Statue

I had to go to the circuit court last week to take care of my dad's affairs in probate.  The woman who helped me was so kind and caring.  She made small talk with me and the process was much less painless than I had thought it would be.  I thanked her for making it simple and she told me I should thank my dad.

The process was painless until I got outside.  As I exited the building, an overwhelming feeling of loss came over me.  Every last thing that I do is exactly that, the last thing.  I am taking care of things for my dad for the last time and the gravity of the moment was intense.

Melancholics don't need glum and dreary days to feel pensive.  It was a beautiful day and the sun was shining.  It had actually been dreary earlier on, but the skies opened up and the sun shone down as I approached Williamsburg (was there a hidden message there for me?).  As I approached my car, I passed a statue of a Native American.  I put some of my stuff in the car and I wanted to stretch the moment out longer.  I wanted to sit in the sunshine, soak it in, sit in my sadness and let it wash over me for a few moments longer.

So, I went over to the statue to read the plaque underneath.  It was Powhatan, whom the plaque said was responsible for the survival of the first settlement at Jamestown (do you think his ancestors might be pissed?).  Here was this statue, life-sized, standing above all who would come within its vicinity.  A man whom we read about in history books, at least if we're from Virginia.  He played an integral part in survival for many who would go on to take advantage, abuse, and steal from his tribe and many others, or at least pave the way for more to come who would do those things.  But I digress.  Powhatan marks that spot and that statue will be there for a long time.

The contrasting picture was my visit to the cemetery later on.  As I approached the crypt where my parents are laid, the flowers were gone.  There was no evidence that just a week and a half ago that crypt had been opened to receive its second guest.  All that was there was a plate which still hadn't been completed.  Names.  Dates.  A verse.  A cross.  Praying hands.  A saying.  That's it.  No statue looming over all who would come near.  Not description of what these two people had done.

It seemed a little unjust to me.  I didn't know Powhatan.  How could I have?  He lived way before my time.  But I did know my mom and dad.  They had an influence on me and on many others.  Could we have said more on that plate than what we did?  Could we have given people a better picture of all that they had done?

Then I began to think, that's not the job of a grave plate.  That's my job.  That's my legacy, actually, it's their legacy living through me.  I will not forget.  I will remember.  I will live out that legacy and let others know the contributions that they made in my life, and so will others.  A statue is tall and cold, lifeless, unspeaking.  I am living and breathing, proclaiming, exemplifying what was invested into me by my parents.

There is no statue, but there is me, there are my children.  We are the monuments, the memorials of my parents as we live our lives through what they taught me, taught us.  My parents invested into people for the sake of Jesus Christ.  I invest in people for the same reason.  Christ has made a difference in my life, he made a difference in the life of my parents.  It would be a crime for me not to proclaim something that has had such a significant impact on me.  I am a living legacy.  If you want to know my parents, get to know me.  I can tell you stories, or better yet, I can live out what they passed on to me.  That's much better than anything a statue can do.

11 Years?

It's hard to believe that it's been 11 years since that fateful Tuesday morning.  The day still remains so vivid in my head and I can only imagine how much more so it feels that way for those who experienced tragic loss on that day.  Having lived about 50 minutes from NYC back in 2001, it felt so much closer to me.  I remember traveling down to New Jersey for project management training for my company just 2 days later.  As I drove over the Tappan Zee Bridge, I could see the New York skyline from afar, yet it was close enough to make out the distinct cloud that hung like a death shroud over the place where the two towers had once stood.

My mom's birthday was September 11th.  She was not particularly fond of the fact that her birthday shared the date with one of the greatest tragedies to ever befall the United States.  I will always remember her birthday with a mix of emotion as I recall joy and tragedy in the same day.

Memorable dates are fascinating.  Personally, I am a "numbers guy" so I remember all kinds of dates and numbers.  I will forever remember my phone number from my house growing up.  I even remember my phone number during my sophomore through senior years of college as it remained the same.  I remember the phone number I had after college as well.  So much useless information that seems to be taking up space.

Yet, there is so much value to remembering.  I have said it before, but it's worth repeating, if we do not remember, we are destined to forget, which generally results in our repeating of things, oftentimes mistakes.  Remembering is a valuable resource and I try to do it often.

I remember by writing.  I can express my thoughts and feelings so much better when I write them down.  I can recount my experiences in written form so that I can pass those experiences on to my children.  Some of them are funny and they make us laugh, others are painful and might better be left untold, or at the very least, seldom recounted.  But even the painful experiences and memories serve to mold me into who I am.

Our country is not the same since September 11, 2001.  To be honest, I think that many people forget until something forces them to remember.  I can't forget, part of that is due to Mom's birthday, but part of it is that it hit so close to home and yet I somehow remained unscathed by the pain that so many experienced that day.  I remember and I honor those who grieve, even 11 years later.

What is it that you need to remember?  Take a moment today to recount it and express your thanks.  Make that phone call.  Write that note.  Say that prayer.  Do whatever it is that you need to do to let someone know today that you remember.

One Year

One year ago today, I lost my mom.  In some ways, it feels like such a long time ago and in other ways, it feels like it was just yesterday.  It's kind of hard to capture exactly what my emotions are as I reflect on what this year has been like.

I can honestly say that a day hasn't gone by that I haven't wanted to pick up the phone and call her.  I've stopped by her grave by myself, with my wife and kids, and with my father a number of times over the last 12 months.  Most of the times, I have just stood there in silence as I have attempted to make sense of the events leading up to losing her.  I've taken the opportunity with my boys to honor the woman who was so influential in their daddy's life.  My dad and I shared more than just a moment together as we stood by the grave of the woman who had so faithfully given of herself to us and so many others for her entire life.

My heart still aches, and I think it always will, but that's not a complaint.  I am who I am because of what has happened in my life and this year has been as equally formative to me.  It certainly hasn't been easy and I most likely would have never chosen to go through what I have, but I can certainly say that I have learned an awful lot.

My father has not fared well at all.  That has probably been one of the biggest struggles with the past year.  Dad was a wounded man prior to Mom's sickness and the wound deepened throughout her sickness and subsequent death.  He is only a shell of who he used to be and it's hard for me to know how I would have handled all that has been thrown at him in just 18 short months.  I love him and am so thankful for all that he has done for me in my life.

Every day, when I look at my little baby girl, I am reminded of the woman with whom she shares a name.  She is our "little" bundle of blooming peace and joy.  She and her brothers have provided so much therapy to me over the past 12 months (only 10 months for her).  I don't know where I would be if God had not blessed me with the family that He has.

I am grateful for friends who haven't tired of my constant references to Mom, hearing story after story of who she was, and being far more patient than I probably have been at times.  I have been supported by a community of faith that has shown me more love than I could ever repay them for.  Words seem trite compared to the gift that they have given me as so many have surrounded me during this time.

Today, I will walk a little slower, I will sigh a little bit deeper, and I will grow a little bit older.  I will probably share a moment with my family as we stand near the empty shell of my mom.  I am sure that I will shed tears, they seem inevitable at this point.  But tears are a salve that bring healing to a wounded soul.  I have fully realized the truth of the words so many have spoken over this year, that the pain doesn't go away, you just learn to live with it better.

As I drove to Williamsburg last July to honor my mother and her life, I read through Romans 8.  Paul's words have continued to provide comfort for me over this past year.  Paul writes, "For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently."  My hope grows more and more each day as I anticipate the day that I will again see my mom.  I am constantly reminded of her faith and the One in whom she put that faith.  Paul goes on to say, "No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

I miss you, Mom, and love you so much.  My hope grows more and more each day as I wait for what I do not yet have.  See you again.