Tag Archives: parents

The Empty Chair

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Photo by Stefan Bucher

After a somewhat harrowing drive, I arrived a few evenings ago in the college town I hold dear in my heart.  The next day started a new journey for me as I had an official (pinch me) book signing and talks.  I walked the hallowed halls and shared with the current scholars and community members about my journey to become an author.  Although achieving a new found passion is as idyllic as it sounds. Trust me, the road of my dreams of becoming an author was paved with the sadness and tears of the greatest heartbreaks in my life.

This was illuminated for me as I stood in line at the post office last Saturday waiting to ship a large order of books to my uncle who behind Mom and Daddy is probably my biggest fan.  Like Rick Bragg says, “Your first critics should definitely be ones you have in your pocket.”  But while I stood in the long line (yes that happens in small towns) proud of my accomplishment, I suddenly realized the gentle soul who entered in behind me belongs to a friend who had recently endured the loss of a son.

My friend, who is one of the most amazing teachers I have ever met, was the same one for whom I sent many little prayers on Thanksgiving Day asking God to wrap him and his family, another set of dear friends, and the families of the Chattanooga bus crash tightly as they dealt with the first of the holidays without their precious children.

And there he was.  The man I had prayed for.

Those that know me personally know exactly the first thing that came out of my mouth.

Can I give you a hug?

We shared the small talk of the grieving that only the bereaved truly understand.  I was blessed to be in his presence because we acknowledged the unique journey of grief and how it comes with its own blessings and curses and blessings that feel like burdens.  I agreed that I don’t subscribe to the sentiment that had been shared with their family that “it” gets better with time. I shared that for me the all the firsts (birthday, Christmas) were hard, but the seconds and the understanding there would always be an empty chair were intensely more difficult. In the conversation, I shared how much I had prayed for his family for the first Thanksgiving without their son and brother.  And he imparted his own wisdom regarding loss.  His words touched me deeply and helped me to process this bittersweet feeling with which I have been struggling for the last week.

Pride and sadness had co-existed, intermingling with every beat of my heart all week.

From the moment my book was released, I was elated that the stories God placed on my heart would be able to help others who are grieving or to assist those who want to comfort those who have experienced great loss.  And lest we forget, the writing of this book was a part of my personal mending of the holes which will be my lifelong scars.

But please don’t misunderstand that I have never forgotten that the reason this book exists is that my son had to die for me to speak grief fluently.  It is the one literacy skill that I wish I had never developed. Every time I share (even though I know I am helping others), I have to relive the thing that I thought would kill me.  It is a delicate tightrope balance to revisit the pain of yesterday’s memories while remembering the hope that carried us through those darkest days.

With the holiday season upon us, existing (and I mean that in every nuisance of the word) are those among us who will attempt to celebrate for the first time with an empty chair. There also those like me who cannot, simply cannot, remove the extra chair from the table because it seems disloyal, and then there are those who want to take that same chair and smash it into a million pieces.  The pain is real and universal and yet unique to the bearer.  It is debilitating and exhausting.

Be kind and gentle to grieving people always . . . but especially during the holiday season.

As for me, with God’s strength, I am going to keep on acknowledging my empty chair and my broken heart that has been supported and, at times, filled with the incredibly amazing, wonderful, grace-filled, completely undeserved, and restorative hope that has come from family, friends, and strangers alike.  Although it hurts, I will keep telling my story about our boy and his empty chair and God’s enduring faithfulness as long as our story continues to touch the hearts of others.

 

 

We’ll tell you when you’re older

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Even though I know the outcome of their fateful decision, there are times when I identify with Adam and Eve. I am wired in such a way that the quest for knowledge is an insatiable thirst. When a new thought or idea crosses my mind, I study relentlessly to learn more. There are very few things which I allow to stand in the way of learning.

This hasn’t always been the case only my obstacle had nothing to do with me or my efforts. It was entirely my parents’ faults.

Growing up in the South, my life was a pretty insulated one. Whenever there was something that adults thought was too much knowledge too soon or something they didn’t want to disrupt our childhood innocence was met with a definitive, “We’ll tell you when you are older”. In my early elementary years, I would just shrug it off and not press much farther, trying not to think too much more about the forbidden knowledge. Although many times my wonderings often led to a dramatic and exhausted utterance of the phrase I would grow to despise.

little me

How could they resist not answering my pint-sized version of adorable curious-minds-want-to-know? In their defense, my nature was to ask questions, longing to understand anything and everything. I am certain I wore them down with curiosity.

As I grew a bit older, their resolve was steeled, but little did they know so was mine. They held the key to a vast library of knowledge to which I wanted access. I vowed I would remember all those questions to which my only answer was the annoying “we’ll tell you when you are older”. Unfortunately, my determination was no match for my curiosity and inevitably, there would be some other fascinating thing which would capture my attention and off I would go learning everything I could about my new interest.

They didn’t use their pat answer during my high school or college years, because, frankly, I think they knew I was on to them. They just wanted to keep us little forever. It was either that or they are information scrooges. If you’ve met my parents, take your pick.

If I had been smarter during all those years living at home, I should have pinpointed an exact date, age, or time when I would be deemed old enough to know all this forbidden knowledge. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? I have been waiting years for all those answers to which my parents are the self-appointed gatekeepers.

Visions of “nobody sees the Wizard” have been swirling around in my imagination for decades.

Apparently, the answer to how long one must wait to be old enough is about forty years. Just this weekend, I was doing some fact checking from my kindergarten days for my upcoming book. I sent a benign text to my mom asking about our first puppy. She must have been feeling incredibly generous or perhaps it was the lateness of the hour that caused her to let her guard down. Either way, the stingy knowledge keeper let slip a piece of the story I never knew.

AHA! Knowledge is mine . . . sayeth the child.

I am tickled to know that I’m finally old enough to know the once unallowable answers.  Now if I can only remember all those questions!

Under the sea

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Although the sun is shining bright on the prairie today, the scene outside my picture window is a little more than fantasy of a beautiful day. The weatherman says the temperature outside feels like 30 below due to the windchill. Morning chores done, I sit wrapped in a blanket surrounded by the glow of candles for a hygge-like trip down memory lane. I need this journey because after reading the letter from the mom of the sweet courageous, selfless young lady who passed on the bus in North Dakota, I am clinging to God’s promises of showers of blessings even in the midst of great trial.

There will be showers of blessings. Ezekiel 34:26

Last August, I embarked on the most amazing trip with my son. In reality, I only spent one day with him because he was attending the National Flight Academy. For me, this trip was one of desiring to place my feet deep within the roots of my childhood, hoping to get tangled there for a while.

After spending a few days with my grandmother, I drove from Opelika to Pensacola to simply hang out with my parents for the rest of the week. I don’t know why, but it was the most magical time I have had in a long run. Truth be told, I haven’t had my parents to myself in forty-two years. I am nothing if not patient, but that was a long time to wait. It was worth it, because we had a blast!  (Although, I thought they were trying to kill me when they took this Southern-transplanted Minnesota girl to clean out their storage shed on a 110 degree day.)

My parents have just about everything they could want in terms of material goods; so, a few years ago, I started giving them gifts of trips and adventures. Before I arrived, my dad called and asked if I would want to go with them on one such adventure – a day of snorkeling and kayaking in the Gulf of Mexico. Would I? That was about like asking me if I wanted sweet tea to go with my meal.

I was so excited! A day on my beloved Emerald Coast with just my mom and dad where I didn’t have to worry about anything or anybody! I believe everyone has a place on earth that brings them great joy. Those white sand beaches (and my vegetable garden) are mine.

My happy place!

My happy place!

Driving over to the pier and settling onboard the vessel were fairly uneventful. Although, we did meet a lovely Minnesota born and raised server at the What-A-Burger for breakfast. This will not be much of a shocker but yours truly won a little game called, “Who travelled the farthest to be on our little excursion today!” The prize wasn’t much other than a little repartee with the ship’s captain who happened to hale from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. A free beverage would have been much more appreciated!

The trip to the man-made reef was a surprise all in itself as there were dolphins that escorted us along the way. They are absolutely the most amazing and entertaining hosts. We snorkeled for an hour or so until the tide came in. The fish were as diverse in their beauty as in their number. Even the moon jellies were captivating to watch float by!

Everything's better down where its wetter . . . under the sea.

Everything’s better down where its wetter . . . under the sea.

The last leg of our trip we journeyed over to the sound side of the island. We set anchor just mere yards away from my sweetie’s retirement village, where boaters anchor and have a floating city all day. Counting the days until that dream becomes a reality – especially on days like this one!

Where we hope to retire!

Where we hope to retire!

I will admit that on the way over there I was thinking they really should do this trip in reverse. The sound side is much less adventuresome than the gulf side. I could not have been more wrong in my thinking.

At this point, my mom had more than enough adventure; so it was just my dad and I exploring. I don’t know if it was the adventure part or true to her Southern roots she didn’t want to mess up her hair. (Sorry mom – it was a toss up!) My dad and I soon discovered there was just enough current that you could get in a good work-out without leaving your spot. Like cartoon characters who spin their “wheels” without going anywhere, here we were a mom and grandpa frolicking like we were Neptune’s children, uninhibited without a care in the world.

During that crazy moment was when I uncovered my greatest memento of the day. I reached down and found a complete shell (okay if I was going to get all science teacher on you, I would tell you it was an intact, minus its former inhabitant, bivalve shell). In all my years, I have never found one that still hinged and lined up perfectly like when it was someone’s home. I cradled that sweet treasure in my hands as I ran (I seriously did not care what I looked like) to my sweet mom’s shady spot on the banks of the sound.

At that moment, I wasn’t a forty-something momma and wife, I was transported back to the days of when I put flowers behind my ears for earrings and was the little mermaid I have always believed myself to be. Pure bliss washed over me as I showed her my discovery. It was truly one of my most magical moments!

Today, that little gem of the sea sits on my night stand to remind me of the day when my roots transported me back to a time I had long since forgotten. I might have gotten more tangled in seaweed and less in roots, but it was more than worth it. That tiny little shell is like an Ebenezer stone reminding that joy does come after the storm. Because even though, the Boy Wonder still had another surgery upcoming and the Girl Awesome is still healing, for one day I was simply God’s and my parents’  girl. That is not something to take lightly.  If not today, may someday soon will be one where a joy-filled moment finds you!

My version of the Ebenezer stone.

My version of the Ebenezer stone.

God is our refuge and strength,
    an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam
    and the mountains quake with their surging.[c]

Psalm 46: 1- 3 (NIV)

Music, like the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, always soothes my soul.  This song has brought me comfort in many tear-laden hours wrapped under that quilt.  If you are hurting today, may it bring you peace.