A Slice of Heaven

We spent the weekend with friends at their lake house. It was a so enjoyable to be away and we are forever grateful they shared their slice of heaven with us.

We returned to Charlotte Sunday night to face the daunting task on Monday morning of sorting through Joe's belongings we have had in storage since we moved here five years ago. Our bodies ache from the pain of unpacking his memories. I came across a box filled with everything that happened in his first year. In this box was a letter from my Grandmother passing on a ring to the sixth generation of grandsons, his cards from well wishers when he was born, his Christening shoes, the shirt Mike wore when he was born bearing his footprints, the t-shirt my mom bought for him in Paris, my first Mother's Day card and Mike's first Father's Day card. We stood under the cold overhead lights of our Public Storage unit holding each other tight and cried.

But then we uncovered his water color paintings, his pottery, his notes from school, his letters written to us and pictures of him with Tony and David. So our tears dried up since we realized he left us his slice of heaven.

Crossing T's and Dotting I's

Even with as much time we were given leading up to Joe's death we still missed some of the obvious. This past month was one of the most glaring and today we corrected the oversight.

To make a long story short we had Joe's ashes separated into three boxes, to be spread in the places of his choice, and one urn for our home. It finally dawned on us, I mean all of us, that we had one urn, and what would Tony and David do after we are gone. Would they pass it on to each other at holidays? Would one have it for six months and the other for another six months? Joe wanted part of his ashes to be with us, so today we made it right.

We gathered his remaining ashes and returned to the funeral home. Within a short time another urn was filled and the remaining ashes were re-wrapped for us to spread at Holden Beach and Charleston. When I retrieved them they asked if they could carry them to the car. I declined, hugging the bag tightly. Tears were in my eyes, my voice was choking and I rubbed the boxes eerily reminiscent of how had rubbed his back as a child.

So Joe you will never be far from your family and we will never be far from you.

Glee

I haven't written about my most favorite show Glee for a long time partly because it was a very special time for our family during Joe's last months. But this show ranks high on my list along with MASH, Seinfeld and Will and Grace. Each one takes a look into our most horrendous fears with fined tuned humor, allowing us to see how incredibly small we can be and then showing us a way to be forgiving in our daily lives.

Tonight Glee was about being different and finding the strength to be true to yourself. A hard lesson to learn, especially in high school. But to trust in yourself, with the hopes your family and friends will watch your back, is a leap of faith. And we take that leap everyday, sometimes stumbling and losing our way, but eventually circling back to our true self. The celebration in the end is those who accept and love you for all your glorious attributes and also your warts.

Graduation And Duffel Bags

We returned to McCallie this weekend for two reasons. One to deliver the all important component for Tony and David to pack up their room, the "duffel bags"; and to attend Graduation.

This is always a spectacular event with the graduating McCallie Men dressed in navy jackets, school ties and white pants paired with the look of promising futures on their young faces.

Our last attendance was for Joe. The week before he had just finished five straight days of chemotherapy in the hospital and his blood counts were dropping every day. There was a question of whether he would even be able to make the trip and I remember the air of tension in our home. The day before we were to leave his counts started to rise. One more check the morning of departure and we were given the green light. We headed to McCallie.

Joe walked proudly with his classmates, but he did not share the same future. His was one of what could be accomplished with the little time our family knew he was given. Joe's decisions, as were ours, were how to spend the time wisely.

As he walked on stage, holding his bald head high, first the Dean then the Headmaster hugged him as they slipped him his diploma and the Campbell Award. Slowly one by one his friends stood and clapped until everyone followed suit saluting Joe with a standing ovation. No pictures are needed to remind me since I can clearly see that ovation now as I did that day.

Today watching Joe's friends, that by the nature of McCallie have become Tony and David's friends, walk at their Graduation was an honor. We wish the McCallie class of 2010 good luck and godspeed.

Those Who Save You

There is a vortex of grief that pulls you down and then an opposite force lifts you up. I think of my gal pals, who would rather be sleeping in the early morning hours, rise and meet me for a walk. It is my neighbor who hugs me on her steps knowing attending the McCallie graduation will be hard. It is our friends across the street who always stop and ask how we are doing. It is the Blis girls that have forever thoughtfully included us for every party and celebration. It is my neighbor Mollie that stood by our side for four years and every day since. And there are no words to explain the support and love from my Mom and Dad. The list includes everyone who calls, emails and sends cards.

But I always wonder about those who can't look us in the face. The ones that avoid us, pull back when we talk about Joe, as if he never existed. The ones that enter that uncomfortable zone, not knowing what to say or do.

It is not what is said, or not said. It is the hug, the smile, the invitation, the inclusion that is comforting. The acceptance that we are different, but still the same.

The Loneliness

Joe gave us his travel journal just before he passed away. Part of the reason was he wanted us to retrace his trip. Through meticulous notes of where he visited, where he stayed, and of course of what not to do, especially in France, he gave us a road map. But the underlying theme was always how alone he felt. He would write about how Tony and David would like this, or how we should definitely see that, or how he wished we could see the incredible waist high yellow flowers he walked through. He wrote about his sense of escaping, being in a place where no one knew him or of his cancer. But it always circled back to his family.

This summer Tony, David, Mike and I will retrace part of his trip. We will stay in the same hostels, we will walk the streets of Venice, go to Lake Como, stay at Balmers in Interlaken, and have a beer in his honor in Munich. We will feel his hand on our shoulder with every step.

The Mixed Bag

There are times in your life when sadness and joy collide. It is Tony calling us after receiving a phone call from a dive coach of his first choice for college. It is David's acceptance to St. Andrews, Scotland for the summer writing program, one of only thirty students. It is my niece earning straight A's after returning to college to pursue a new career.

It is the memory of Joe, who would be so proud of you, always wanting to be there to celebrate your accomplishments. The Joe that worked harder than any of us, under less than the best of circumstances, who had his memory wiped out by chemotherapy and taught so many of us lessons of a simpler life. Yes, he would be now and forever rejoicing your achievements.

New Beginnings

Our weekend was filled with celebrations. A graduation for a mom from Seminary who worked for her degree over several years, a baptism for a set of twins, and a college graduation of a friend's daughter that has achieved her dream to attend the USC masters program in Film Studies. Each of them starting a new chapter in their lives, with all the promise and hope of the future, and I teared up through every party and ceremony. I cried for Joe and his dashed dreams.

But through the flurry of all the celebrations I remember two acts of kindness. First the gentle and loving hug from Mary and second the comforting embrace from Joe (not my son but a friend). Both were powerful enough to be chiseled into my memory and allowed me to cry.

The Under Current

The underlying tension, running like silent waters, eventually puts a strain on all of us. Just when you least expect it you are pulled into the current, and as tempers flare in the heat of anger, you fight to be back on an even keel.

In the end, with our heads above water again, where we directed our anger was nothing more than a camouflage, a distraction, a defense mechanism of our true feelings. They way we were is our only desire.

Not Alone

Today I heard a friend of mine lost her husband at the age of 49 of a heart attack. Her son held him in his arms until he died. He was 19 and most likely older today than he was yesterday.

I don't know if it is easier to watch a loved one die over years, or lose them suddenly. I know with Joe we had time to talk, express our love, but still at the end it was not easy. The truth is no matter how it happens it is gut wrenching and painful.

So to everyone who has lost someone dear suddenly, or through a long illness, my thoughts are with you. Especially today for Susan and her son Sean.

Mother's Day

This day, which in the past has been an opportunity to reflect on the joy my sons have given me each year, is now mixed generously with sorrow. I have been the recipient of cards, poems, letters and even some interesting jewelry, always treasuring them and tucking them away for safe keeping. My tradition was to read previous cards before adding the new ones to the box. I could not do that this year. I can't even bring myself to open the box so these cards are in my dresser until I have the strength to add them.

I did receive dear cards and emails from family and friends; but the one missing is from Joe and causes tears to roll down my cheeks. I don't even try to hold them back. I silently repeat to Joe how much I love and miss him. Then I close my eyes remembering happier times and how thankful I am for Tony and David.

Floating On Air

Just when things are the darkest, which I have been struggling with the past few days, an email pops up in my inbox and changes my day for the better.

This past week David has been frantically shipping transcripts, recommendations and a personal statement to St. Andrews, Scotland for their Creative Writing Summer Program. He has wanted to do this for two years but, for very obvious reasons, has always been pushed to the "back burner". Today the email related the news he was accepted.

I am so proud of him as he takes a step closer to living his dream of being a writer.

Better Days

I am grateful for better days. Today was one of them. I attended a Family Advisory Committee meeting for the Levine's Childrens Hospital this morning, walked with a friend in the afternoon, ran errands and corresponded with the Headmaster, Kirk Walker, about Joe's scholarship fund at McCallie. It ended up being a productive day.

So my goal, starting tomorrow, is be productive. Whether it be doing the chores that I loathe or the things I love, my mantra is keep moving forward and connected. Long days in the our home allowing flooding memories only takes me under a cloud.

I will concede to my grief and permit myself to rejoice better days.

Transforming A Room

We dismantled Joe's bed. The one we spent so many hours sitting on the edge, holding his hand and talking. This bed has been where I kissed him good night since he was 5 years old. This was the bed where he decided not to do chemo therapy again, hoping that surgery would be the cure. The bed that I sat beside and the rest of the family slept on the floor before he moved into our room. I want to saw a bit of that bed off to keep beside mine.