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