Welcome Home

Five days ago, my life changed for at least the third time this year. Funny thing is, every time my life has changed this year, it has had to do with a female in my life with whom I was close. The first two times had to do with my mom. First she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and then she lost her battle. The third time my life changed was last Thursday morning at 2:46 AM when we welcomed my daughter into the world.

My wife and I found out that we were expecting our third child a few weeks into January. I wasn't exactly sure how to respond to the news. We had been unsure as to whether or not we should move from the "man to man" to the "zone" defense when it came to kids. We sort of left it in God's hands and we soon discovered that the Gibsons would be 5 rather than 4. To be honest, I put my hand through a door the morning that it was confirmed. Some other things had happened to add to my stress, but it wasn't my finest hour, that's for sure.

A few weeks later, my mom was given her diagnosis. Such has been my life in 2011, a mix of emotions. I've never really been sure how to respond and just when I think that I know the appropriate response, something else happens that upsets the apple cart, so to speak. It's been one of those, "wait a minute before you get too comfortable" kind of years.

Having already had two boys, my wife and I thought that it might be prudent to find out what we were having. We hadn't found out with either of the boys, but, as I said to a number of people, I'm getting too old for surprises. So, at our ultrasound appointment, the nurse gave us the news, "It's a girl!" Needless to say, both of us were pretty stunned. I have one sibling, a brother. My wife has a brother and a sister. Her cousins on her mom's side have all had boys. There was nothing in the chain of things that could have predicted this. We both scratched our heads and wondered, what do we do with a girl?

When we first decided to start a family, I secretly hoped for a girl. I don't think that I would have minded being outnumbered. What dad doesn't dream of all the fun he could have with a little girl? Dreams of tea parties, dance recitals, first dates, and first dances. But our first was a boy, and I wouldn't trade him for anything in this world. He stole my heart from the moment that I saw his face. I love and cherish the gift that he is to me. He has a sweet and tender spirit, always willing to lend a hand and very kind, compassionate, and loving (despite clocking his brother in the head with a MagLite once in a while). Our first child carried a legacy with him as his middle name is that of his great grandfather.

When our second child came, we again did not find out what sex it was going to be. At this point, I was hoping for another boy. They were easy to understand, or at least easier. I thought that it would be nice to afford my oldest the same benefits that I had with a brother. Our second was born less than a year after we had been in Virginia. He wears the name of my great uncle who had been somewhat of a spiritual mentor to my father. My father did not have much of a relationship with his dad who disappeared around when my dad was going into his teens.

So much was going on during the months leading up to us finding out whether we would be having another son or a daughter. I think that I had probably begun to wonder whether or not it would be at all feasible to name my child after my mom, regardless of whether she survived her cancer. It probably became an unspoken matter between my wife and I, but she's smart and can read me very well, especially after 10 years of marriage.

We explored the name options and settled on a first name. We had laughed and joked on many occasions that my side of the family had not left us many options for using names for our children, at least not in the 21st century. Some names were timeless, most of the names on my side of the family were dated, at least in my opinion. But as the situation with my mom became more and more bleak, the possibility and option of using her name as a middle name seemed greater and greater.

My wife did all kinds of research on name meanings and informed me one day that it would be perfectly fine for our daughter to have two middle names. She explained the meaning to me and it made perfect sense. In light of the year that we had been having, it seemed very appropriate to name a daughter with names that meant "blooming peace and joy." After all, that's what we were hoping that she would be to us, a light in the fog, a bright flower after the rain, a glimmer of hope in a sea of turmoil and despondence.

My wife is incredible. She has had all three of our children naturally. No drugs. No induction. Au natural. I'm just glad that it was her and not me because I don't think that I would have been able to endure what she did. But alas, she's got Swedish blood and resiliency and strength runs in her veins. She endured a 19 hour labor for our first child. Naturally, she expected more of the same for the second, but he came pretty quickly. She started laboring at 5:30 in the morning and he was born by around 8:30 that morning. We had no idea what to expect for the third.

Both boys came on Saturdays. Although we thought that our first one would be a Friday the 13th baby, he waited until the 14th to come. I had transitioned from engineering to pastoring by then, so it was funny to me that they didn't "interrupt" my schedule my coming on Saturdays and not Sundays. I expected that my daughter might do the same.

Life was further complicated by the fact that I was starting a seminary class in D.C. on Friday. Somehow, she ended up coming on Thursday instead. I can only wish that my kids continue to be so respectful throughout their lives (ha!). I was able to rest enough to get to my class on Friday and even enjoy a Sunday where I had little responsibilities within our morning worship services.

I'm still trying to figure out how I feel in the midst of all of this. I am beginning to get used to saying "she" and "her" instead of "he" and "his." I think that my wife is very happy. She's no longer as outnumbered as she was before and before our daughter came, there was pretty much no chance of a female dog as there are allergies a plenty in our house.

Everything happened so fast that it was hard for me to respond. Within a little more than an hour of getting to the hospital, our daughter came. I was so concerned about making sure that my wife was comfortable and had everything she needed that I hadn't given much thought to the immenseness of what was happening. When she arrived, I thought to myself, "I wish Mom was here to hold her granddaughter." I wish that she could have survived for just a little bit longer. Two months and three days is all that she would have needed.

To be honest, I think that she willed herself to live for as long as she did. When she knew that death was looming around the corner, I sort of think that she welcomed it like an old friend rather than fighting it off. There were no complaints and cries, just a quiet dignity and strength that I could read pretty well. I wouldn't say that she gave up, I would say that she succumbed to the inevitable. After all, even if she had survived, a few years down the road, she would again be staring death in the face.

My daughter's legacy is that she has her grandmother's name as a middle name. I don't think that I ever told Mom that we were going to do that, but I kind of think that she knew. I had begun writing her eulogy before she died and read it to my family in my parents' living room with Mom in a bed in the other room. All the healthcare professionals told us that she could hear us when we were beside her, and I know that moms have that uncanny knack to hear and see things that the average human being is incapable of hearing and seeing.

My daughter came into the world with screams and cries. My mom left this world with a whisper, a hushed breath that grew fainter and fainter. My daughter will never physically know her grandmother in this life, but through the power of story, she will know her. I expect that they will meet each other one day. I expect that Mom will be waiting for her. In my mind, I even imagine conversations that could go on between my mother and daughter in my daughter's dreams. Mom is gone, but I've been given a little angel to care for in Mom's absence.

So much of the imagery around Mom's death was about planting. Trees were planted. Bushes were planted. The earthly shell of my mom was planted. And a seed was planted that grew and became a little girl. When I look at her and her name, I think of Mom. As she grows, she will teach me more and more about how much her grandmother meant to me. Not sure how, but I expect that Mom will be smiling as it happens.

As I lean down to kiss my little angel "goodnight" tonight, I will miss my mom. But somehow I think that she feels like I'm in pretty good hands. I might think that my daughter's been put on this earth for me to look after, but I should probably think again. Maybe she's really hear to look after me. I love you, Mom, and I miss you very much. And I love you too, my sweet little blooming peace and joy.

Blessings

Two milestone dates are fast approaching within the next week. The two month anniversary of my mom's death is on September 19th and my little boy will turn 3 years old on September 20th. It's a pretty incredible picture to me of the complexity of life: death and life set side by side. The other milestone that is fast approaching is the birth of our daughter. Although the due date is September 25th, there's really no telling exactly when she will come. Both of our boys were a few days early, so we will see whether or not she follows suit.

Throughout the process and journey of my mom's cancer battle and my family's struggle, I was pretty confident of two things. First of all, I knew that God was with us through the storms. He may not have been shouting through it all, but his presence was felt by my entire family. Second of all, I knew that I was incredibly blessed to have had a loving and giving community of faith in which I was a part. Within hours of my mom's diagnosis, people had come alongside me and my family to show their support. In the journey from struggle to death to new life, my family and I have been so incredibly blessed to the point of ultimate humility. Who am I to have deserved the incredible love and support that was showered upon me? What have I done to deserve it?

In many ways, I guess it really speaks to who my mom and dad were and are. We received an incredible amount of support from friends, family, and church family in Connecticut. That was one of the big reasons that my brother organized a memorial service for my mom on her birthday in our hometown. Although my dad was the fairly well-known in their community, no one could deny that my mom was his backbone and support. She was as much responsible for him being who he is and there were many people who knew that. But she was also unique and individual in herself and those who knew her, knew that was the case.

My wife has a friend who lost her mom much earlier than I did. In fact, this friend was married without the privilege of the physical presence of her mom. Throughout the whole process of treatment and decline, my wife quietly served behind the scenes. She watched the boys, informed and updated people, supported me, and just generally held things together. Words can't even begin to express how blessed that I am to have such an incredible and selfless wife.

This friend of my wife understands loss. After Mom died, we received a package in the mail and opened it up to find the plaque shown in these pictures. It arrived before any kind of note, so we were not sure who had sent it to us. A few days after it had arrived, we got the note from Carrie's friend, indicating that it had come from her and her husband. The fact that she had been the one to send it made it that much more meaningful to me.

As I struggled towards the end with the loss of my relationship with Mom, I expressed some of that to my wife. I was feeling somewhat self-conscious of the fact that I was a 38 year old man who considered his mother a best friend. There are many women who would never have been able to handle that. Their own lack of self-confidence would have produced jealousy, anger, or any other array of strong emotions within them. I am incredibly blessed to have been partnered with a wife whose struggles with those things, if they existed at all, do not dominate who she is.

As we talked and I vented some of my emotions to my wife, she gave me words that I will forever cherish, just as I forever cherish her. I asked her if it was weird that I had this kind of relationship with my mom. She said, "Jon, when something good happens in your life, there are two people that you call, your mom and me. The kind of relationship that you have had with your mom is the kind of relationship that I want to have with our boys. You have showed me a model for how to do that." Could I really be so blessed to have such an incredible wife? Was I really hearing these words? Yes. And Yes.

I generally have a good sense about things that are going on around me. At any given time in my life, I probably multi-task way more than any human being ever should. There have definitely been times though, when I have been so out of it or consumed that I have missed some obvious things. I am sure that the last nine months have been among those times.

I am blessed to lead some incredible people at my church. Every week, I have the privilege of getting together with 8-10 people to pull together some of our Sunday services. Their patience and endurance is incredible. I am not always the easiest person to get along with, yet I don't hear a lot of complaints. I have a tendency to accentuate the negative and gloss over the positive. I expect a lot and don't always explicitly communicate those expectations, to my own frustration. In the end, God always works through us and we are blessed to lead people in worship, focusing our congregation on the One whom we worship, not ourselves or our talents.

Last week, I arrived home a little earlier than usual. On days when I have night meetings, I do my best to get home a little earlier so as to preserve time with my family. My wife smiled when I arrived and told me that someone would be coming to the door within the next few minutes. Something had been in the works for me, she said, and the day had finally come for that "something" to actually happen. I scratched my head as I tried to decipher exactly what this riddle meant.

The doorbell rang and a husband and wife from church were there. They had brought with them a gardenia plant. The team that I work most closely with had come together and bought a gardenia plant for us to plant in our yard. Someone who had been to Mom's funeral had made a mental note that gardenias were her favorite flower. Every year, whenever my dad would buy her corsages, they would be made of gardenias. The Sunday after Mom died, my parent's former church in Connecticut handed out gardenias to all of the ladies in honor of the woman who had discipled and mentored so many of them.

Tears had not come in a long time, but as I sat there with the description tag of the gardenia plant in my hand, reading through the card that had been given from my team, they began to flow again. I was speechless. I had no idea why I deserved anything like this, but I realized that I must have made some impact on these people to have received such an incredibly special and meaningful gift. These pictures show both the plaque and the gardenia bush.

As my mom's final days wound down, we had discovered a prayer on her bedside table that I shared in an earlier post. The prayer was based on Isaiah 61, my mom had personalized the passage into a prayer which she could regularly pray. A portion of it says, "They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor." I included it within my eulogy at her funeral.

Last week, my brother organized a memorial service on September 11th, my mom's birthday. Since I was not able to be there, he read what I had read at my mom's funeral. In the wake of loss and grief, life passes us by without much notice and we sometimes discover later what it is that we had missed. As my brother read what I had written, the idea of my mom having been a planting of the Lord, especially in her death, stood out to him. In fact, he had missed that altogether during the funeral.

This theme of being a planting has been dominant in the wake of Mom's death. Not only had she had this prayer on her bedside table, but she had quoted those verses to me several times over the last year. My brother held the memorial service in our hometown at a park near where he works. He received permission from the parks and recreation department to plant a tree in memory of my mom. The day before the memorial, he and a childhood friend of mine planted the tree. Later that week, the gardenia bush was planted in my back yard. New life is springing up all over, but it only came through death. Death brings life, much life.

My daughter will arrive shortly, and even in her name, the idea of planting is prevalent. Her name will be Chloe Irene Joy which means "blooming peace and joy." There is birth and there is death. Plants grow and plants die. Throughout the journey, may we rest in the blessings of just having had the experiences. Every day, we all experience blessings, it's just a question of whether or not we stop long enough to see them, notice them, and be thankful for them. I am blessed.