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