Monthly Archives: October 2014

I got he call yesterday morning from my cousin Sarah.

“Uncle Duane died at 6:30 this morning.”

The news did not come as a surprise but it still felt like a blow to my heart.

Back in February 2013, our family had taken a whirlwind trip to PA to say goodbye to Uncle Duane, as he was given just a short time to live. (I wrote about that here.).

True to form, he survived for 20 more months. Tough to the end.

I had the chance to see him two more times since that day.

Last October, my brother and I made a trip to Pittsburgh and we were thrilled to be able to spend a day with Uncle Duane. We told him we would take him anywhere he wanted to go. He listed several places and as we traveled around town, he repeatedly apologized for “being a bother.”

We assured him many times that this was not a bother for us, but a joy.

And we meant it. Because it was.

Here is a photo that my brother snapped as we walked through Walmart on my way to pick up a new laptop for Duane because he was particularly interested in “joining the Facebook.” He was 87 years old. You gotta love that. 🙂

Later, Jeff spent nearly two hours setting up a Facebook profile for Uncle Duane and explaining how it all works. He would then receive several phone calls over the next few months with more questions. He never posted a status but he did enjoy getting to see the photos of all his nieces and nephews who he loved so much.

The last time I saw him was in August. He didn’t want me to take his photo because he looked so very frail, so I honored his wishes. Before we went back to New England, my mom and I stopped in to see him at the retirement home where he briefly lived. He was sound asleep and looked so peaceful that we didn’t want to disturb him. So I wrote him a note saying goodbye and said I would call him soon.

He was quite unhappy with us and said he should have awakened him.

I spoke to him several times in his last few months. His health declined rapidly and he spent much time in the hospital. When it became clear that he could no longer live in the retirement home, he was moved to a nursing home. He sounded progressively weaker each time I spoke to him.

Our last conversation was just a couple of weeks ago.  He was comfortably settled in his nursing home room and sounded fairly good, but very tired. I filled him in on all the latest family news, which he was always eager to hear.

As the conversation wound down, he said, “I know that I’m on my way out, Sue. My days are numbered.”

“Well, you’ve had a good, long life, Uncle Duane. I am so glad you are still here, and I am going to miss you terribly when that day comes.”

He agreed that his life had been a good one. Then, “I’m ready to go and see Jesus.”

“I know you are.” Tears filled my eyes at this point. “And my dad is going to be awfully happy to see you again.” I tried to keep my voice light. “Be sure to say hi to him for me.”

“Oh, I surely will.”

I told him I would let him go so he could get some rest and then I said, “I love you very much, Uncle Duane.”

“Well, the feeling is mutual.”

Classic Uncle Duane. My dad’s side of the family loves deeply but saying the words has never come easy to any of them.

There is a void in my life today. I have had my uncle in my life for nearly 50 years. He has always been there for me in so many ways.

I think that when it will hit me the most that he is gone is when the phone doesn’t ring at 12:01 on New Year’s Eve. For as long as I can remember, he called at that exact time every year so that he could be the first to wish us a happy new year.

The phone will be silent this year at that time but we will all be thinking of him and the fact that he is Home and whole and full of joy in the presence of his Savior.

Rest in peace, Uncle Duane.

You were so loved.

My husband and I took a road trip this past weekend to visit our son at his college.

It had been the middle of August since we had dropped him off to begin his new life in another state.

Now, summer had melted away into the brilliance of fall. It was a new season.

In more ways than one.

My first thought when I saw Josh was, “He is taller!” I had to reach up higher to hug him than I did in August.

My second thought was, “He looks older. He looks like an ADULT for crying out loud!”

And of course, he is an adult.

Then, “He looks tired.”

We never stop being mothers, do we?

We had picked him up to take him out to dinner with Doug’s best friend Mike. Mike is a writer like Josh aspires to be and Josh was anxious to meet him. (They had met a few times before but Josh was a kid. This would be their first meeting as adults).

As we pulled away from the dorm, that is when I began to realize that just like the season had changed from summer to autumn, so our parenting season has changed.

I wasn’t prepared for the fact that our son felt like a stranger.

Not a complete stranger, of course, but there was definitely a certain awkwardness that I wasn’t expecting.

He had been on his own for over two months. We were no longer part of each other’s daily lives and text updates don’t tell much of a story.

So much life had happened since the last time we saw him in person and how does one get caught up on all that?

So began that delicate dance that exists between parents and their adult children.

Doug and I had an understanding for this trip: we were simply going to take what Josh gave us. We were not going to pry. We were not going to ask a million questions. We would not give advice. We would let him set the pace.

At first, the pace was slow. He didn’t say much, just looked out the window at the passing cityscape and said he was looking forward to getting out the city for awhile.

I began to fill him in on all the happenings in our small town. He smiled in amusement, made a few comments. Then more silence.

“What is happening?” I asked myself.

Gradually, the conversation increased and Josh became more talkative.

We got to the restaurant and before we ordered our food, Josh leaned over, and put his head against mine like he used to do. It was just a single, very brief moment but it made all the difference to me. My heart smiled.

Somewhere in that man-child, my little boy still lives. 🙂

Doug and I were thrilled to see Josh and Mike instantly connecting, talking about the joys and challenges of being a writer.

That was the turning point for the weekend.

For the next two days, the conversation was easy. We fell into an easy rhythm. The initial awkwardness of gone, much to my relief.

The weekend flew by and it was time to say goodbye again.

It will be another two months until we see him again.

It was wonderful to get a glimpse into his life at school and into the man that he is becoming.

On the way home, I read an article that a friend had posted on Facebook. It was written by a mom who was explaining why she homeschools her children.

I found myself smiling as I read her article because I could relate.

How grateful I am for those years!

Wherever life takes me or my kids,  there was a time when we spent hours and days and years together. Was everything perfect? Absolutely not. But it is a time in our lives that no one can take away.

And the memories only become sweeter to me as the years go by.