Tag: Mother

Day 2 Beautiful Things

Before I headed back home from the Twin Cities, I was really hoping to fit in a nice outdoor walk. Even though the skies to the north were looking pretty ominous, I decided to brave it. About five minutes into my walk, I reached the pond where I had spotted the ducklings previously (See Day 1 picture). I was so disappointed when I didn’t see them in the water.

As I turned to make my way back to shelter, I caught sight of a lone duck standing near some bushes. Approaching cautiously, I saw the bushes start to rustle. Before I knew it, adorable ducklings were emerging one by one, and I managed to capture a picture of the mother duck and her little ones. Just as I finished, it started to sprinkle, cutting my walk short. Nonetheless, it was a fleeting yet magical moment in an otherwise ordinary day.

March Sadness

March is a month of transformation and growth. It marks the shift from winter to spring, from darkness to light, and from barrenness to fertility. Moreover, for those who follow college basketball, it is the most thrilling three weeks of the year. At one time, I also regarded it as a month of change and evolution.

In March, I am reminded of what was. It marks her entrance into the world, her departure from it, and the cruel echo of her absence that reverberates most profoundly in my soul.

March 17 is a day of festivities, celebration, and joy for many Americans. However, on this day 18 years ago, what began as a typical day quickly turned when I received a call just before 8:00 am saying, “She is not doing very well; you should come.”

As I entered her room, my heart was racing with anticipation and fear. I could see her lying there, frail and weak. Without wasting another moment, I grabbed her hand tightly and whispered, “Mom, I am here.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if she had been waiting for me to arrive. It was a moment of profound sadness and unspoken love. As I stood there, trying to process what had just happened, I knew I needed my wife by my side. So, I quickly dialed her number and asked her to come.

“I hope you never hear those words. Your mom. She died. They are different than other words. They are too big to fit in your ears. They belong to some strange, heavy, powerful language that pounds away at the side of your head, a wrecking ball coming at you again and again, until finally, the words crack a hole large enough to fit inside your brain. And in so doing, they split you apart.” 

For One More Day – Mitch Albom

The next few hours were a whirlwind of emotions. Phone calls were made to family and friends to let them know about what had happened. Amidst all the chaos, there was one promise that had to be kept. It was St Patrick’s Day and we had promised our two-year-old son that he could watch the parade. Despite the heavy heart, we wanted to make sure he got to experience the joy and excitement of the parade. It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that our little one had no idea of the tragedy that had struck. It would be great if we could all take a break from the chaos and simply soak in the joy of a parade. Sadly, that wasn’t my experience. Even though my son was having a blast, I couldn’t shake off this feeling of emptiness.

As the years have passed since my mother’s passing, I have hoped that the feeling of emptiness would eventually go away. Unfortunately, it hasn’t. Every year in March, I find myself drawn to “For One More Day” by Mitch Albom. One of my favorite quotes from the book is “Sharing tales of those we’ve lost is how we keep from really losing them.” Therefore, I encourage you to share the story of a loved one who is no longer with us as you go about your day today.

Gotcha Day

My parents wanted to have a big family. Prior to my arrival, my parents had four biological children. Three of the four had developmental disabilities with one passing away at three days old. For many reasons, they chose to pursue adoption to expand their family.

I am eternally grateful for all she (and my dad) did in raising me. I never had to worry about clothing, food, or shelter. We took many great vacations. Holidays provided many good memories. Like many families, there were struggles and challenges but I have always known they did the best they could.

Growing up, I asked my mom a lot of questions about my adoption. She tried to answer as many as she could. One day I asked her to tell me how they got me. Was there a store? A mail-order catalog? Did I just show up on their front porch and say hello? She assured me they didn’t get me from a store or a catalog. She said my sister was just teasing when she said I was found under a rock.

All this information is good, but it didn’t answer the question. How did you get me? My mother began to tell the story about how my parents secretly met with a local adoption agency (Lutheran Social Services). My parents told very few people they were considering adoption. Back then, adoption was not a sure thing. She said they asked lots of questions about a lot of things and hoped that they answered correctly so that they could adopt. But she still didn’t answer my question.

So I asked again. How did you get me? She told me they weren’t sure they were going to get me or anyone else. However, one day long before they know of me, my mom went to see a psychic. Given this was the late 60s, I suppose she could have done worse things. She said the psychic looked at her and said “You are going to have another child but this one is different. My mom quizzically asked, “What do you mean?” The psychic looked at my mom and said, “This child will come to you on a plane.” And so it was on this day many years ago, that I flew on a plane with a lady from the adoption agency to meet my family for the first time. Some days are more important than others. This is an important day for me.

Birthdays

For most, birthdays are significant. It marks another revolution around the sun. Another year of thriving, surviving, or something in between. It is a cause for celebration and reflection.

Today I am celebrating another year. The older I get, the more precious these are. We all have friends and family who will not see another birthday.

I have not always been in a celebratory mood on my birthday. If you recall my last post, I talked about the last time I saw my father. Originally, I wasn’t going to stop at the house to see him that night. Why would I stop? After all, I was going to see him the next day when we gathered to celebrate my birthday.

For many years my birthday has been a painful reminder of one of my darkest days. I can still hear the quiver in my mother’s voice as she told me my father had unexpectedly passed away. I remember the spot I was standing when I received word. I was golfing at the time and had to tell the golf group what had happened. We were all young, far too young to experience this.

Since that day, I have worked to use the day not only to reflect and mourn what was lost that day but also to celebrate. So today, I will take time to reflect on my father. The gifts he gave me. I’ll tell him what has happened over the last year. I will honor him.

I will also celebrate. My celebration today will be different. Today, for the first time, I will be celebrating my birthday with the woman the gave birth to me. So today should be a very good day.

Day 29 Gratitude Challenge

It is late November in the upper plains. This means cooler (cold) weather and shorter days. It also means snow. This morning I woke up to snow on the ground. While I am grateful for the beauty and moisture of the snowfall, this is not the focus of the post today.

Today I am thinking about my parents. I am thinking about the decisions and sacrifices they made to provide me with the opportunities I had. Not all are as fortunate as I am. The older I get, the more I realize this.

My parents made sure my basic needs were met. I never had to worry if there would be enough food or if we would have a home. I have always had an abundance of clothes (even if my parents would t buy the new Nike and instead purchased the Keds knockoff!😜)

After years of parenting through the Great Recession and the pandemic, I realize how challenging it must have been for my parents. Were they perfect? No. Did they make mistakes? Probably. However, they did the best they could with the tools they were given. In my opinion, they did a damn great old job. My faults and flaws are of my own making, not theirs. Unfortunately, my parents have passed and I can’t personally thank them for all they did. Perhaps you can take some time to think about your parents today. Think about the sacrifices they made for you. Did they attend your performances, concerts, recitals, games, and/or conferences? If so, they gave up something to be there. If your parents are still living, give them a call or write a letter. Let them know about the good things they did for you.

And one final thing, nothing screams “I love you” more than 70s fashion. The wide white belt and a turtleneck. Enjoy the picture.

Day 22 Gratitude Challenge

A couple of nights ago, Michael J. Fox won the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian award. “The Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award, an Oscar statuette, is given to an ‘individual in the motion picture industry whose humanitarian efforts have brought credit to the industry.’” It isn’t surprising he won the award.

In the 80s, Fox was one of the top stars in the world. His characters in television and film were iconic. In the early 90s his life changed with a diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease. Fox kept his diagnosis secret for many years. In 1998, he went public with his diagnosis and ever since has been advocate to find a cure for the disease. Learn more about his efforts at the Michael J Fox Foundation

I took time to watch Fox’s acceptance speech for his award. Watching the speech I became overwhelmed with emotion. I was reminded of his optimism, compassion, and humor. I reflected on his career. I wondered what career had have been. Side note: My favorite movie of his is Doc Hollywood.

Mostly, I was reminded of my mother. Like Fox, in the early 90s, my mother was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. I remember her optimism when Fox went public with his diagnosis. She was hopeful his money and star power would help find a cure in time for her. While the cure did not come in time for my mother, I remain hopeful that a cure will come in my lifetime. I am grateful for the attention Michael J Fox has given Parkinson’s Disease.

He ends his speech with the following words:

“Because my optimism is fueled by my gratitude. And with gratitude, optimism is sustainable.”

The challenge today is to be optimistic. We all have challenges but can we face them with the optimism of Michael J Fox? Use your gratitude to sustain your optimism for a better world.

St. Patrick’s Day

St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland. He is often credited with driving the snakes out of Ireland and bringing Christianity to Ireland. Note: According to at least one article, there weren’t any snakes in Ireland – so his act may not be all that impressive. Nonetheless, today, March 17, is the day the Irish (and many who claim to be Irish, wish they were Irish, know an Irish person, or hope someday to go to Ireland) celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. While it was originally a religious feast, it has become secular celebration founded by Irish immigrants in America. Simply put, it’s a big deal and it is a big party.

People all over American celebrate this day. There are parades, green beer, green rivers, and lots of fun. My mom was 1/2 Irish and raised Catholic. She loved St. Patrick’s Day and she loved a big party.

Do you know why we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day today? Why March 17? Was he born on this day? No. Is this the day he introduced Christianity to Ireland? No. Is this the day he drove the snakes out? No. We celebrate this day because it is believed he died on March 17, 461.

I’m not a huge fan of this day. It is a day I will never forget. I was headed out to work when the phone rang (this was back in the days when people had landlines). My wife answered the phone. She quickly made eye contact, mumbled some words into the phone, and held up her hand indicating I needed to stop. Being the ever obedient husband, I stopped. A blank look came over her face. I asked who was on the phone. She said, “It was the nursing home. She said your mom isn’t doing well and you should get there soon.”

My mother had been in the nursing home for a couple of weeks. She was recovering from surgery to repair a broken hip. Additionally, she had Parkinson’s Disease. She was no longer the smiling and engeretic person she once was. For 13 years, Parkinson’s Disease had ravaged her body and her mind. We knew the end was near.

I drove quickly to the nursing home. When I walked into her room, I immediately noticed what she was wearing. She wore a very bright multicolored sweater. If you knew my mother, this sweater matched her personality perfectly. My mom had picked the sweater to wear. It was the perfect sweater for her to wear to big party. I think she knew.

Also in the room was a nurse. The nurse said my mom was having problems breathing. My mom was laying in her bed. I sat down next to her. I held her hand and let her know I was there. And then, it happened. All the stress and tension that Parkinson’s Disease had put in her body went away. My mom’s Parkinson’s mask disappeared. She was so peaceful and relaxed. I had not seen her that way in years. I felt a warm rush of calm serentiy fill the room. But then it hit me, my mother had passed away. She was gone and just like St. Patrick, it was March 17.

I kept the sweater and found it again the other day. It reminded me of what a bright star my mom was. It is pictured in this post. So as you celebrate your Irish heritage today, raise a glass to honor my mother, raise a glass to honor your mother, and raise a glass to honor St. Patrick.

The importance of stories

This picture is of my mom and her dad.  There is no date on the picture, but she looks about 2 or 3 years old. Even at this age, her smile lit up a room. I never met her dad. He died before I was born. Yet from the stories my mom told and this picture, it is clear the two had a special bond.

Today is my mom’s birthday. She would have turned 90 years old. It has been 17 years since I celebrated a birthday with my mom. I wish she could see how great her grandkids have turned out.

I think about my mom every day. Around her birthday, I think about her a lot. March is the month in which she was born and died. There are so many stories I could tell about my mom.  Like the time I fell out of the car and she kept on driving – she hated it when I told that story. Or how sometimes when she and my dad would argue, she would begin to cry and through the tears say “Well, Shit!” and the argument was over. Or how about time she kept sneaking chocolates to my youngest son when she was in the hospital for the last time.

On her last birthday, I could tell mom was tired. Life and Parkinson’s disease had taken a toll on her mind and body. She was no longer the active vibrant woman of my youth. Yet, there was an occasional twinkle of mischief in her eyes. She wanted to say things but her body and mind wouldn’t let her. But through it all, she smiled when we sang happy birthday. She ate her cake and tolerated the grandchildren running around the room. This is how I remember her last birthday.

Mitch Albom wrote, “Sharing tales of those we’ve lost is how we keep from really losing them.” In this post, I shared a couple of stories about my mom. So today, take a moment and share a story about someone you love. If you have a story about my mom, send it to me, I would love to hear it. If your parents or grandparents are still living, call or visit them. Let them tell you a story that you can carry with you forever.

The Answers are Within

I’ve told this story to close friends but not it distributed widely. It’s possible, only close friends will read this post and that’s okay.

I am not an overly religious person person and not a fan of organized religion. However, I am spiritual and do believe we each have a purpose in this life. Further, I believe there is something after this life which I hope is better.

Over 25 years ago, my father suddenly and unexpectedly passed away. Though his health had been failing for years, his death was shock. No matter the circumstances, you are never ready to lose a family member.

At the time of his death, I was still in the early stages of my professional career and had recently started a new job. Our complicated and sometimes volatile relationship was improving. But now, with his death, our unresolved issues would remain. Further, I was thrust into a familial role I was not prepared to take. My mother looked to me for guidance. I longed for his wisdom, insight and support.

In the months following his death, I would often dream of spending time with him. In my dreams, we were often doing the things we did when he was living or things I wished we had done. In the dreams, there was no sense that we were living in different worlds as we were both alive.

Approximately six months after he died, I had another dream about my dad. This time it was different. This time it was clear I was living and he was not. The sensation still gives me chills.

The setting for the dream was in the house my parents were living when my father passed. My mom, sister and I were at the house when I stepped to the garage grab a cigarette and smoke (it was a nasty habit I had at the time).

When I entered the garage, my dad was there. I gave him a big hug. I felt a calm and peace that I have not felt since. In the garage, we talked about a lot of things while smoking. It was amazing. Imagine getting a

chance to spend a few more moments with someone you love after they pass.

At the end of our meeting, I asked him if he wanted to come inside and see my mom and sister. He looked at me and said “They aren’t ready to see me yet.” I was disappointed by his answer as I knew my mom and sister missed my dad as much as I did. I still don’t understand this part of the dream.

If the dream ended here, it would have been an amazing experience. But it didn’t end there. As we said our goodbyes, I asked my dad “When you die, do you get the answers to the questions?” My father looked at me inquisitively. “What do you mean?” he asked. I explained that I have always wanted to know the answers to many of the questions. Some serious and some not. What came first – the chicken or the egg? Is there a god? Will the Vikings ever win a Super Bowl? Once he understood what I was asking, my father looked at me and said, “The answers are within you, always”. And then he was gone.

I’ve spent the last 25+ years wrestling with his statement. Perhaps it means nothing and was just a dream. However, what if my dad was spot on? What if, we always have the answers within us? Does this mean that to have more success, you need a better questions?

I’ll end here, if the answers are within, asking better and empowering questions will lead to better and empowering answers.

One last thing, mark down 2026…that’s when the Vikings will win the Super Bowl.

Day 29 of Gratitude Challenge

“But there’s a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother’s story, because hers is where yours begin.” – Mitch Albom

Those that know me, know this topic is a bit more complex for me than others. Though I am unbelievably grateful for my birth mother, this post will focus on my adoptive mother.

The picture above is of my mother long before she ever knew I would be a part of her life. My mother was an amazing woman. While growing up, she was always there for our family. She always put our needs ahead of hers. She did so many things but mostly she made me feel safe and loved. Today, I am grateful for my mother. Take time today to be grateful for your mother. Focus on the good.