Rosy Memories

We lost Tim's mom a year and a half after losing our son.  In the midst of deep sorrow, facing her cancer diagnosis was difficult to say the least.  I worried so much for him, fearing it would just be too much too soon.

There would be times I'd think of her but would rarely mention it to my husband, afraid the sadness would cloud a rare good day he might be having.

Over time, we came to speak of Mamaw June again, especially around the holidays and whenever the topic of fried chicken would come up.

My goodness, that woman could cook.  And fried chicken with dumplings was her speciality.

Yesterday a reminder popped on my phone of a memory from exactly six years ago.  On that day she came over and taught me her secret.  We had such a great time that evening in my kitchen.  Watching her frail hands, I imagined how many batches she'd cooked over the years.

Seeing the love pour out of her with each motion, I realized, there truly wasn't a secret to it.  No exotic ingredient she used, just her special touch.

The memories of that day were so precious though, even more so now that she is gone.

Because of that reminder, she was on my mind throughout the day.  I would've never guessed that by the afternoon I'd end up in the apartment complex where she used to live.  Pulling into the parking lot and walking to the breezeway just next to hers, passing her favorite bench, I was flooded with pictures from the past.

One of the sweetest transitions from grief and loss is when a memory brings 

a smile instead of a tear.  

What happened next though gave me me goosebumps.

Talking with the kind lady I was meeting about her flower beds, she mentioned a rose garden in the back of the complex.  She had recently moved there and was happy to have a place to tinker in the yard.  The manager had mentioned to her there was an overgrown rose garden at the back nobody had taken care of for several years.  So she gladly did.  This season was spent digging out the weeds and leaves and pruning all the plants.  Next year she hopes the blooms will return.

That rose garden was June's.  

Aside from being a great cook, June had a green thumb like no other.  She could take a stick, plant it in the ground and something beautiful would grow.  Her favorite flower was the rose so every holiday imaginable, at least one of her boys would buy her a plant.  And thus, the rose garden began.  

It was planted on a hill alongside the "chocolate river," as her grandbabies called it.  We spent many an afternoon swinging or picnicking in her favorite space.

I shared some of those memories with this new friend and her eyes sparkled, as mine became misty.  Upon leaving her house, I opted for the back route, which led me around to the garden mentioned.  

June would've been so pleased with the progress.  

A lot has changed in the past five years.  Time passes on.  Yet I was grateful for the walk down memory lane and the fragrant scent of roses, if only in my mind.

Goosebumps at the Ballpark

Celebrating someone’s birthday once they're gone is a bittersweet and often difficult thing to do.  Your heart doesn’t always feel like rejoicing when it is feeling the weight of the loss.  Especially when it is your child.

Austin’s birthdays have varied since losing him.  The first, after he passed, we spent the day away from the house, just the three of us, and planted a memorial tree in our backyard.  What would’ve been his 16th, we had family over, a gathering just like he always loved.  In other years we’ve sent balloon letters up to him or floated sky lanterns in his memory. Most have been somewhat somber and heavy.

Yesterday was his 6th birthday gone.

I hadn’t planned anything leading up to it, figuring I’d let our emotions dictate what we did to remember him.  And then Tim called one afternoon telling me he’d won tickets to a ballgame.  We both teared up once realizing the date.  July 8th - Austin’s birthday.

Baseball and Austin went together like peanut butter & jelly.  They just fit.  

From the time he was tall enough to hit off a T, a passion was sparked.  Spring to summer our family spent our days (and nights) at the ballpark.  Once he grew old enough to enjoy watching it on TV, he was hooked even more.  Bats and gloves littered my house, so much so that we still keep one of Austin’s bats by our front door.

One of our favorite things to do as a family was go to a minor league ballgame.  At one particular park, they had fans come to the field in between innings to play games.  Without fail, Austin would always get picked. He won pizzas, gift cards, and shirts, including one of his beloved Ts that is now included in a quilt on the back of our couch.

When he passed, it was hard for us to love baseball again.  For awhile, it hurt too much being on the field.  In fact, Noah even stepped away from the sport for a couple years, coming back just in time before he aged out.  Last night, sitting behind the home plate, we all realized again how much we missed it.  The Blairs just need baseball!

As if winning tickets to the game on his birthday weren’t enough of hug, 
as always, our boy came through in very big ways.

The weather report was plain ick for the day, actually calling for hail storms and torrential winds.  I was worried it would be so bad that we couldn’t even drive the hour to the field, as the timing called for it to hit late afternoon.  While at work and driving around, I sent up a little prayer that we might have a rain free evening to enjoy the game and remember Austin.  God delivered big time…

Checking the weather again later, I noticed the 85% chance had disappeared to 0% and the hour by hour only included a very small chance of rain, way into the evening.  Wonderful!  We arrived to sunny skies and high 80s in July – picture perfect.  In fact, it wasn’t until we got home late last night and headed to bed that I heard the rain hit.

Getting to our seats (which were amazing  - 2nd row, right behind the plate), our family was met by the park photographer, offering to take a group shot.  Asking about our shirts, Noah shared his brother’s love for the game.  Before he walked away, the guy tossed him a ball to have as a souvenir.    And later he caught a fan shirt during a toss out.  His big brother was certainly shining down on him.

Settling in with an array of fried goodies on our laps, I look up to another goose bump moment.

For the first pitch, the catcher bent in front of us in a blue jersey with #23 printed in bold white – Austin’s number.  Every year he ever played, #23 was Austin’s jersey and even before he passed it was a special number for our family.  Since he’s been gone he uses it to send us hugs and this was just about one of the best ever.  It was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears.

Such a special moment!

The rest of the night continued to be a home run.  We felt Austin’s spirit with each swirling of dust and ping from the bat.  All of us shared memories and stories of baseball days and family trips to games. Things we loved (and missed) about him.  It truly was a celebration of Austin’s life.

Not a feeling we’re quite used to on this grief journey, but one I’m grateful for.

Happy 20th birthday in Heaven, Bub.  

Thanks for the hugs from above.

A special guest

Thanksgiving marks the beginning of a difficult season for us. 

It was our last holiday with Austin, as he passed away just two days after, in 2008.  This holiday reminds of our great loss, and as the anniversary is so soon after, it forces painful memories of that tragic day as well.  We get through these times because we're surrounded with family who love and support us.

The past few years I began cooking Thanksgiving dinner.  It began because my husband's mom became to ill to tackle the task.  Last year, we decided to combine our families and I prepared one gigantic feast.  My husband's mom and brothers came, as well as my mom, sisters, and all their kids.  It was a large crowd but comforting to have so many family members with us.

This year, we again are planning to invite our families but have included my grandmother and father's side as well.  Grandma hasn't really been able to cook a large meal for a couple of years and so she seemed eager to spend the holiday with us.  My mom's health is also suffering this year and she faces back surgery just a few days later.  It brings me pleasure to give back to them just by making Thanksgiving dinner, even if it means I'll be cooking for two days in preparation!

As I was planning out the menu and shopping list today, I paused to count the invitation list so I would know how much to buy for.  As I'm counting family groups, my heart always feels a tug when I have to now think "3" for us, instead of the four we've been used to for so long.  When I reached the final number, goosebumps scattered across my arms.  It was 23...

23 was Austin's baseball number.  It's been on the back of his jersey since he was old enough to hit off a tee.  23 has always reminded of us Austin, even more now that's he's gone.  He's used the number so many times to send us messages, I believe, just to remind us that's always here with us.  The fact that our family, all added together, equalled 23 was yet another reminder of his love.  While we will all long to have him here... to see his smiling face running to answer the door as each guest arrives...to hear that big boisterous laugh fill our room...and to feel those amazing bear hugs he was so famous for...this message from above wraps us all with his love and reminds us his presence is always near when we're gathered.


(You can read more of the history of #23 at his memorial blog...  "Austin's legacy" )