You Like Me, You Like Me Not

College decisions are rolling in and it reminds me of picking the petals off a daisy. You like me, you like me not and then the colleges that have accepted you sit back and wait for the students pick the same petals. I have often wondered after my second pass at this how an incredibly difficult school to be accepted takes you and what you thought would be a safety school denies you, or wait lists you. I am for one confused, not angry, but confused.

Some times these decisions are devastating. Most of them will roll off their backs and some will change their lives. But in the end they will land in the best place and the stress of getting there will be forgotten.

The Last Spring Break

Our boys rolled in separately. One was retrieved from Asheville, the other drove home on Saturday. And so this will be our lives going forward, one here one not. The comfort of the every six week visit is fading and we know the visits will be farther apart.

But today at the Midnight Diner it was life as we knew it. Laughing so hard about this or that, looking to the future, talking about their dreams and then laughing again. I always hate to see the car drive away but with greater anticipation I look for the car parked underneath our deck. That means our boys are home.

Your Favorite Meal

During dinner with friends this past Saturday Josh's mom leaned over to Tony and David asking them what is your favorite meal your mom cooks? Tony readily admitted chicken and rice casserole, David taking his time, and letting me squirm, answered just about anything. On the drive home I thought about my favorite meal my mom cooked. Definitely chicken with snow peas with the best ever gelatin dessert topped with mandarin oranges to complete the feast.

Funny how food evokes memories. Like the seven fishes dinner on Christmas Eve, the dressing that accompanies the turkey at Thanksgiving, the leg of lamb at Easter. For me the dinner that starts a flood of memories is my homemade tomato sauce, pasta and steak. It was Joe's favorite, not necessarily ours, but one he asked for every trip home. I have not made it recently. Maybe the memories are too sensitive now, or maybe I cook different meals as a coping skill of moving past his death. Maybe I don't have the strength to revisit those times when he would dip his bread in the sauce while I was cooking and eat with his fingers from the salad bowl waiting for his heaping portion.

Someday the sauce pan will be retrieved, the tomatoes will be sliced and peppered with seasonings while the pasta simmers and the steaks broil. But for now I will put that meal on the shelf.

Love My Boys, But....

I love my boys with all of my heart, would go to the ends of the earth for them, but can we talk about their quirks that drive me crazy. David leaves everything to the last minute to the point of total frustration. Tony is oblivious to his surroundings and any other person's feelings. Joe's stubbornness diluted us to sheer guttural screaming.

But for some odd reason I only remember the times we laughed so hard at dinner we fell out of our chairs. I remember the road trips, the swim meets, the dive meets, the gymnastic meets, the regattas. I remember the late night talks of what they were sure of and their doubts. I remember the decisions about high school and college. I remember Tony and David crawling in bed with Joe to watch an episode of something on HULU. I remember the cold days, the sunny days, the dark days. I remember tears rolling down our cheeks and then the joy of passing on a son and brother's memory with a scholarship. I remember Joe, Tony and David's Chapel talks and how proud I was to be sitting in the front row.

Yes, our children test us to the limit, push us to the edge, question the "what if's" but they are ours to keep close and love to the end.

Coming Home

I remember as the years went on for Joe at McCallie coming home for him was different his freshman year than the year after and the next one. Each year we saw an advance in his maturity, taking ownership and breaking away; feeling the confidence in his ability. I saw that this weekend with Tony and David as they took care of getting home, finalizing their summer plans and looking forward to college decisions.

One of the underlying emotions boarding parents fail to realize is by this time they have sunk or swum. The next round of college visits are nothing more than an extension of boarding school visits and hopefully with a bit less edginess of an eight grader.

We sent our boys off to a world we were not savvy to, often stumbled with our overprotectiveness, and more times that I want to admit called far too many times. Maybe they would be the same or different if they stayed home. Maybe our family would have been different. I don't know the answer except I will never second guess our connection to McCallie.

I do know we are grateful to have our boys home and wish Joe could be with us.

The Last Chapel Talk

We burned up the road, and the gas, to Chattanooga for David's Chapel talk. Our last chapel talk of our three boys. Many have talked about Joe's and have viewed it on every social media sight, the McCallie boys related to Tony's and his quirky humor punching fun at himself, but the boys hung on to every word of David's.

After Dean Sholl's thoughtful introduction David began listing things he was afraid of, but then the last, and the most important statement, was that he had no fear of failing. He went on to say, "all of us aren't the sum of our successes but the collective fragments of our failures."

We often measure ourselves by our successes, rarely revisiting the times we fail, leaving those buried deep in our secret memories. David's take is the accumulation of failure makes us who we are and raises us up to our successes. He went on to say, "Failure is a gift, so welcome it." Most of us run wildly away from the very idea. But there was my son, David, standing tall and boldly in front of his peers giving them the green light to try and yes maybe fail, emphasizing McCallie is the best place to experience your first failures; a place where there is a community to support you when you do.

I have seen David try and fail over all these years, but he holds those as treasures in his heart, using them to build an incredible life of successes.

And So....

And so again I search for where I go from here. Will my next step be to create a corporation as big as the Susan B. Komen Foundation for Joe's Bone Cancer Walk? Will I take Joedance to the next level renting a theatre rather than have it in our court yard with Mike cooking hotdogs?

The answer is none of the above, all fore mentioned will stay as is for now, for one very special reason. One that Joe would have been proud of and will continue every year from now on to be honored.

This week we received a letter from the parents of the first recipient of the Joe Restaino Scholarship and the long hand written letter confirmed our efforts to keep his memory alive. Joe was fortunate to attend McCallie because of dedicated alumni with a vision of developing a scholarship fund for those who might not consider boarding school. Tony and David have also been beneficiaries of the Honors Scholarship. And in full circle, as a McCallie man would do and because of everyone's support, the Joe Restaino Scholarship for a summer experience abroad has been launched.

We were honored to be present for the first award, we look forward to many more and are so grateful for each and every one of you that has made this possible. I can hear the soft "thank you" of Joe's voice.

Salvation Army

Today with the trunk full of Joe's belongings I drove to Salvation Army. There were bags of Joe's shoes, shorts of varies sizes and his trophies he earned from swimming. Two bins were filled with his belongings and tears rolled down my cheeks. The check in guy sensed this was something special and repeatedly asked how my day was going. I finally turned to him with a tear streaked face and explained this is where Joe, my son who passed away, and his bothers would come every Wednesday to shop the 50% sale for t-shirts. They wore them proudly and even gave them to each other for Christmas.

I told him this was the perfect place to donate his clothes. And with a wink of my eye I said make sure the recipients are special.

Wishing Upon A Star

Every year thousands of high school seniors submit applications to their most coveted college. And the second, third, fourth and of course the safety school; which ironically is always at the bottom of the list, but still the application goes to them.

Seniors wait anxiously for the acceptance letter. The one, as Sally Fields said one Oscar night "You like me you, you really like me". An invitation to belong beyond their mom, dad, grandparents, siblings and friends. It is bigger than the circle who has always acknowledged the hard work, the long hours of studying, the sports and the love of what they do in their small slivers of time left over.

Our boys are waiting for that "you really Like me" letter. One that comes with heft of a large envelope, not a small wimpy letter size. They feel that where they are accepted will map the rest of their lives, us older and wiser ones know there is more than one way to skin a cat. This is not at all defining "the end of my life if I am not accepted" but rather the platform of where they will go from here.

Leaving McCallie

I have driven down the long drive away from McCallie, along with the well placed speed bumps, for seven years. But this drive was the hardest. Every time I drive to the gates and turn right I feel I have left a good friend behind.

I gingerly, and loving placed my oldest son there his freshman year. I cried all the way home. I watched Joe pack Tony's mini fridge his Senior year, saying, "I will plug it in so it is cold enough for your insulin", a comfort for mom sending off a diabetic to boarding school. I saw him buy the rugs for Tony and David's rooms and making sure they were laid out perfectly when they arrived.

But I have also felt the warmth of the hugs from parents and faculty. And every time I pass through the gates to and from McCallie I think of the new friend I have made and the one I bid farewell.