It is June Again.....

Saturday was wonderful. My Mom and I traveled to Cumberland, MD to watch my son Todd as he competed in the Mid-Atlantic Regional Ironworker Apprentice Competition. It was a 450 mile round trip; however, it was worth every minute we spent on the road. I spent the day with Todd, Colleen, twins Kelsey and Owen, and baby Kieran Mark. It was a sweltering hot and humid day, which is normal for June in Maryland.

It was easy to spot Todd in the crowd because he is many inches taller than the other contestants are. Todd is 6'4" and weighs over 200 lbs. He is as hard as steel. As I watched him going from event to event, I did so with awe. Todd is an amazing, accomplished Journeyman Iron Worker. He received this honor the Wednesday before the competition. Todd has spent the last two years working on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, dangling 100's of feet in the air walking on narrow steel girders.

My Mom and I enjoyed chatting with Colleen and the kids. Kieran is so happy and "mellow." He went to me with a huge smile, almost as though he recognized me. This was impossible because I have only seen Kieran once in his short life, which was a few weeks after he was born. Kelsey flitted around all day like a butterfly only stopping occasionally to eat or to draw on the cement with sandstone. She was a constant picture of elegant movement. Owen has perfected the art of conversation. I sat with him as he explained that when he grew up he wanted to be a professional snowboarder, or a scientist. Once he found a small stick and performed like Zorro. For a few short hours, I was in heaven even though I was steamy hot from the weather. I was with my son and his children.

It is June again. June means that another year has past since the death of my oldest child Mark. Mark was nine. Thirty-two Junes have passed since that fateful day, June 15, 1978. Todd is just a few months younger than I was when Mark died. I was 30. Todd will be 30 the first day of December. Kelsey and Owen are nine, the same age as Mark when he died. Only seventeen days separate Kelsey and Owens birthday from that of Mark's.

Mark died a generation ago. I look back and I still feel amazed that I survived Mark's death. I felt certain that I never would. I felt the pain of grief would cause me to fall dead in my tracts. At times, I prayed that God would take me from this earth.

Today, a generation later, I can honestly say God knew what he was doing by allowing me to live. If I had died from my grief, I would have never experienced Kelsey, Owen, Kieran Mark, Addy, Kaelyn and Maya.

If I had died, I would never have experienced Saturday, June 5, 2010 with Todd. Thank you, Todd. This June and every June forward, instead of agonizing over Marks death anniversary, I have June 5, 2010. "A day that will go down in infamy" as one of the very best days I have ever lived, truly one of the very, very best. To you, it was a competition. To me, it was day filled with awe, wonder and complete astonishment. In you, my Mother's heart nearly burst with pride. I can forever say my son Todd is a Journeyman Ironworker, one of the few, and certainly to me, the very finest.

Todd because of you, I will forever look forward to June. You my dear, have changed my life forever

Happy Birthday, Mark. Today, You are 41.....

Death is nothing at all I have only slipped away into the next room I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other that we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me, Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

Let it be spoken without effort, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolutely unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you for an interval somewhere very near just around the corner.

All is well.

Canon Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)

The Three Marks' Of Our Family...

Mark was only nine years old when he went to Heaven.

Our family misses him beyond measure.

However, Mark will always be remembered.

Two wonderful members of our family honor his name.

Mark Richard is alive in them.

Thank you, dear Todd, my youngest son.

Thank you, dear Dani, my sweet niece.

Kieran Mark Allen is Marks nephew.

Mark Rogers is Mark's second cousin.

Ivy....

I am now Gma, to another sweet girl. She was welcomed into our family yesterday about 2:00PM EST. She has beautiful brown eyes, and sports a beautiful fur coat. On Christmas Eve, she was adopted and saved from a terrible fate. She is between 7 months, and 18 months old. The girls are ecstatic with their new little addition. Jason can firmly state, he is definitely the head of household of a family of girls.

Welcome Ivy, I can hardly wait to meet you.

Ave Maria...

Ave Maria is my favorite Christmas song. The reason is clear from my last post. Of every artist of which I could have chosen, why did I pick this one? I picked Celtic Woman because, this is the closest one to Wendy's young voice. Yes, my sweet daughter has a classically trained angelic soprano voice.

By the time she was age twelve. Wendy was singing in French, Italian, German, and English. She used to practice everyday standing in the kitchen while I fixed dinner. So, everyday I fixed dinner listening to the sweetest voice I have ever known. Wendy continued voice training until she finished college. My fondest memory, cooking dinner while going to the Metropolitain. I remember peeling potatoes with my back turned to the sink, while tears streamed into the sink. I remember grabbing the sink with both hands to steady myself when she would hit a high C, E, and yes, A.

Wendy had many songs in her repertoire, but O Holy Night and Ave Maria were my favorite. After all, they are as close to any angelic song, which could have been sung that evening long ago announcing the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem.

Wendy's voice was as clear as any angel. Although, I am her Mother. Wendy and I would travel to nursing homes where I would play the piano and she would sing, bringing tears to those in the attendance. Not only to the residents, but also the staff. I would look for any venue in which Wendy could practice singing to an audience. In the beginning she was very shy and for her this would be a difficult task. The first time she sang O Holy Night in church, she trembled. Yet, even though she was nervous with stage fright, and also by the large quite critical audience, she never missed a note.

Until Wendy finished college and became a working adult, she and I would favor certain neighbors with her beautiful voice as we Christmas caroled. I should say she would sing, and I would listen. I only rang in on the last verse of We Wish You A Merry Christmas. In thinking back, I often wonder how she sang so beautifully, bundled up on such cold winter evenings. I never questioned then, although now I am a amazed.

I have such fond memories of Christmas past shared with my only daughter, my dear, darling Wendy.

The Infants....

Every time I look at a newborn baby, I am amazed. The wonder of it all has never ceased to amaze me. I was a Labor and Delivery Nurse for many years. I never tired of the birth process. Although as a mother, I have gained great respect for the miracle.

I was expecting my first baby on December 28, 1968. I remember sitting and looking at the Christmas tree thinking, how in the world did Mary do this? How did she travel on a donkey to Bethlehem? I could hardly ride in a car comfortably.

Then I realized on January 6, 1969, Three Kings Day, how she did it. I became a Mother on this date. We celebrate this official date as the day the Thee Kings arrived at the stable to worship their King. Mary gave birth to her infant in exactly the same way I did. Although the time was different, the place different... the birth process was the same.

I gave birth to my first-born son in a hospital. I swaddled him in a clean white blanket. Mary gave birth to her first-born son, our Lord and Savior, in a stable. She swaddled him in swaddling clothes. I am not comparing myself to the Mother of Jesus. I am simply comparing myself to another Mother who was delighted and happy with her newborn infant. Everything that she suffered to deliver him was worth it. I feel the same way. Everything I suffered was worth it.

Mary and I only have three things in common. We both love her son, Jesus. Mary was Mother to our Redeemer, the Messiah. I was Mother to a little red haired baby boy, named Mark. We both gave birth to sons as our first-born children. We both watched as our wonderful sons, died. We felt more pain at their death, than anything we ever suffered at their birth.

Mary suffered as she cared for her dead son in the tomb. She did not understand that He would rise again. For three days, she wailed and sobbed thinking her son was lost to her forever. Then on the third day, she watched as He rose from death. I never had to suffer for three days thinking my son was lost to me forever. I knew from the moment of his death our separation was only temporary.

Oh sweet Mary, I love you so. Thank you for riding on a donkey, for giving birth in a stable, and for crying at the cross of Jesus, for it is through your pain and through your Son, that my son will live again.