign, since three of our kids were there finishing finals, and had a wonderful day. 

This weekend, the kids were all back home. It's been awhile since they've been here together. 

As we were sitting out on the patio Friday night, they brought out a large, thin box and told me they had a present for me for Mother's Day. 

Of course, I hadn't been expecting anything. We'd already celebrated. But, I have to admit I was really excited to see what could be inside. 

It became obvious that this was a picture, of some sort, fairly quickly, because of the size and shape of the box. Although, I could never have possibly guessed what the picture was. 

I finished opening the box and saw a large world map. 

In the bottom right corner, on a gold placard, is the quote: 'We may go, but our hearts stay home.' 

Of course, I felt tears well up in my eyes almost immediately.

As the kids explained the meaning of this world map, the tears streamed slowly down my face. 

They told me that this picture is actually a push-pin picture which allows you to place a push-pin for each place you've traveled. A visual record, of sorts. 

They went on to say we'll have push-pins for each of us, six colors, and we can place one in parts of the world we've already been...and places we will soon be. 

With our children soon going to parts of the world without us, this gift has such tremendous meaning to me. 

I found Macedonia. 

Braxton will leave in September to make this tiny space on the map his new home for over two years. I know I'll look at that push-pin and think of him each time I do. Somehow, it will make me feel closer. 

Blaize will have a new home soon when he lands his first job. We don't know where that will be yet, but we know that a push-pin will mark that spot. 

A reminder of where another of my sons is living. 

Somewhere far away from me.

From us. 

But their hearts will be home. 

We will mark the places Ed went on his childhood vacations and ones where I went with my parents and brother. 

We'll add our honeymoon and our annual Stewart Family vacations. 

The boys can add their Spring Break trips from the past couple of years. 

Italy will hold two push-pins signifying when Blaize and Brody went with the Alfano's several years ago. 

A family travel history within one beautiful cherry-wood-framed world map. 

I've already hung it. 

It's at the top of the stairs so you can see it as soon as you come in the front door. 

I'll pass by it several times a day. 

I already know I'll show my family and friends with pride. 

I am sure that, sometimes, when I look at this, I'll be overcome with sadness confronted with the reality of the distance between us...oceans apart...but I am also sure that I will remember that even though the kids may be physically far...their hearts are here, with me. 

I pray we have many years ahead to add more push-pins to this map. 

I want the kids to spread their wings. 

To go follow their dreams wherever they may take them. 

To go places Ed and I may never see and come back to share stories of their adventures. 

To immerse themselves into different cultures and meet people with a different way of life. 

To realize that the world is such a big, beautiful place. 

And. 

Then. 

I want them to come back home, again, before they add another push-pin. 

My heart is full. 

I can thank my children for that. 

I've done my part as a mom and now they are close to striking out on their own path. 

'We may go, but our hearts stay home.'

Who would have thought a world map, dotted with multi-colored push-pins, would become one of my most prized possessions? 

No matter who travels where...I already know where my favorite cluster of push-pins will be...Illinois.

South Jacksonville. 

The place all six of us will always call home. 

The place where our hearts stay. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

 

Embracing Estrangement...

I found myself, at age 37, with no parents. 

Our four children suddenly had no maternal grandparents. 

A jolt to say the least. 

My mom's death, from pancreatic cancer, changed much more than I could have ever anticipated or imagined. 

Losing one parent by circumstance is hard enough. Losing the other, by choice, is another. 

I had a wonderful childhood. Some would call it idyllic. For the most part, it was. 

I was raised to be a strong, independent person. I was encouraged to fight for the underdog. I was told to try to be kind and understanding. I felt empowered to question when the situation was warranted. 

It was that very questioning which caused the estrangement that is now a part of my life. Questioning created a rift and a split from all I had known. 

It's been nearly 14 years now. My life has taken different twists and turns. Many of those would have been a time, in the past, that I would have called my mom or my dad for advice...or just to talk something through. 

I don't feel sorry for myself. 

Simply surprised that this is what happened to my family. I would have never believed it if someone had told me. 

Estrangement from a parent is perhaps as equally as devastating as losing a parent to cancer. 

One left by no fault of her own. 

The other left of his own volition. 

Both are losses, in my mind.

But, after all these years, I look back and see the beauty of my childhood and I hold on to that. 

I thank God for my husband. I thank God for our four children. People remark, from time to time, how close the six of us are. While I have no doubt we would have been close regardless...I can't help but wonder if our unusual bond is due to the fact we have relied so heavily on each other because of our circumstances. 

I don't really care. I only know I am eternally grateful for these five people who know the real me. They love me, even when they'd like to strangle me, and they are here for me...unconditionally. 

Together, we've learned that life isn't easy and it isn't always perfect. It throws you curves and the unexpected heartache. 

But more than that, life is wonderful. The negatives have a way of bringing you positives. Sometimes, you just have to look in places you've haven't looked before. But, somewhere, there's a positive. 

I can't talk to either of my parents anymore. 

They are both beyond my reach. 

I like to think that they brought me to a certain point in my life and I took it from there. 

I love my parents for loving me. For making me that strong, independent person who fights for the underdog and tries to be kind as well as understanding. 

And for teaching me to question. 

It cost me dearly...an estrangement from my dad. But, it happened the way it was supposed to happen. I honestly don't regret my actions and I wouldn't change a thing on my part. 

I have told our four children that this estrangement has made me firm in my belief that there is nothing they could do or say to me which would cause me to cut them, nor the grandchildren I hope to one day have, off from my life. 

Nothing. 

I guess we learn from our parents. 

I have certainly learned from mine. 

My family of six is bound tightly. 

Completely. 

Unconditionally. 

Eternally. 

Death of one parent and estrangement of the other has taught me the importance of that bond. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

Mom's Weekend...

Sometimes I'm amazed how quickly my life has gone by. 

So much of my 20's were spent with our four babies and I was immersed in diapers and bottles with time for little else. 

Since each of their births, our kids have been the axis on which Ed and my world revolves. 

It's the way we wanted it. 

Early on, we made the decision that I would stay home and be with our kids-all four born within five years time-and Ed would be our soul financial provider. 

We sacrificed a lot in those days. Families do that when they live on one salary and are just starting out. 

We wouldn't have had it any other way. 

We were blessed that Ed's profession allowed us all we needed for our kids. Though he sometimes would travel, and be gone from Monday morning until Friday night, our kids knew where their Daddy was and our weekends were spent together...the six of us. 

Seeing the kids grow has been such a joy. When I look at them now, I'm still amazed they are all adults. 

It's been a long time since they've needed me to 'take care' of them but we are still as bonded as we were then. 

This weekend, at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, will be the last Mom's weekend I'll get to spend with all four of our kids. All three boys will be gone next year. Braxton will be in Macedonia serving in the Peace Corps, Blaize hopes to be in New York fulfilling his career goals in journalism, and Brody will have graduated and moved on, as well, into his new life. Only Bentley will still be there. From four...down to one. 

Each Spring, Ed and I go for Mom's weekend. I know he's not a Mom but I go for Dad's weekend with him...so we're even. We want to all be together as much as possible. 

The boys fraternity hosts a Mom's luncheon with flowers on the tables and delicious food. Bentley's sorority has a yummy brunch. Both houses have an auction of donated 'baskets' that mom's put together. I always enjoy picking out the perfect things for both the Alpha Sigs and the Chi Omegas. 

And...as with most college activities...there will be alcohol. Now, I'm not much of a drinker. Never have been. Our kids get their drinking gene from the Stewart side. 😉. 

But the Alpha Sigs have a vast selection of alcohol that I actually like and this is a weekend I do drink with our kids, their friends, and the other mom's and dads we've become close to over the years. 

I can't describe the feeling. 

Catching up with these families. Listening to the future plans of these amazing young adults. Sharing stories, sharing laughs, sharing this time in our lives...our kid's college experience has been a time I have enjoyed, immensely. 

Two years ago, the boys frat rented out the back room of a bar, named Joe's, for all of us mom's. 

I did something I had never done. 

As we were sipping some of the drink specials, I noticed the 'stripper poles' I'd heard the kids talk about. Lots of college kids were up there on the platform dancing by the poles. 

Then it hit me. I was going to surprise my kids and jump up on the platform. 

Yep, I was going up on that stripper pole!

Needless to say, all three boys joined me immediately. 

What a memorable night. 

It was out of my comfort zone.

Yes, I looked foolish. 

This picture is unflattering and embarrassing. 

But, who cares!

Life is about taking those crazy thoughts and going for it!

I didn't last long. Tired out quickly. But I was happy to see lots of mom's hop up on that platform after I got down. 

My relationship with our kids has changed over the years. 

But, these kids are my world. 

I would do anything to spend time with them...to enjoy the moments we have. 

Even get on a stripper pole. 

It is what it is. 

p

End Of Watch...

I met him last summer. 

I'd seen him driving thru our Village before that but wasn't introduced to him until I started volunteering with the South Jacksonville Celebration/Concert in the Cornfield in late June. 

Tall in stature, South Jacksonville Police Officer Scot Fitzgerald stood above the other officers and wore a ready smile. I easily remembered his name because it's the same as my brother. He had a personality that put you immediately at ease. 

There would be some nights, at Board meetings, when he would stop by. As he'd stand and talk with us, he'd stick his hands into the sides of his bullet-proof vest and rock, softly, from side to side. It was an endearing habit I came to associate with only him. I never notice another officer doing this. Just Scot.

The Saturday morning of our South Jacksonville Celebration Parade, Ed and I drove to a blocked-off side road to watch the entries go by. Officer Fitzgerald was at the end of that road, on duty, beyond the barricades. 

We walked to stand beside his SUV with him. His very-pregnant wife, Dani, was there and their adorable little boy was mesmerized by the sights of the parade and excited at the thought of catching candy to put in his bag. 

I'm not sure how it happened, but I started helping their son go out, bit by bit, into the road to pick up candy. We'd pick some up, put it in his bag, and then he'd run back to show his dad and mom. He had that look of wonderment that only children seem to express. 

I recognized Dani. Her little sister, Sami, had been on our two back-to-back Turner Junior High State Championship Volleyball teams. The Suttles family were permanent fixtures in the stands back in 2009 & 2010. It really is a small world. It was great to see Dani and the family she had made with Scot. 

We talked a few minutes about the baby. She was due soon and all three of them were excited to become a family of four. 

Our interaction that morning was probably no more than a half an hour at most. But, as we walked away, I remember telling Ed how nice it was to see a young family together. Reminded me of the parades we used to take our kids to see as they were growing up. Those times with our children, when they're young, are so precious. I envied them the time they were sharing because I missed it so much. 

I left thinking what a wonderful life they had. How lucky they were. 

Some months passed and I was at Walmart one day and saw the Fitzgerald's walking toward me. They had their new baby girl in the cart. Their son was happily walking alongside. 

We stopped and talked a few minutes. They introduced me to their daughter. I asked if their son had eaten all the parade candy yet and Scot laughed. He said he'd been eating it after the kids went to bed. 

Typical dad stuff. 

Heartwarming stuff. 

The stuff that makes you smile as you walk away. 

My interactions with Officer Fitzgerald were limited. But, in the little time I knew him, I figured out the type of person he was. Making people feel immediately comfortable in your presence isn't something we are all blessed with. Scot was. 

When I would see him, even if it was only to wave, I would feel warmly about this man who was an incredibly loving husband and devoted father and I would feel confident about this man who was serving our Village as a member of our police department. 

I last saw Scot on Tuesday when he stopped by our house to deliver my Board packet for a meeting this past Thursday. 

We talked for a few moments. He was always happy to chat. Then he was off to deliver the rest of the packets to the other Trustees. 

Normal, ordinary interaction. 

I had no idea it was the last time we would share that simple part of life. 

When I heard about the accident, all kinds of things ran thru my mind. 

In my lifetime, I've only been told of one other accident which involved someone I knew. It will soon be three years since Leo and Morgan were killed. 

While I didn't know Scot as well as Leo and Morgan, I can tell you the initial feeling is the same...no matter how close your relationship. 

The inmediacy of the helplessness that overcomes you. The realization that life has forever changed. It is there. Front and center. 

I've been praying. That's all you can do. 

Praying for Scot, for Dani, and for their precious children. 

Praying for both their families and all of their closest friends. 

For our South Jacksonville family...I pray for Officer Fitzgerald's brothers and sisters within the police department as well as in the fire department and the first responders...everyone involved with the Village. I've never seen a closer-knit group of people. 

This is, undeniably, an unspeakable tragedy. 

Whether we knew Officer Fitzgerald or not, he gave his life in the line of duty for all of us. 

The degrees of loss we feel will differ according to the impact he's had in our lives...the relationship he shared with us. 

But, the bottom line is, he made the ultimate sacrifice for our Village. 

We will never forget. 

We will be forever grateful. 

We will mourn this man, this officer, this example of what we all should strive to be. 

Thank you is not enough.

There are no words for a loss such as this. 

God Bless. 

It is what it is. 

p

Once a Crimson, always a Crimson...

Once upon a time, I was a Turner Devil. 

I wore green and white. 

I was so proud to represent Jonathan Turner Junior High. 

Then, a mom of one of the 8th graders decided that the Devil mascot was promoting negative religious connotations associated with the word. She went to the School Board and requested a mascot change.

I remember all of the students being surprised, as well as upset, at the possibility of removing our Devil. It had never crossed any of our minds that there needed to be or should be a change to our history. 

Even though I was only in 7th grade, I felt so strongly about keeping Turner as the Devils that I wrote a Letter-to-the-Editor. Seeing my thoughts in the Jacksonville Journal Courier was incredible. It took me several drafts and redrafts to get my ideas on the page, but I felt I represented what several of us felt in the final effort. 

How we were nothing but proud of being Turner Devils was clear. We needed a voice. I've never been afraid of speaking up when I've felt strongly and passionately about an issue. 

Unfortunately, the Board bent under pressure and we were forced to change the mascot. While we became Titans, we were still Turner Devils, through and through. I still think of myself, even today, as a Turner Devil. 

A few weeks ago, I read that the current School Board is looking to change or 'add-to' the current Jacksonville High School Crimson mascot.  A committee has been formed for that purpose. They will bring ideas to the Board. There's a possibility we won't be Crimsons anymore. 

Deja-vu. 

Like many families, several generations of Stewart's can say they were Crimsons. 

While I don't plan to write a Letter-to-the-Editor, I do feel as strongly now as I did all those years ago about messing with tradition. 

I applaud our school district for the plans to finally give our students the facilities they deserve.  Our community clearly supported the effort by passing a referendum to support this initiative. 

However, changing or 'adding-to' our JHS Crimson mascot should not be part of the equation. 

There's no need. 

Focus on the facilities and providing the education to our students. 

Buildings need to be updated. They need to change with the times to give the best we can, educationally. 

Leave it there. 

Mascots are not a part of that equation. 

Mascots are a tradition that we feel in our hearts.

Mascots are a pride we carry long after graduation. 

Mascots bind us as a class, as a school, and as a community. 

Leave the Crimsons alone. 

Sometimes, the urge to change goes too far. 

This is such a time. 

It is what it is. 

p

Playing the Race Card...

When will we stop playing the race card and focus on personal responsibility?

In the past few days, news broke that a Springfield school board member believes race was a factor in a basketball game between Jacksonville and Lanphier high schools a week ago.

I happened to be at the Bowl with several family members. 

Watched the entire game. 

At the buzzer, JHS won 58-56.

I saw the technical fouls called against Lanphier players. But, personally, I didn't feel those calls impacted the outcome of the game. But I've never been the kind of person who believes questionable calls hold that power. I feel it all works out in the end. 

It's called a game for a reason. 

The variables that come with any IHSA competition includes the officials. Not a surprise. I'm sure I've heard JHS parents complain about questionable calls when we've been visiting other schools for a contest. I expect to hear grumbling about calls and about officials from both sides. Part of the experience. 

What I did NOT expect, however, was the playing of the race card. 

I have to say I was incredibly surprised to read, according to the Springfield Journal-Register, that board member Judy Johnson pointed out most of the Jacksonville High School players are white, as were the three Illinois High School Association referees, and Lanphier High School's roster is made up of mostly black players. 

Numerous reports say Lanphier has filed a formal complaint with the IHSA over the matter.

I'm so disappointed. 

While the Springfield school district appears to be playing the race card, I feel they are missing out on, ironically, a huge teachable moment for their entire community. 

When will we stop playing the race card and focus on personal responsibility?

As a former IESA and IHSA coach, I feel both the coach and school district need to hold their athletes accountable for their personal actions. 

Take the officials out of the equation. 

We are talking about learning how to handle adverse situations. 

Do we do it gracefully and humbly? Do we learn to recognize that life isn't fair? Do we model good sportsmanship to our teammates and to all those around us? Do we represent our school and our community to the best of our abilities, no matter what the situation? Do we lose as graciously as we win? 

Unfortunately, when athletes aren't held accountable, the very thread of what sports stand for starts to unravel. 

I don't fault the athletes.

They are kids. 

I fault the adults who allow behaviors to go unchecked. 

If there was a foul given that truly shouldn't have been, then the lesson is how to accept the perceived injustice in the best light possible. 

When will we stop playing the race card and focus on personal responsibility? 

Without a doubt, racial prejudice exists in this world. In my opinion, it's one of the most shameful parts of our society.

However, playing the race card simply because white and black athletes come together on a basketball court, amidst questionable calls, is not the way to handle what is merely the natural progression of a well-played game. 

By bringing the issue of race into this, I feel the Springfield school district is doing a tremendous disservice to the students who look to them as advocates of their future. 

This was a game. A hard-fought game. A nail-bitter of a game. An extremely well-played game with talented athletes. 

It was NOT about race.  

It is what it is. 

p

Where in the world is Macedonia?

He's going to be gone 27 months. 

This is a first for our family.

We've gone through the college separation for all four of our kids. 

Got used to that. 

We've seen one son spend an entire summer in New York for an internship.

Made it through that. 

This is much different. 

Where in the world is Macedonia? 

It's nearly a world away in Eastern Europe. I had to ask. Not sure I've really heard of Macedonia except in passing. 

Now, I'm going to learn everything I can about it. 

Our oldest son will be joining the Peace Corps this September and will enter into a commitment which will keep him from home until December of 2018. 

Although, in the back of my mind, I always knew this day would come...one of our four kids moving somewhere difficult to visit...I wouldn't want anything else.  

It's the natural progression of his life. 

Our first-born child, Braxton has always been an old soul. He's never been the typical kid. Even now, at 25, he often surprises us with the depth of his thoughts and his vision for his life. His need to do for others. Way beyond his years. 

He's endured a lot of kidding from all of us when he goes into his monologues about world issues. He has such strong and developed views. Thoughtfully created and executed. But that's what makes him who he is. 

We're going to miss every part of him. 

He's been the leader of our 'Four B's' and watches over his brothers and sister like it's his job...because I think he feels it is. He has such a strong bond with his siblings that he has worked, tirelessly, to be the best possible role model for them that he can be. He's succeeded. 

Not that it's always sunshine and rainbows, of course. Braxton has been known to give some now infamous 'lectures' to Blaize, Brody, and Bentley when he feels they need it. Ed and I laugh that it feels like he's a third parent. He often does a better job at it than us. 

We're going to miss his guidance and wisdom. 

We're going to miss his fierce loyalty to our family. 

Watching Braxton move to St. Louis a couple years ago when he became a Teach For America educator, I felt such pride that he wanted to make a difference for the 4th graders in the Walnut Park neighborhood. 

His school was only a few blocks from the Ferguson police shooting of Michael Brown. The world wide attention drawn to the area only heightened the strain added to his job. I'd watch my phone for texts or calls from Braxton. Hoping he was safe and his students were safe. It's one thing to see the turmoil on the news and quite another to know your child is living amid it all...trying to teach kids from the neighborhood in a locked-down school.

I had no idea how this experience would change him.

He has a greater compassion and understanding for what students need and deserve. He can handle all types of situations. Normal and surreal. He has worked in an area few would even drive thru. He has connected to families in a way I couldn't have imagined. He has immersed himself in the school community riddled with many strikes against it. 

And his students...well, I can share that Braxton told us the hardest thing he has ever had to do was tell his class that he was joining the Peace Corps and wouldn't be back at school in the fall. 

He said they cried together for an hour.

THAT is what change looks like.

I told him the fact these kids cried because he wouldn't be in their lives anymore shows me how they've come to rely on him, trust him, respect him, and love him. This group of kids isn't easy to reach. He was able to break thru their glaring differences of upbringing and circumstance and become a true educator to them. He's become their advocate.

Brax has no idea how his couple of years teaching those kids will impact them for the rest of their lives. 

Brax has no idea how his couple of years teaching those kids has impacted his life. 

He's become a different person.

Now, as he looks forward to moving to the country of Macedonia, he'll once again be teaching. 

New students, new parents, and a completely new culture. 

The learning will begin again. 

For everyone. 

As a parent, I remember holding him in my arms and praying to God that I wouldn't screw him up with my inexperience. For some reason he was given to us and I knew it was a true gift. I suppose it's normal to feel inadequate when raising our children. There's no manual to read on child-rearing. You go with your gut. Trial and error. Braxton was meant to be our first. He allowed us the freedom to make mistakes and he persevered in spite of us. 

I love this boy who first made me a mom. He gave me my inaugural glimpse of the unexplainable connection between a mother and a child. 

 

I look at him now and can't believe it. I still see the little boy. Yet, before me, stands a man who has already worked to change his small part of the world. 

I'm in awe. 

Leaving the United States, he'll touch a new part of the world. I know he is grateful for the opportunity and ready for the experience. 

For our family, though, we'll miss several holidays, vacations, and birthdays with him. While he'll see Blaize graduate with his Master's in May, he'll miss both Brody's and Bentley's college graduations while he's gone. Those will be the hard moments...not to have him here for his siblings monumental achievements. 

But we know our Braxton. 

His heart will be with us. Distance won't change that. 

He has a journey to take...students to teach. Change to implement. 

My heart will break saying goodbye to him and watching him walk away. Tears will flow. 

But I will continue to learn, through him, how one person can make a difference. 

I have no doubt I've become a student of Braxton's, too.

And that makes it all worth it. 

I love you, Braxy Poo. We all love you. 

It is what it is. 

Mom

Jefferson Elementary and the McDannald's...

I was 9 years old. 

My best friend, Cindy Naum, lived right across the street from me on Green Forest Drive. 

I had gotten the fourth grade teacher, Miss Fisher, that I had wanted since kindergarten. 

Life was good for me at Bowles Elementary School in Fenton, Missouri. 

Then my parents broke it to my brother and me that dad had taken a job in some far-away place called Jacksonville, Illinois. 

I remember my brother asking only one question. He wanted to know if people in Illinois cheered for the St. Louis Cardinals like our family had done for generations in Missouri. 

It was an extremely scary time. Even though we were only crossing one state line and driving a couple of hours...I was leaving the only home I'd ever known. Everything was unfamiliar. 

My dad had taken a job as principal of one of Jacksonville's elementary schools. 

Jefferson Elementary School was on North Clay Street. The building was absolutely beautiful. Large and impressive sitting on almost an entire block of its own, it was the center of the neighborhood. I thought it looked like a castle. 

I came from a school atmosphere in a suburb of St. Louis that was filled with kids from all over the area. Numerous neighborhoods pooled into the school I attended. It wasn't a true neighborhood 

school. There's no way I could have known all the kids who went to that school. There were too many. 

Jefferson was a neighborhood school, however, and it was a 'family' atmosphere like I'd never seen. Everyone knew everyone. 

Last night, Ed and I went into Kottage Kafe for a late dinner. Sitting at a table near the door was a couple I hadn't seen for years. They were a husband and wife who, merely by seeing them, immediately transported me back to when I was 9 and first came to Jacksonville. 

They were Jefferson Elementary School personified. 

Joe and Becky McDannald looked up and saw me.  I was surprised at the emotions I felt. The McDannald's mean comfort and acceptance. They were such important people to me when I met them over forty years ago. 

We talked for quite awhile. Catching up and talking about our families. Ed and I sat at a table close to theirs and we continued talking even after our food had come. 

It was when they started to leave that I knew I needed to get up and tell them goodbye.  As I first gave Joe a hug and then Becky, I became choked up and felt tears welling up in my eyes. 

These two people were so welcoming to my family when we knew no one. They not only volunteered at Jefferson at countless fundraisers, but they also welcomed my dad, my mom, my brother, and me into their home. We felt as if we were a part of the Jefferson neighborhood. So much time was spent with them and their family. 

Although I think of them from time to time, actually seeing them was overwhelming. I noticed tears in Becky's eyes, as well. I know we were both remembering the magic of those times shared so many years ago.

When they left, I told Ed I was surprised by the emotions that came to the surface by seeing the McDannald's. 

Maybe it's because I could see my family the way it was then. My mom, now gone for nearly 14 years, was young, beautiful, and full of life. We were embarking on what would become years and years of happiness in Jacksonvillle. 

I was 9 years old again in that moment. 

Even though I'm now a grown woman, Joe and Becky make me feel the way I did when I first met them. 

God Bless the McDannald's and the love they showed my family. 

I will be forever grateful for Jefferson Elementary and what it meant in my life. Looking at the picture of Jefferson evokes a warmth deep within my heart. 

The building no longer houses District 117 students but those walls still hold the laughter and friendship of all of us who once passed through its doors. 

It is so much more than a building. It was a neighborhood symbol for families, like the McDannald's, bound by what Jefferson represented during those years. It was the cornerstone of that community. 

We can't duplicate those times.

We can't duplicate those feelings. 

But, the memories are ours to keep. 

It is what it is. 

p

Facebook...Proceed With Caution

Last night, I broke an unwritten, self-imposed, rule I had set for myself. 

I commented. And commented. And commented on a Facebook post regarding the Village of South Jacksonville. And I was answering in my capacity as a Village Trustee. 

Certainly, I have answered questions and shared, what I consider,

pertinent information regarding the Village before now. 

This was different. 

In all fairness, I began by answering an original post when I knew the person who posted it did not have all the information they needed to form an opinion. I was simply trying to set the record straight. That part was fine. No foul. No flags thrown.

However, later in the evening, a notification popped up from that same post. 

Different person now. Asking what seemed to be a straightforward question. 

I answered. 

I have always been a person who says what she feels. As an educator and a former coach, I constantly urged the same from the young people who crossed my path over my decade or so in the public school system. 

Communication is essential in any and in all types of relationships. 

While I certainly do not take back anything I said and nor do I regret it, what I am bothered by is how quickly I let myself get sucked into an agenda which was not my own. 

When you answer posts on Facebook, you run the risk of the never ending cycle of messages. One leads to another and yet another. There's no order and certainly no rhyme or reason. Focus is lost. Original points are muddled. Lines are blurred. People talk to each other in tones they would never use if conversing face-to-face. Disrespectful and accusatory tones. There's sarcasm and innuendo and that is never an adult way to communicate. Especially when you are talking about the Village of South Jacksonville. 

While this particular exchange didn't get to an extreme point, I did feel berated because I was asked something I will not do and was accused of not be transparent as a result. Bullying tactics. I've seen them many times before in schools. 

Yes, I finally stopped the exchange. 

But, the stark reality is, I let myself get sucked in. 

Moving forward, I only want to address that one small part of the entire exchange last night. 

I was asked to disclose a letter I received as a Trustee during the January 7 Board meeting. I was urged to just 'post it' on Facebook or send it to the person I was talking with to satisfy their need to see it immediately and prove something. Absolve the Village of something. I said I would not. 

I noticed this morning, I had been accused by another as using a 'power play' by not providing the letter as requested because it was public record. 

So we're completely clear from this point on, any materials I receive as a trustee are mine. I have not and will not share these materials merely because someone asks me or because they may or may not be public record. No one sees my Board packets nor anything I receive during a meeting. I have been happy to share the Board Agendas with people who hadn't gotten a chance to look at Village Hall (where they are posted) or online. I see no issue here because it's an Agenda which, by the time I receive it, is already publicly available. This is the only exception.

As for making a power play? 

Here's the power I see I have as a Trustee. 

I have the POWER OF MY VOTE. 

Therefore, any and all materials given to me are for THAT purpose. 

If someone wishes to obtain Village documents, we have a process for that. Trustees are not part of that process. We have a Village Clerk who handles any and all requests. 

As for transparency, everyone's perception is their reality, of course. 

Here's what I know. This is my reality.

I have taken the time to talk with several Village residents who have concerns/comments to see what their issues are. That's my job. To hear all sides. That's transparency. 

I don't feel I can make an informed vote without doing my homework. I have done it and will continue to do so. Depending on the topics to be discussed, I can spend hours preparing for a meeting. That's transparency. 

I am accessible to whomever wishes to talk with me. That's transparency. 

If you attend the meetings, you'll notice I stay inside long after the meeting is done, in case someone wants to talk. That's transparency. 

I make my point of view known at Village Board meetings. That's transparency.

That being said, I have no desire to engage in, what I consider to be, pointless politically-based banter with my peers on Facebook. 

Why do I feel they are pointless? Because nothing can be accomplished in this context. 

So, today I reaffirm that I will continue to use this medium for writing this Blog, endless pictures of my family, my favorite quotes or sayings, 'Happy Birthday' wishes to all those I'm fortunate to have in my life, and simple updates regarding the Village, among other random things. 

Isn't that what Facebook was originally designed for? 

It is what it is. 

p