Love in Laughter and Tears

Our hearts don't really break, but sometimes it feels like it. And if often happens at the most peculiar times. For me, it happened just this past weekend.

Saturday was my darling grandson's second birthday and a time for great joy as our family gathered to celebrate. Several of his toddler friends attended the party and added to the fun. For hours we heard giggles, belly laughs and the occasional joyful shriek as the children played and the smiling adults mingled, ate good food and watched the fun.

It was as glorious as a two-year-old party could be.

While I was there, I was totally caught up in the excitement, but in the day's quiet times, my heart was heavy. Earlier in the week, a "kid" from our old neighborhood had died. And I heard the bubbly blonde cheerleader who graduated from high school with me had died as well. The morning of the party, I learned a beautiful young mother I knew through our Course in Miracles on line group had succumbed to cancer. 

Laying in my bed that night I my heart was full of joy thinking of the life ahead for my beloved grandson and at the same time, I felt such sadness for the lives that had ended. It was a weird feeling. And I wasn't sure how to deal with it.

As I allowed myself to feel the sadness, I decided not to judge the recent deaths as "right" or "wrong." As best I could, I abandoned the idea that these departures were "too soon" or "unfair." I decided to relax into the only thing that was true, eternal and real. I relaxed into love.

I imagined those souls who had passed and all who knew them surrounded by love, which to me looks like an effervescent pink and white glistening mist. I blessed them all and silently honored their life journey. I prayed that the families found the comfort they needed in this time of grief and I thanked each soul for being part of our shared experience.

I also remembered to relax into the love that was filling my heart thanks to my grandson. Grateful tears filled my eyes as I thought of the joy and new energy he had brought to our entire family and the happy years I expected to come.

Right before sleep, I remembered that love is ever present in the laughter of toddlers and the tears of the grieving. It’s the current that runs through life and helps each of us no matter what step we are on our journey.

It's Gonna Be a Wet Christmas...

One recent Friday evening my husband and I went to the annual Christmas Parade on Main Street. It had been several years and I had forgotten how magical it was. 

We were huddled against the cold with hundreds of others in our small Virginia town as we watched elves dance down the street, enjoyed holiday classics performed by the high school marching band, saw decked out fire engines, smiled at the creative local business floats and laughed when we saw live goats dressed like reindeer.

I love living in a small town.

I began to reminisce about other times spent on this very street. In my mind’s eye, I saw my father, dressed in his best long black wool coat, walking down Main Street as he stopped to laugh and talk to everyone he knew during a Christmas parade long ago. It took a while…he knew everyone. My eyes started to tear up at the memory.

My husband looked at me and said, “You OK?” 

“Daddy,” I answered softly. 

“Oh,” he said. Since my dad’s death three years ago, he’d become accustomed to my “watery eyes” when I think of my dad.

As I looked down the street, I saw a grandmother helping her daughter juggle a toddler, bulky stroller, hot chocolate and an armful of packages and my eyes started to water again. I remembered the hundreds of times my mom had been with my kids and me for spring festivals, Halloween parades and our then weekly trips to church all on this very street. 

“Oh no,” my husband sighed as he glanced at me again.

But he misunderstood.

I wasn’t sad. 

I was overwhelmed with gratitude. 

Gratitude for the memories of growing up and raising my family in this precious little town. Thankful that my parents and siblings were active participants in the lives of my children. Grateful for the holidays spent together, in good times and bad, as an extended family. 

Waves of gratitude flowed over me as decades of memories flooded my mind. And then a new thought emerged. A new realization.

Next year, it would start all over again. 

At that exact moment, a tiny head peeked over the shoulder of the man standing in front of us on the street. I was staring into the eyes of a beautiful baby and could instantly see the pure innocence and immense wisdom in this tiny little being.

My own daughter is pregnant with our first grandchild, due early next year. 

Next Christmas, family traditions will begin anew. 

I was again overwhelmed with gratitude as I imagined my perfect grandson, little Emory, cuddled in my arms as I introduced him to our Main Street Christmas Parade. I thought of all the wonderful memories yet to come. My eyes watered again, my chin began to quiver and tears spill down my cheeks. Just then my poor husband looked my way.

“When are you going to stop crying?” he asked gently.

“No time soon…” I answered.

Captain D and the Doobie Brothers: A Story for Veterans Day

There it was. In the back corner of a jewelry box drawer, hidden under a ticket stub from a 1976 Doobie Brothers concert, I found the silver POW bracelet that I’d worn during my high school and college years. I’d spent a thousand hours staring at the name on the bracelet and wondering what was happening to the man it represented.

Back in those days, these bracelets were sold for a small fee to support the effort to locate and return U.S. prisoners of war from the Vietnam conflict. Once purchased, the owner vowed to wear the bracelet 24/7 until the fate of the soldier was known. I prayed for those returned, for those still missing, for those who served and made it home, for the families whose lives were forever changed. I prayed a lot. I didn’t know what else to do.

Prayers seemed to be answered one day when Captain D’s name appeared on the returned list that was printed in the newspaper. I was ecstatic! I felt connected to him in some way and was overjoyed he’d be returning to his family. I remember getting an official blue sticker with a white star and placed that next to Captain D’s name on the bracelet which signified his release. Since this was before the days of the internet, I never knew what became of “my” Captain D.

As the years progressed, I graduated, got married and started having kids. Every so often, the bracelet would surface in my jewelry box, still an important reminder of those years. Captain D, in bracelet form, moved with me nine times over 40 years around Virginia and was used as a “show and tell” item several times by my kids. When I moved the concert ticket and saw the bracelet, it was like finding an old friend.

But this time was different.

I decided to try and find Captain D and offer him the bracelet. A quick Google search led me to his February 2012 obituary detailing the life of this decorated war hero who continued a distinguished military career after he returned from Vietnam. I was suddenly sadder than I should have been, considering we’d never met. Perhaps I’d been triggered by the loss of my own dad only six months before. I wondered if the family might be interested in my treasure. I called the funeral home and explained my mission. A very pleasant woman told me they’d contact the family with my information. Within an hour I got a call from Steve in Nevada.

“That’s a weird number,” I thought as I answered my phone.

“Hi, my name is Steve and I’m the son of Captain D. The funeral home just called to say you had one of my dad’s POW bracelets and you’d like to give it to us?” My heart stopped and I felt my eyes start to well with tears. It was hard to speak but Steve was patient.

We started to talk and both became very emotional. We shared the pride we felt for our fathers, how we wished our children could have known them as we did and how we missed our dads being a steady presence in our lives. We shared like strangers do when they have no fear of judgment and speak freely from the heart.

“Why did you call the funeral home?” Steve asked. “I mean, why did you call today?”

“I was cleaning out a drawer and found it under an old Doobie Brothers concert ticket,” I explained. “What? You’re never going to believe this,” Steve said. “I’m driving to a doctor’s appointment and I had this craving to hear the Doobie Brothers. I’ve got it playing on my IPod right now!” We both laughed.

I got his address and told him I’d take a few days to compose a letter describing the bracelet’s journey the past 40 years and send it to him, which I did. In addition to those details, I wanted the family to know why this project had been so important to me. Here is a portion of what I shared with Steve:

My own father died several months ago and he was my hero. As a young soldier, he had been held for a time in a German POW camp during WWII and had nightmares about it until the day he died at age 88.  Although he ran a successful business for decades, was active in local politics and sat on many community boards, he was haunted by his war experiences. My mother’s brother was shot down over France in 1944 and my mom waited to find out what happened for nearly 30 years. Although I don’t presume to understand what you, your mother and family went through, I do know how war affected my family.

I bought this bracelet as a way to support POWs and their families and bring attention to their situation. I wore it everywhere and never took it off.   I remember scanning the newspaper every time “the lists” came out searching for your dad’s name.  I first scanned the returnee list, and when I didn’t find his name there, I’d check the deceased list hoping not to find him listed. I prayed for your dad and your family every day.  The day I saw Capt. D’s name on the returnee list, I was ecstatic and hoped he was returned unharmed.  I believe I remember wearing the bracelet for a couple years more to remember the other POWs and those who were still missing in action. I am so delighted your dad came home to you. I know you must have been a young boy at the time, but I hope it helps to know thousands of people were sending love and prayers to your dad and your entire family.

           

With my own dad’s passing, it’s been a comfort to hear stories from others about him, to find notes in his handwriting or long forgotten mementos buried in drawers. When I found this bracelet I felt compelled to give it to him, or a family member. I am sorry I didn’t find your dad before his death, but I’m happy to have found you. If this does end up with your son as you mentioned on the phone, please tell him his grandfather was admired and respected by those who sincerely appreciate his service to our country.  Please know how much I admire the sacrifices your mother made as a military wife.

I know this bracelet has now found its way home.

I sent the bracelet off to Nevada, happy to know the family would have this keepsake. Within a few days, I received a beautiful handwritten note from Steve. He said he was going to share my letter with his mom when she visited for Easter and planned to give the bracelet to his own son, now a proud member of the military who had just the week before asked about his grandfather’s career. My tears flowed again as I felt so grateful to be a small part of this family’s story.

It is just amazing to me the way life flows, bringing people and events together at just the right time. It’s funny…whenever I think of meeting Steve this way and the stories we shared, I hear “Listen to the Music” by the Doobie Brothers playing in the background. 

Celebrating My Baby

My baby girl turns 30 this week. Thirty. I remember my mom telling me that time with your children flies by, but I didn’t believe her. She was right.

As I look at my beautiful, accomplished, loving daughter my heart overflows with gratitude. I’m grateful she chose me as her mother, I’m grateful for the adventures we’ve shared, and I’m forever grateful to be close and watch her as she continually grows and evolves.

We had a rocky start. I had issues with my pregnancy almost from the start. I developed severe pre-eclampsia and was admitted to an unfamiliar hospital an hour and a half away from home and was tended to by doctors I’d never met. My condition was critical and we both almost died. After six nerve racking days, my little Stephanie was born by emergency cesarean section. She weighed only two pounds and was 12 weeks early. My little preemie had an uphill battle to survive. She did more than that. She thrived.

That was my first indication of her spirit. She’s smart. She’s a fighter and a survivor.

Life has given her many challenges that people twice her age have never faced. She’s faced each hurdle, and come through stronger than before.

In the last few years, I’ve noticed something else. She’s becoming softer.

She married a wonderful man and through her marriage, I’ve seen her blossom into a loving wife, attentive hostess and thoughtful friend. All the while, she’s remained my beautiful baby girl.

As in any family relationship, it’s not all giggles and girl talk. Sometimes we “butt heads.” We’re both passionate in our beliefs and interests (although some family members interpret our passion as stubbornness). No matter. Regardless of the issue we’re working through, the underlying love is always there for me.

She’s taught me so much. I first understood unconditional love from holding her as a tiny baby in my arms. I marveled at her determination and spirit as she went through school and college. I admire her dedication to her family and her work as I now see her navigate the world as an adult. I’m looking forward to the day I see her as a new mother. I know she’ll be much better than I was. She’ll be awesome.

The next 30 years will be quite an adventure for our entire family. One thing’s for sure. I know it’ll be a great ride for my baby girl and me.

Mishap or Miracle? It Could Just Be Perspective.

I love the way little vignettes in our everyday life can teach us the most powerful lessons. That’s what happened this past weekend when my brother Bill and I accompanied our sister Kathy on an overnight trip to Virginia Beach to celebrate her birthday.

We realized on the four hour drive down, this was the first time in decades that the three of us had been on a trip by ourselves without spouses, parents or children in tow. We reminisced about childhood vacations and reflected on our adult children and the life paths they’ve chosen. We shared secrets, insights and dreams for the future. We had a blast!

The past few years we’d been connected by the constant issues with our parent’s failing health. Now that those challenges were behind us, we deeply reconnected as siblings, and as friends who respect and love each other. It was a beautiful gift my sister gave us when she asked us to join her on this trip. I didn’t realize another gift was coming later in the day.

We met Bill’s son and his new bride at the Virginia Beach Aquarium (they live in the area) and had a beautiful day exploring the exhibits together. Although it was the end of March, the weather was cold and a bitter wind blew all day. The unusual temperatures couldn’t dampen our spirits, however, and we parted so we could check into our hotel then regroup with my nephew and his wife for dinner. That’s when my lesson arrived.

Bill, Kathy and I had been complaining all day about the unseasonable cold as we darted back and forth to the car. On the way to the restaurant in the late afternoon, Bill and Kathy were chatting in the front seat checking direction when I noticed something weird outside. It was snowing. It was very lightly snowing. IT WAS SNOWING ON MARCH 28TH IN VIRGINIA BEACH! Ok, it was flurries, but it was snow.

Quick to alert my siblings, I blurted out, “CRAP! It’s snowing! I can’t believe after the winter we’ve had we’re getting snow flurries here!” I might have sounded a tad dramatic, but I was weary from the months of snow we’d already endured this year.

“Oh…wow!” my sister gasped. “Snow on my birthday at the beach - it’s the perfect gift!”

Whaat? Was she nuts? How could Kathy think this was the perfect birthday gift? Then I got it.

My darling sister is much better than I am at embracing the unexpected. What I saw as a tragic mishap of nature, something I hadn’t expected on a spring beach trip, she saw as a miracle.

She saw magic in watching delicate flakes of snow dancing in the March wind against the backdrop of the mighty Atlantic Ocean. She celebrated the unexpected. She saw it as a gift, and delighted in it. She chose to see the snow as an “unexpected magical miracle.” As quickly as it began, the snow ended and Kathy enjoyed every minute of it.

“How much different would my life be if I choose to embrace the unexpected? If I look for the miracles in scenarios I can’t change?” I wondered to myself. “Wow,” I thought as I began to fully appreciate the ramifications of that slight change in perspective.

I was already grateful for this trip with my brother, sister and family on this special weekend. I hadn’t expected the gift of such an impactful life lesson.

Hmmm…just another one of the million things I thank my sister for.

The Gift of Gratitude

My family came to our house for Thanksgiving this year and I wanted to make the day special. Certainly there’d be plenty of food, fun and football…but I wanted more. I wanted each person to take home a gift of gratitude. Here’s what I did.

As my unsuspecting family members arrived, they saw a table with small jars each tied with glittering ribbon and a tag with phrases like “Kudos for Kyle,” “Everyone Loves Evan” and “Thankful for Stephanie.” There was one jar for everyone in attendance, twelve in all. One by one, we each wrote a short personal note of gratitude to each individual person at the dinner and put the note in their jar. I’d love to be able to tell you that everyone embraced my plan and poured their heart out onto the little slips of colored paper I’d provided. Not the case.

I had to explain the concept several times as I endured a few deep sighs and weird looks. My family is used to me though.  As they stared at me with blank expressions, I again explained the notes were to express love, gratitude or appreciation and hopefully in a way that had never been expressed before. The consensus seemed to be I was making them work for their dinner. I was.

After a few more groans, the writing began. I heard some giggles and laughter soon followed. “Nobody has to do homework before dinner when they come to my house” my brother chuckled as he stuffed a note into my jar. Some notes were signed, some not. After a while, each jar was filled with notes of gratitude, appreciation and love.

Yes, we had turkey, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving. The vegetarians had a lovely quinoa salad and enjoyed the Brussel sprouts. We all had fun being together but the real magic of the day came when each person collected their gratitude jar and read the messages inside.

Want to make a lasting memory for your friends and family this holiday? Use your imagination and create your own gifts of gratitude.