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