12 Years

A Letter by Lauren to Mom

It’s days like today when I try to think about you the least. I like to think about how you lived not how you died. I realize some of your closest friends don’t know what we’re up to or what we’re doing so I thought I’d fill them in.

12 years later I’m in college pursuing a career in occupational therapy, I think I’ve always had a niche for wanting to help people, but as of the last few years I realized it isn’t about the quantity of life but the quality of life. I believe your life was full of the quality.

 

Jacob reminds me more about you every day. You really gave me by best friend. He also doesn’t punch me anymore; he grew out of that one. Every stupid joke he makes or the way he laughs reminds me of you. I roll my eyes and think about how you two would be ganging up on me trying to convince me of something completely unrealistic. 

Dad is Dad, full of love and compassion like he always has been. He tells stories of you like he’s a little school boy that has a massive crush. You’ve set my standards for love and companionship. 

The three of us stayed close and I don’t see that ever changing. 

I sometimes try and picture what the four of us would look like today and for whatever reason, I picture you taller than me which I think we all realize is completely unrealistic. I think you’d get a kick out of me trying to convince my step sisters they’re done growing, but in reality they’re probably going to be at least four inches taller than me. 

As life goes on I get more and more curious about what my life would look like with you in it. I wonder what goofy wisdom you would pass on to me and how a hug would work now that you’d be several inches shorter than me. 

I wonder about Jacob if I have shared enough about you. I wonder about the multiple children you have been named after and how you’re probably flaunting around in heaven showing off and making into a competition.

I wonder if you’re proud of me, and I hope you are.

I hope I’ve shown enough people your picture and shared enough about you so that your memory won’t ever fade even when I’m gone.

I hope I can be half the mom you have been to me and that I keep the memories you have so graciously given me.

I wish you could meet my friends. I know you would be doing all the mom things and have a group chat with all your friends wondering if we’re safe or making good choices. I know you would be here every weekend if you could and you would be Jacob’s biggest cheerleader in band and have one of those weird face cutouts and end up blocking everyone’s view. You’d be the go-to band mom and take the best pictures, obviously.

Most of all I wish you to be happy. I don’t know what’s on the other side or if there is one, but if there is I hope you can still watch me, as selfish as that might seem and I hope you’re at peace.

I love you so so much and I miss you.

Ten Years!

 

Today marks ten years since Lynn has been gone from us.  As we reminisce about her, the image above is atypical: a rare somber moment facing down Jacob wearing his characteristic grin.  Most often, she was grinning right back at them as they shared the same quirky sense of humor.  On this day when Jacob has only fuzzy direct memory of his mom, this feels like the right way to regard her.  She is never far from him.

Lauren has to a moment too.  I blame Lynn's genes for Lauren's allergy and asthma challenges.  For all of the times that Lauren has been out of breath, the memory and force of her mom's influence has remained to blow with her.  She is never far from Lauren.

And now I get one.  From our engagement photos, I don't think I really comprehended just how young Lynn was.  And we all know... she never would quite grow up.  She remained young and joyful.  She is never far from me.

I've found myself recently retelling my experience the night before Lynn died.  I awoke in the middle of the night with a sob.  In the next moment, a sudden profound peace washed over me.  I lay in bed only a few minutes before her mom knocked on the door to tell me that something had changed and that I should come be with her.  She died later that morning.  It was an Easter Sunday.

This year, Easter Sunday falls on my 49th birthday.

When I related my experience in this blog shortly after Lynn's passing, few of those reading knew that I had undergone an inner faith throughout the preceding years.  Lynn knew; those it was challenging for us, we shared a deep love.  She expressed only confidence that Lauren and Jacob would be okay with me parenting alone.  I am grateful for that.

I have never taken for granted how difficult it has been for some of those closest to me, Lynn's family most of all, to support me despite my decisions regarding my religious affiliation.  I am sad to think that my religious stance may have contributed to when distances have opened.  I accept the connection to others' grief and hold no grudges though perhaps some regret to wonder whether I could have done it all differently to spare some pain.

But now I am back in that moment when maybe some part of her that is connected to me touched my consciousness.  There are other moments that I've never left: like when I cleared away all of the medical supplies and other items in the room in which she lay barely responsive.  I realized that I was creating a peaceful sanctuary in which she would pass.  I still remember the music that played as I performed the service and wept.

Though I am not inclined to view these experiences through a religious lens, they remain sacred to me and spiritually anchor me.  I can think back nearly thirty years to when my mother died in a car accident while I was away on my church mission.  More moments that I have never left.

About ten years after my mom died, I came alive again from the glow of Lynn's joyous living.  Ten beautiful years with her that end with some pain with bittersweet reminders of how lucky I had been.  Then ten more years adjusting to life without her.  A life that always has been filled with love.  Loss.  Grief.  Renewal.  Moving forward but never on.  Always remaining in moments that have shaped and formed me.  One breath away from a sob and another heartbeat from a deep peaceful serenity that tells me that all is okay even when it all looks to an outside observer to be falling apart.  I've never quite left those moments; though I have changed several times over in response to loss, transformations in religion, faith, spirituality; I remain in some sense the child just starting adulthood who lost a mother.  The father losing a wife whose death was ironic compared to how much she lived in too short of a life.  And now the middle-aged guy who has found love again.  Well... that last story doesn't belong in Lynn's blog.

Ten years after Lynn passing, I wanted to remind that something truly spiritually foundational happened as her life was slipping away.  We remain always connected.  And while I am more prone to these bouts of deep reflection (and possibly rambling, sorry) I will also go out with some of Lynn's best friends tonight and laugh in the afterglow of her wonderful life that remains connected to me no matter what transpires in my life from here on out.

We love and miss your immediate presence today, Lynn!

Guadeloupe

I felt the need to get away by myself.  So I hastily (in about two weeks from when, on New Years Eve,  I decided to go) booked a trip to an old area in my mission.  Guadeloupe was the place where the news reached me that my mother had died in a car accident.  It seemed fitting to return to bring together and put into context the losses that I've suffered of the two women closest in my life.

I chose a quiet, restful place away from the cities, in Sainte-Rose.  Habitation du Compte was more bed and breakfast than hotel.  It was perfect.

Okay, so I splurged for a fun car.  Cruising around the island in my Peugot 308 convertible was a blast!

My old apartment in Baie Mahault was new and clean when we were there.  It has since become dirty and worn down.  The apartment can be seen through the old balcony, second story on the left.

By contrast, the apartment building in Pointe-a-Pitre was always old and worn down.

The old chapel (really just a small house) is also looking pretty shabby.  There is a new chapel within close walking distance.

Downtown Pointe-a-Pitre and La Place de la Victoire.  Had to show off ol' Felix Eboue.  :)

Ilet de Gosier

Reservation Gusteau and a glass bottom boat.  I got to do some snorkeling.  There's a pic of me still painfully pale white!

La Plage de Malendure is on the west coast of Basse Terre.  The glass bottom boat went on the other side of the islands seen in these photos.  Everyone on the beach enjoyed a fabulous sunset.  This sweet old couple set up right in front of me, and I stole some pictures of them.  I did tell them and show them the photos when we all got up to leave.  They were very friendly.

There were some emotional, very personal moments at this place.

The sand on the western side (this is Malendure again) is dark, volcanic material.  It is still very soft and fine.

White sandy beaches on the southern shore of Grande Terre.  This is where all of the big resorts are.

Pointe des Chateaux is on the eastern tip of Grande Terre.  It is kind of a desolate place, and my mood matched as I visited it late in the day.

There is a poem that uses the metaphor of footsteps in the sand to tell how Christ walks with us throughout life.  The poet sees two sets of prints most of the time but only one set during those periods of life's greatest trial.  He complains that God left him alone during when he was most needed.  Christ gently reproves him saying that it was during those times when he carried the poet.

As daylight was fading, I walked by the surf.  I looked back on my prints, thinking of the poem.  Of course, I only saw one set.  Feeling quite alone, I took a photo and began to put the camera away.  As I did, a large wave washed up, erasing my prints and soaking my shoes.

More beach photos.  There's one of me, now well tanned.

My last full day in Guadeloupe, I went to La Soufriere, the volcano on the western island of Basse Terre.  The peak was completely enveloped in clouds.  So I decided to go around a lower portion of the rim.  It was very wet and rainy.  Despite not climbing all the way to the top, climbing up the slopes of a volcano before returning to reality sounds kind of symbolic, doesn't it?

Now, why am I posting this to Lynn's blog?  While she is on my mind daily, this was a trip for ME.  As much as there was a blending of my losses, it was about me doing something adventurous and solely for my benefit.

Well, one of life's little coincidences prompted me to post here.  While in Guadeloupe, I placed myself "in a time warp" in a Facebook update as I took out my mission journal and wrote new entries almost twenty years after the prior ones.  I feel like I just went through another.  Before leaving, I purchased a new camera because Lynn's DSLR is too bulky.  I had never thought to check the date and time.

As I downloaded the photos on the computer today, I noticed the dates.  The last day of my vacation was recorded as July 12, 2012.  This was the date of my last anniversary with Lynn, our tenth.  Though I contemplate what life will be like in the years ahead without her, she really is there with me.  She was with me on this trip that might have taken together.  And she will be with me always!