Hanging in my new office (that tidbit explains my recent absences from the blog-o-sphere) is a photo taken from the most magical vacation my family has experienced in a very long time. The essence of that trip lingers sweetly for all of us. From the time spent with family to the hours spent with our legs dangling from the dock watching the manatees, every second was amazing. Even on the one rainy day; we found ways to be entertained, simply soaking in (I couldn’t resist), the wonders of island life.
Rain is a given on the Gulf Coast. A torrential downpour might last for fifteen minutes, which will be just enough to add a little more humidity to the day. On our vacation, we awoke to one pouring day and knew immediately we would not be making the trek to sit on the beaches that morning. We scoured the local paper and stumbled across a lecture being given by the local Turtle Watch organization. When in Rome! We had already seen manatees, stingrays, hundreds of fish and birds, so why not learn a little more about the famous sea turtles.
Headquarters for the turtle organization was a small brick community center, where many of the volunteers held Thanksgiving dinner together. We learned about turtle lifecycles, breeding behaviors, nesting sites, sizes of species, and what Turtle Watch volunteers do. We were entranced by their daily vigils to walk the shoreline in hopes of finding a true nesting site and not a false crawl (where the sea turtle momma changes her mind). At the conclusion of the informal gathering of eager learners, our heads were swirling.
Buoyed by our new knowledge, we left with renewed “island marching orders” to get up and walk the shoreline scouting for signs a momma turtles had chosen our sector as a suitable nesting site. We were very careful not to interfere with the work of trained and licensed volunteers as sea turtles are very serious business in the state of Florida. Read: do not MESS with a sea turtle!
The remainder of our week at least one member of our entourage would get up early and scour the sand for the tell-tale signs a beautiful turtle had been in our midst. We had given up hope, and almost didn’t go out our last day on the island. My sweetie and I finally convinced ourselves we would be so disappointed if we didn’t go and later learned a nest was created.
We got on our beach clothes and started our trek to the beach – always a good investment in my soul. Truth be known, I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to the beautiful water and its enticing siren call. Within moments of our arrival, we noticed our last minute wishing was about to pay off. The distinct tracks in the sand led to a pit closer to the native grasses. A quick scan of the beach told us, the trained “officials” had already walked their sector and they were waiting for back-up to properly locate and cordon off the nest. As a science teacher and a LOVER of God’s amazing creation I was downright giddy. This was one of the coolest things ever! A quick call to the beach house roused all the other nature lovers in our clan.
For both nests, it took the officials several tries to find the actual nest. Using only their hands, they very carefully dug, providing minimal disturbance to the delicate creatures housed within. Upon locating the actual nest which can be as deep as a couple feet, the Turtle Watch volunteers put up stakes and ropes, with signs imploring others not to disturb. A quiet excitement reverberated among those gathered. Our hearts reminding us, “Shh! Babies are developing!” With so many odds against them, the baby sea turtles would need every well wish proffered. Our quiet morning was goose-bump inducing. Everyone from our family was in awe of God’s beautiful creation at work.
As the researchers completed securing the sight and recording vital data, we wanted to continue to be a “part of the action”; so as a family we chose to adopt the two nests that were laid on our last night on the island. One honored my dad as they came to shore on his actual birthday and the other in memory of Reed who loved everything nature. Our adoption fees came with the knowledge we were helping researchers and volunteers continue to champion for these beautiful sea creatures. We left hoping we would become “parents” to hundreds of hatchlings.
This is the wording we chose (from a list of possibilities) for our plaque at the site.
Advice from a Sea Turtle
Swim with the current
Be a good navigator
Stay calm under pressure
Be well traveled
Think long term
Age gracefully
Spend time at the beach
~AMITW
Sage advice, indeed! Wherever you are today, I hope God’s creation sings to you.
To all our little sea turtle babies (who have hatched by now), may God be with you as you are rocked gently by the beautiful blue waters of my childhood!
This July, we celebrated two relatively unknown holidays. For the rest of the world, our celebration did not create even the tiniest blip on the radar. Yet for two young ladies, Gotcha Day is a huge part of their lives. The background story on this is one that meshes well with our family’s concept of “created family” – friends become “aunts and uncles” and mix in a few “adopted” grandparents and college age sons. God planted amazing people in our midst, including one cousin to my husband. Growing up, they were not that close as he was older than my sweetie, but “Uncle Bryan” as my girls call him has a younger sister who was Daniel’s closest confidante for most of his growing up years.
Uncle Bryan and his wife, Michelle, really impressed us as a young couple. They were and are amazing parents, and ones whom in our earlier years, we hoped to emulate. Our decision wasn’t difficult when we asked them to be Reed’s godparents. They were tops on our list. Along with another set of dear, dear friends, Lorrie and Jay, Bryan and Michelle were Reed’s godparents. All four grieved along with us as we said good-bye to the redheaded sunshine of our world when he passed away at age 12.
All of our other children have incredible godparents, including the younger sister mentioned earlier. A few years ago, Sally was really missing Reed and figured Uncle Bryan was too. At our family reunion, she wandered out to the fish cleaning shack and put forth a proposal. Would you be my godfather too? I am fairly sure that he had no idea that was coming, but he readily agreed to step in and love her the way he had and continues to love Reed. In that one precious moment, Gotcha Day was created.
Fast forward two years and once again; we are at our family reunion, sometimes referred to as Nowatzki-palooza, because of the sheer numbers of us present. During the previous two years, Sal had opportunities to do things with both of her godfathers; conveniently both named “Uncle Bryan” to her. At the reunion, she could not wait to cuddle up with Uncle Bryan and see what was happening in his world. Our family reunions are all-day and well-into-the-night affairs. After Sally gave her good night hugs to those around the campfire, our Sister saddled up next to Uncle Bryan. The two have shared a good repartee of banter from the moment she first got a cell phone. For her grateful daddy, most of his advice centering on boys, making good choices, and encouraging her in sports.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Sister shared with him how much her little sister loves him and how she wished she had that. Sadly, her godparents divorced in her toddlerhood. Watching her brothers interact with their godfathers, she was always wistful for the same. In the middle of the night his heart melted, the man who took on one . . . took on another.
By morning, I learned that Erin had a new godfather with a very familiar sounding name. Uncle Bryan stole her heart, which is hard to do for a teenage girl in a technologically, clambering world. Tears in my eyes, I added another Gotcha Day to the calendar.
Although our Gotcha Days are one day apart, the love shared binds together three hearts, and the driving force behind their creation flows deeply from the heart of one incredible godfather. As a mom, I could not imagine a more wonderful solution. More importantly, I believe a redheaded young man looks down from heaven and smiles that old familiar grin at this arrangement, more than happy to share his godfather.
I’ve never really put much thought into this very real life truism, but men and women are totally different. Maybe some of my obliviousness comes from the fact that for the first ten years of my life my best friends were my brother and my two boy cousins. Oh, I was all girl, but I did a pretty good job of keeping up with the guys. Maybe I was clueless not noticing any major differences in our thinking. They were just my buddies. This trend continued with all my guy friends throughout high school and college.
As I grew up and married the love of my life, I began to realize there really are some distinct differences between our thinking. Honestly, I cringe internally at men bashing when I hear it. Even though there are times when my sweetie drives me crazy, I am EQUALLY sure that is a two-way street.
This summer, an event with my guy taught me a valuable lesson, one I had never before entertained.
Losing a man’s respect is probably the worst thing another man can do.
A very painful experience left my husband disappointed by people. My daddy even noticed it, mentioning it to me in our most recent phone conversation. “He is about the most laid back guy around. This really upset him. I had never seen him worked up like that before.” My dad’s witness came to bear when we were all vacationing together, the coastal Florida life.
It was on our final night on the island a chance encounter happened which restored some of my sweetie’s belief in humanity. With such a large group traveling together, we made most of our meals at the beach house and chose to splurge on a few local hotspots. One of those favorites was dining at a restaurant that sits at the end of a busy city pier. Along the edges of the long walk out to the café are countless fishermen reeling in the evening’s catch.
Shenanigans on the pier.
After enjoying some amazing grouper meals, we began to meander back to the shore. My husband, an avid fisherman and hunter, couldn’t resist asking the locals what was biting. One gentleman was more than happy to visit. Looking back now, I feel that his spot on that pier was divine intervention.
He shared he was hoping for tarpon as it was the season for them, but instead he had snagged a baby shark (which are plentiful on the island). Our kids were now entranced by his every word. Sally asked what he did with the shark. He was an ethical fisherman, and he explained that the two foot shark had a bit down pretty hard and was not able to be saved. Of course, everyone wanted to see the shark.
“Blessed are the curious for they shall have adventure” became a real theme this evening as our littlest peppered him with questions.
What are you going to do with the shark?
I will eat him. I took him; so, now I have to eat him. Some people would throw him back but that isn’t the right thing to do.
Well, how in the world do you cook shark?
After I fillet him, I will make shark nuggets and fry them in some oil. My family and I will enjoy him. I just got back home and this will be a good meal for us.
The entire time this conversation was going on, the gentleman was still fishing on the edges of the illuminated pier. One look at him with the larger than life musculature and military haircut gave me a pretty good idea where he just returned from to get home.
I asked him if he was in the military. In true Southern fashion, an audible “yes ma’am” confirmed what my heart already knew. He explained that he was home after his fourth tour in Iraq. Without skipping a beat, I thanked him for his service, explaining my gratitude was coming from the heart of a veteran’s wife.
Fielding questions on what’s biting didn’t hold the same reverence as embracing a fellow soldier. Putting down his fishing pole and stepping up the higher level of the pier, he stuck out his hand and asked my husband where he had served. A quick exchange of service details emerged, both mutually thanking the other for their willingness to answer freedom’s call.
As we were ready to head on back, the soldier at the pier had one final parting utterance.
Thank you, my brother, for being part of the 1 percent! We are an elite group.*
I don’t know that soldier’s story, but I do know my mine. Joining the Army National Guard as a way to help with paying for college, he was only eighteen years old, the same age as our Boy Wonder, when Uncle Sam needed his help halfway around the world to defend freedom. He served one tour, which he rarely speaks about unless it is to share a story of camaraderie among the troops. His patriotism is unparalleled, and even though he has voluntarily left the military, he would serve again if his country asked him.
His trust broken, just a few weeks previous, left an indelible mark, but the soldier on the pier reminded him and all of us the words honor and duty and respect are alive and well. Real men who embody real ideals met for one brief moment on the edge of a pier; their happenstance encounter restoring some of what had been lost.
We learned in the exchange the fisherman would soon be returning for another tour, and wherever he is we pray that God keeps him safe. And hopefully, he knows how much we appreciate his willingness to be the one percent allowing us all to sleep in peace at night!
God bless my 1%!
*Only one percent of the American population has ever served in active combat.
The Magic of Disney
The Orlando Magic
Those might be the first things that come to mind when seeing the title of today’s blog. While I know quite a bit about the game of basketball, I know zippety-zap other than the existence of the professional basketball team from my home state.
On the former, I still remember my first trip to Disney World. I was older than the park. I was eight, and Disney World was only six years old. It was cold with drizzly rain. We had the park practically to ourselves. In my daddy’s words, “this was back before they had caught on”. Whatever the reason for being one family among the few, we had a great time. Back in those days, you needed coupons for the rides. My mom who is a meticulous saver of memorabilia still has our coupons from that day. When I called my parents to confirm my childhood details matched theirs, my mom shared she still has those coupons. My parents have moved more times than I care to think about since that December 20th date (yep, she recalls the actual date of our attendance), and yet, a piece of our day spent there has survived all the moves. If truth were told, I, too, have a few pieces, Disney World coffee mug and a Bear Country Jamboree patch, from our day. This trip in family lore has lingered on and absolutely could be described as magical. Less because of the theme park, and more due to our family being able to afford to go and enjoy it. At the time, my daddy was a graduate student and assistant coach (neither of which are high paying gigs), and for one day, even if it was less than ideal weather, we treated ourselves. Living life and making memories . . . a true definition of magical.
The hoopsters and the hipsters known as Mickey and Minnie are permanently attached to the moniker “magic”. But for me, my whole definition of the word was transformed at the end of a dock in a marina slip. It was the least likely place in the world to experience true peace, but I wasn’t the only one who found it there.
My sweetie who sadly isn’t always able to vacation with the kids and I laid down the law before we left for Florida for the Boy Wonder’s graduation trip. He sat our party of six down and explained other than boarding the airplane, there would be no, none, zero, zip, zilch, nada, NOT ONE IOTA of stress during this vacation. This was the trip of our dreams and he wasn’t going to allow any of us to sweat the small stuff. To demonstrate he was serious he mock threatened to implement an NCIS reinforcement technique. Despite his size (think football lineman), my sweetie is the gentlest giant among men I know. We were all in giggles when he suggested that any stressing would result in a Leroy Jethro Gibbs head slap. He got his point across although he had no intentions of actually doing it.
He was the leader in the no stress brigade the entire trip. His vision of peace and tranquility came to fruition two minutes (I am not exaggerating here) after we arrived at our beach house. We were unloading some food in the kitchen, when his trained-to-look-for-wildlife eyes zeroed in on a blackish blob in the water behind the property. Curiosity won him over and he went to the dock to check it out. Giddy with excitement because he found what his girl was hoping to find. his discovery held us – all of us – captive all week. Manatees! Not just one or two, but more like six or seven. There were mommas and nursing babies and all other sizes in between. The marina slip despite its mucky appearance must have been a marine mammal smorgasbord, because they were there all week. To say we were captivated would be the understatement of the century.
On the plane down, I told everyone despite growing up in Florida, the one thing I had never seen in the wild was a manatee. Alligators, crocodiles, snakes, sharks, and dolphins, I’ve got them covered, but not manatees. I had even searched for manatee tours, but felt that with Sister on crutches with strict restrictions from the doctor would not enjoy a boat tour at all. We did see some rescued manatees at Sea World, but that really wasn’t what I was hoping to see.
Not the manatees from the dock who were extremely camera shy. These are the rescued ones from Sea World.
The smallest among us at three months old really could take ‘em or leave ‘em (mostly leaving ‘em), but every other member of our party of twelve spent hours at the end of that small dock every day. The rising and lowering tide kept the rhythm of the island as we sat with legs dangling just breathing in God’s majestic beauties. In our tranquil observations, we learned some of their articulations and movements. Even when someone would call for a meal time, those at the water’s edge would wish to linger just a little longer, not wanting to miss one moment.
Inside we had every modern convenience known, and as nice as those were, they didn’t hold a candle to God’s magnificent beach and the manatees in the backyard. We were all mesmerized by their peaceful life below the surface and wishing we could live our lives as freely.
And for one week, we did.
I couldn’t ask for anything more magical than that.
One day this summer, we travelled to Sioux Falls for a monthly event known as First Friday, a downtown business and community revitalization experience. It was a day filled with everything our little town is not: al fresco upscale dining, a thriving music scene on every corner, a pop-up temporary green space, a hipster splash park, and an amazing downtown block party. When perusing one of the boutiques, I stumbled across a pack of greeting cards tucked away in a galvanized tray that captured my heart.
Maybe it has been the nostalgia of learning to let go (things, habits, and basically anything unnecessary and cumbersome in our lives). Maybe it was the journey to find true contentment this year. Maybe the barely perceptible siren song of childhood is being replaced by the deep bass notes of manhood for the Boy Wonder.
Whatever the reason, adventuring and soul-seeking have been our purpose-filled missions this summer. I couldn’t be more pleased with the results.
For a very long time, every moment of our daily lives was filled with sadness, tethered to a day that we all deeply wish we could change. But wishes and regrets keep us locked away – far away – from living. This summer, although encountering its fair share of struggles, has been the polar opposite of what has marked our days for MUCH. TOO. LONG.
Adventuring and soul-seeking,
It all began when we arrived in Florida after a long morning of hurry-up-and-wait, followed by a three hour flight to our first major adventure to kick-off summer. The culminating result was arrival in my home state with three exhausted teenagers and one preteen who can eat more than those other three combined. Feed and water the kids became our battle cry! After retrieving our luggage and rental car, we dashed off to a restaurant which held more than Southern sweet tea and barbeque. God’s blessings of hope and encouragement awaited us as another family paid our bill, asking the waitress to tell us they overheard our heartfelt prayers and were touched by our story. The trip we weren’t sure was going to happen due to Sister’s surgery was ordained with a beautiful beginning.
The message: God wanted us to enjoy our adventure. And in the process, we learned to really search our souls for his presence.
The next day, quite unexpectedly, my sister and brother-in-law’s friend offered us (all 12 of us) some tickets to Sea World. While theme park is not exactly what I would call an adventure, what happened inside that park left me speechless.
We were an eclectic bunch, including a three-month old, a three year old, two grandparents, and one teenager (God bless her heart) who due to a non-ambulatory decree from the orthopedic surgeon was forced to utilize an electric scooter in the park. Pit stops, interruptions, and exceptions to the rule were bound to happen.
The Real MVP of the day. She didn’t complain once.
ANYWAYS, while we were waiting, a gentleman with his family in tow walked up and asked me if we were just entering the park. When I explained we were, he gave us a family pass for jumping to the front of the line for all rides and attractions.
Really God? First, dinner and now a free-pass to avoid all lines. You’ve definitely got my attention.
A little later, another pit stop. Some of our group were huddled under the shade trees by stroller parking while we waited for our own littlest member to be fed. We were entertained by the very adept cookie-stealing squirrel who snuck into a diaper bag and stole an entire Ziploc bag of fresh baked, ooey-gooey chocolate chipped cookies. We were left amazed by his Herculean strength as the bag was about as big as the opportunistic thief. My moral compass really wanted to pen them a letter, lest later in the day they were disappointed in humanity thinking someone stole their cookies and some of their children’s innocence.
Just as I was internally debating my dilemma of “Dear stroller owner . . . “ or let it be, a familiar song began to swirl above my head. Tears filled my eyes. The melodic warbling was one I intimately knew and the desire to have present on this special trip could have only been sent straight from heaven.
I looked up just in time to see the red plumage dash to the entrance of the particular show we had hoped to catch. The cardinal even sensed the need for Sister to use an alternate entrance due to her “ride”. He darted branch to branch as we ascended the winding path to the arena’s seating. Flashes of red were mixed with melodic chirping. He lingered long enough for us to find seats and for him to find a perch.
This song of hope leaked out of my eyes as I quietly thanked God for sending the Reed-y bird while knowing he has the real Reed, tucked safely under his wings in heaven. Had I been more worried about things like blistering heat, crowded walkways, even the note to random strangers, my ears might have missed the sound of beautiful music, which is like a love song – God’s love song – to my momma’s heart.
Blessed are the curious, for they shall find adventure.
The notes of the cardinal blessed my soul with one of God’s unexpected adventures.
We have a joke in our family that one of our children bucked the normal speech patterns of development. Instead of the typical da-da-da-da (which of course brought great delight to my sweetie), this little tyke’s first word was “ball”. He didn’t talk for quite some time, but when he did, the first word he uttered was “baw” which he followed with whipping a Nerf one the whole length of the family room. His message was clear! Even today, the messages sent by my children often stir my soul.
Back in May, our Sister had to have major surgery for her knee which was injured further in the basketball season. Although we should be well equipped in how to handle surgeries (this being number 34 for our children since 2008) and in some ways we are, our whole demeanor that day was one of somber. Our hearts sang melancholy. Joined by our pastor (who travelled three hours to be with us), Daniel, Sister and I gathered pre-surgery to pray as we prepared for the time that for me is like a living hell because once upon a time in a surgical post-operative meeting room I was officially told my son was dead. I hate those stupid, clinical, sterile, devoid-of-life rooms. I often beg the doctors to just tell us the news in the waiting room because at least that is a little more welcoming and comforting.
My heart ached when we received the call from the operating room telling us that our sweet girl would need the greater of the two options (complete ACL reconstruction with donated tissue) to repair the damage. Instead of forty minutes, we were told to strap in for a four hour surgery. How would we tell her that most of what she loved was going to have to be put on hold for a year? How much more would she have to endure? Our entourage of three grabbed a bite to eat, visited, and prayed. Because we had left our home at three in the morning, we were offered a private waiting room so that I could nap while we waited. I sat watching old episodes of Reed’s favorite, The Andy Griffith Show, thinking I would never be able to rest, but the mental anguish and physical exhaustion won because the next thing I knew we were meeting with the surgeon.
When we were finally able to all gather together in her recuperating room, I tried my hardest to put on my bravest face. After a little bit of time, I asked if the doctor or nurses had told her any news. In her grogginess, she had enough wherewithal to be able to read the clock. The tables turned when my not-so-little girl tried to comfort me, “Momma, it’s okay. I saw the clock. I know. I know.” No tears fell from her eyes as I fought to hold mine in. There was no steely strength that could have stopped my floodgates from opening after her next utterance. “Mom, I would like to write to my donor’s family to tell them ‘Thank You’.” Here she lay still under the effects of anesthesia, nauseous and unable to walk, and the first thing she wanted to do was to thank someone. Instead of shedding tears on what wouldn’t be (for her specifically: no basketball), she wanted to give back to a family of a person who gave the ultimate gift: an improved quality of life for her. As the sister of a donor, she was firm in her commitment to acknowledge and honor the gift she received.
It took us a little bit (logistically) to secure the information needed for her to do this, but we are now in the process of getting that letter to the tissue organization that will ultimately deliver the letter to her donor’s family. As a donor family ourselves, we hope her small gesture will bring them comfort. In addition to her sincere thanks, she will share that her ultimate goal is to return to playing sports, something not possible without their generosity, and along the way on her healing journey, she will take a stop as member of the Team MN-DAK delegation to the National Transplant Games in Cleveland, Ohio next summer.
I don’t know that she will ever interact with the donor’s family, but I do know that for the rest of her life, she will carry a little piece of their loved one in her knee, but more importantly in her heart.
Photo done by Inspired Portrait Photography
Special Note: Organ and tissue donation is something near and dear to my heart. Our son, Reed, at 9 years old, told us that he wanted to be a donor. Never did I image three short years later I would be honoring his wishes. Giving the gift of life is the one of the most selfless acts of service a person can choose. If you are interested in becoming a donor, please visit www.donatelife.org and make sure to share your wishes with your family. Over the course of the next year, we will be sharing our Sister’s journey to Cleveland, including ways to support the team.
In a few weeks, our little town will have its annual Crazy Days (which is something akin to a city-wide sidewalk sale). I had never heard of this tradition until my family moved to the Midwest. While the sales are fun to participate in, my personal favorite has always been the kiddie parade. My kiddos have been participating in them since Reed was three years old. Our streak has been a fun one. One year, we had the boys, two neighborhood friends, another friend, and Sister who all wanted to join in the fun. Oh my goodness! Thoughts of “Oh my!” and “How am I ever going to put a theme together for five boys and one tiny girl?” swirled in my head for days.
Cleaning up the toy room one evening, I had an “AHA!” moment. Sitting in the dress up bin were my Papa’s police shirts. My Mama had let me have them because for ethical reasons they could not be donated to a thrift store, should someone have nefarious reasons for purchasing one. Our parade unit would be a tribute to 9/11. Some of the boys were police officers, some were soldiers (uniforms courtesy of my sweetie), and Sister was Lady Liberty!
I can tell you that even though my Papa enjoyed the festivities from heaven, he was extremely proud. Law enforcement runs deeps in my family. My Papa and both my uncles Gene and Donnie were LEO’s. Growing up with a scanner running in the house was just something that happened on the Noles side of my family.
As the granddaughter and niece of police officers and sheriff’s deputies, Sawyer’s invitation to the graduation of the 56th Training Academy by the Chief of the Minnesota State Highway Patrol was a pinch-me moment. I know to him it was an incredible honor as well. We were escorted to and from the event by the lead investigator from our darkest day, and we have considered him our friend for a very long time. Our journey to the Mariucci Arena coming one day after our Sister’s major knee surgery; so, only Sawyer and I were able to travel to the ceremony.
Our lives first crossed paths in a meaningful way when Trooper L came to our home to interview our children about their accounts of the bus crash. I remember his quiet and understanding nature allowing them to tell their memories of the day. I could not imagine the pain he had to feel collecting the stories of the children whom he had worked to help. He offered his phone number and told us we could contact him anytime. His was the number we called when the friend of Reed had a vision of where Reed’s glasses could be found on the bus. And he was the one who reverently returned the small lens back to us.
Our travel time was filled with lots of stories, the kind of catching up old friends do when they haven’t seen each other in a while. It was a beautiful time, another healing moment ordained by God. There were many poignant moments at the ceremony, each causing tears to pool in my eyes. The first being when we were escorted to our seats. The seats were marked with papers saying “Reserved for Dignitaries”. The Boy Wonder and I exchanged glances. Are we really supposed to sit here? Oh, my goodness! Papa, are you seeing this? There were real dignitaries in attendance, but to the troopers we were more than a young man and his mom. Our neighbors in the next seats were a delegation from the Wisconsin State Troopers who were present on a mission of remembrance and appreciation to this class of graduates for honoring their fallen comrade. Their sorrow was palpable, beating in their hearts under their badges. Watching the families, often multi-generations be a part of the badge ceremony moved me to tears, especially the ones who were repurposing a badge that was once worn by a father, grandfather, or great-grandfather. Just like in my own family, the pride of the profession runs deep. The messages given by the speakers were touching, but each of them gave profound advice – use your training to come home safely. When the Chief gave his address, he ended with the words written by my son. He asked Sawyer to stand and shared who “these dignitaries were”, and said he had struggled with how to end this year’s speech . . . until a letter arrived from a young man from Marshall.
The Chief read these words as the closing of his commencement remarks. He began by saying the cadets had chosen a noble profession: one that truly makes a difference. If they ever doubt that, remember the words of Sawyer.
As the bus lay upside down on the highway, it wasn’t strangers that helped get every child off the bus; it was the heroes of my community. The paramedics, firemen, policemen, and state troopers that I had known as my neighbors and members of my community who came to help me and my class mates in our darkest hour. People, who, to this day, I encounter almost on a daily basis, are real heroes. The frigid Minnesota winter afternoon of the crash, these men and women left the warmth of their families and jobs to come and save many lives, including my own. They came expecting nothing in return from those who were on the bus. They simply saw the children they had always known who needed their assistance. Even to this day the humility possessed by these local heroes is astounding. Instead of taking pride in the many lives they saved that night, they take pride in how well I and the other children have been able to recover since the crash. I do not believe that you can become a hero by chance or by simply showing up. Heroes are the people who have a desire to help and make a difference and the compassion to truly be there for those in need. A hero is a person who does what it takes to help those in need regardless of the personal risk or cost.
I couldn’t hold the tears back. The pride bursting forth that we were blessed to have this young man in our lives. The joy barely contained because he had come so far and his life was impacting the lives of others. The honor of being invited to an amazing event left me humbled.
In the final oath of office, the newest troopers standing right before us, I bowed my head and asked God to please keep them safe as they work to serve and protect others. We took the time to congratulate each one, and even more tears accompanied by big smiles when several thanked Sawyer for the words of encouragement. I saved my commencement bulletin; so that it would be a visual reminder to pray for them throughout their careers.
As we were leaving swirling in my thoughts were the core values central to the mission of the Minnesota Highway Patrol: respect, integrity, courage, honor, all the things that we have tried to instill in our young man. The same values his Papa and Grandpa Earl lived by are what his Granpa Junior and Dad model every day. I was overcome with emotion. What a day! One I will never forget. Frankly, this was one of the coolest things I have ever done. If I thought that long ago parade would have made my Papa proud, this day would be the pinnacle of all he embodied. In the wind I could almost hear him whisper, “You done good, Gal. You done good.”
View from the top as we were entering the stadium.
On a flight from Minneapolis to Orlando, the onboard movie kept cutting in and out, much to the frustration of all who were trying to watch it. After many different stops and starts, all viewers were able to finally watch a good chunk of the movie until the pilot announced that it was time for our final descent, thus we would not be able to finish the movie. To hopefully soothe some ruffled feathers, he joyfully announced, “I am sorry ladies and gentlemen that we will be unable to show today’s movie, Dear John, to the end. Let’s just say the boy gets the girl, and they all live happily ever after.” Since I was only half-heartedly watching (or attempting to watch in between praying for my life and squeezing the blood out of my husband’s hand because this was a flight back before Freedom Day), I didn’t care much about the ending, concentrating much more on what survival skills I might need to employ should anything go wrong.
All that energy spent on worrying about nothing. I had already lived through my worst nightmare, and at that point was still daily living with its aftershocks of medications and therapy visits. Sometimes, I look back and wonder why I wasted so much of my energy on all that worrying, often missing the joy of some of the best blessings I have ever received. The greatest of those has been the friends who have come along on our journey and who have loved our family in incredible ways.
One of those dear friends found us through Caring Bridge. She was a two-time survivor of thyroid cancer, a prolific supporter of those battling other illnesses and injuries, a prayer warrior extraordinaire, an avid outdoorswoman, and champion to returning soldiers and their families. Just writing this, I am amazed at all she could accomplish in a day. She befriended our family while Sawyer was still a patient at St. Mary’s hospital in Rochester, a tireless friend and encourager who would daily post our prayer requests on her webpage. Having never met in person, she helped orchestrate for our family to be guests at a Minnesota Twins game. We asked her to join us, because she we really wanted to meet her.
From our first moment together, our kids were smitten with the dynamo, they quickly named their “Auntie Stacy”. Over the years, we had other times we would get together, where she would prove that “auntie” was the perfect title. Very few know this, but it was she who gave us the inspiration for the Reed-A Cheetah program, buying the very first Reed-A Cheetah at the Mall of America’s Build-A-Bear workshop. She encouraged our kiddos’ interests, and even went so far as to ask them to be official photographers of one of the military hunts she helped organize for returning soldiers. Imagine the pride they had at being a part of the official team helping military families.
Shortly, before graduation, I received a message from her saying that she would like to return the favor, by taking pictures at Sawyer’s graduation party. We were ecstatic for such a gift, because we knew our evening would be hustle and bustle. She was so proud of the young man, who called her auntie and for whom she had relentlessly prayed.
Sadly, she wasn’t able to join our party, in the way we had hoped. A couple weeks before our Boy Wonder’s graduation, Auntie Stacy collapsed at work. Although, she was rushed to the hospital, the woman who to all of us was larger than life passed away six days before his big day. Her funeral service was held the day of his commencement, just three hours prior. Due to the distance between our homes, we were unable to attend.
Our hearts were broken. How could this happen? I shared our sadness on Facebook, and another dear friend, who wanted to honor Stacy’s life, stepped up at the last minute to fulfill her wish to photograph our evening. Although her presence was not like the ending of that in-flight movie, tucked quietly into the decorations of his party was one of the photographs our kids took of her on “official” duty. It wasn’t the “happily ever after” moment we would have all wished for. Yet, a love like hers never completely dies, but rather lingers forever, because once upon a time, my children were loved by Auntie Stacy.
Just one of the puppies Auntie Stacy arranged to be given to returning soldiers. She was a dynamo in life and will be missed!
*Special note: The Reed-A-Cheetah program is our family’s way of giving back to the hospital where Reed died. The Reed Stevens Legacy program is available at the Avera McKennan hospital in Sioux Falls, SD. A stuffed cheetah is given to the surviving siblings of any child who passes away at that medical facility. The cheetah (which was Reed’s favorite animal) is extremely rare in nature and so, too are the relationships that siblings share with each other. The cheetahs symbolize three children in Minnesota who understand what it is like to lose a special sibling.
It all started at Easter dinner. We live hundreds of miles away from our parents and siblings; so we have created our own version of family. “Bloom where you are planted” is somewhat of a driving force behind our merry band of friends we call family. After celebrating the wonder and amazement of the significance of our Savior’s resurrection, we began what always happens at our table – swapping stories. Our dear friend shared the story of the man who saved his life as a child and how he as an adult he still maintains a relationship with him. The flint was sparked.
Later, Sawyer asked if we would mind if he invited the first responders from the bus crash to his graduation. ALL. OF. THEM. There was something like thirty units that responded; so the number of people had to have been in the hundreds. Without batting an eyelash, I told him, “Absolutely, but you will have to understand that they may not be able to attend.” He was okay with that uncertainty. We set out to find the addresses, while he penned a note explaining who he was and how he was doing. He also included a copy of a scholarship essay that he wrote defining a hero. Here is an excerpt from his closing.
“Hero isn’t a word I use lightly. The men and women who bravely serve our country now and in the past have earned that distinction. Standing next to them, are the men and women who show up to help others in their darkest hours. Although, most of these individuals would never consider what they have done as extraordinary, to me, their selfless actions are truly what defines a hero.” (used by permission from Sawyer Stevens)
We really left it at that and went on enjoying the final days of school for all of our children and preparing for his graduation day. When a mysterious letter arrived on official Minnesota Department of the Highway Patrol stationary, my first thought was someone was getting a ticket. Then when I saw the Boy Wonder’s name on it, my thoughts shifted to . . . he better NOT be getting a ticket. I could not have been more shocked when he opened this correspondence. The State Captain congratulated Sawyer on his hard work and achievements, let him know that some troopers would be in attendance at his celebration, and asked him a favor in return: be an honored guest at the upcoming trooper academy graduation.
Sawyer was speechless. I simply cried. My parents had the same reactions as I did while my husband was in Sawyer’s camp. What an honor! A few more letters like that trickled in, but in all honesty, we had no idea how much that simple gesture would mean to others or even to ourselves.
We had worked for weeks prepping our backyard, because (I will be honest) I had a vision of what I wanted it to be. In one word: SPECTACULAR for my son. What I didn’t know was I was dreaming small, and that God had much BIGGER plans.
First, we asked some very dear friends to help serve and even a few more simply volunteered. Everyone saying it was an honor to be asked. We are blessed. For their love and tireless love, we are thankful. Next, my parents came a week early to simply jump in and help. Considering my dad was just a couple weeks away from retiring, this was a huge sacrifice. Next, the other side of our family from North Dakota stepped in and started helping with final preparations. Blessings upon blessings! Then, in the final hours, people all over were praying because as I have mentioned before, I simply felt cheated that we didn’t have this experience with Reed. Grief is an ugly beast, but God’s grace is so much bigger.
Commencement went very well, but our party was looking doomed by the weather. All the hours spent grooming the yard, all the plans made, all the preparations completed were about to be undone by deluge of rain. And rain it did.
I was sad and disappointed, but again, God had much bigger dreams. We eventually made the call to move to our alternative location, our church. Moving all the supplies was a gargantuan task, made lighter by many hands. About an hour before the party was to start, I learned that Sawyer’s letter which had made its way to the news media was going to be featured that night. THAT. NIGHT!
Conducting the interview right before the party began complicated things a bit, and we were overwhelmed to see the number of people who were already waiting in line. Thank goodness we have amazing, take-charge, selfless friends who just took charge of the whole evening. Caught up in some type of time warp, I think I had talked to over a hundred people and thought this party must be close to over, when I realized that only a half hour had lapsed.
Cousins embrace with the long line of folks waiting to see the graduate.
At one point in the evening, we were completely surprised by the arrival of two great aunts and several cousins who had been keeping their arrival a complete surprise. Sister says that the unbridled laughter that erupted from me, upon seeing them was the best part of the party.
Classmates, friends, neighbors, a few teachers, church family, fellow Scouts, 4Hers, and Special Olympians, and first responders just kept filing in. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. Just like every Reed’s Run, I think I got about three bites of food in the entire evening. Thanking each one for coming, and of course, hugging as many as I could was simple incredible.
At one point in the evening, I stepped back and simply observed all the love that filled that room. I had to will myself not to let the tears come pouring out. People wouldn’t understand. The message would be misread. They weren’t tears of sadness. No, honestly they were healing tears of joy! I didn’t expect it, but a flood of soothing healing for my heart came pouring in. A tragedy had intertwined our lives, but tonight we stood together in celebration. Only God could have dreamed that was possible!
All those came in love and support of a pretty amazing young man. That alone was enough to bring tears of joy. It is a beautiful gift to be loved. Many of those in attendance would have shown up two years earlier for Reed’s graduation had he lived beyond the seventh grade, and many had come over the years to Reed’s Run. But this celebration was different. Tonight was pure bliss, nothing bittersweet. Our boy didn’t merely live, he was thriving and touching the lives of many. My Boy Wonder’s small and very sweet gesture provided healing not only for me, but most likely did the same for the last group of people to see Reed alive.
One Easter table conversation, divinely appointed, led to one tiny note which had God-sized dreams written all over it, and for that I am incredibly awed and humbled.
Here is the link to the story about Sawyer’s gesture. A special thanks to Nina Moini and the WCCO news team for this link.
Dear Sister – Today is your day! I can hardly believe it! We have dreamed about this day for a long time. Sweet 16 on your golden birthday. Looking back at all the old photos and recently a few family videos, you have always been something that I really admire: fearless. Some will chalk it up to being the third child behind two rough-n-tumble older brothers. Others will say it is because your dad refused to allow you to wear pink forever and a day. Even others might suggest the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. If they are talking about me, I say pish-posh! I may be tough, but I am definitely not fearless like your warrior daddy.
Notice the blue dress?
I think you are exactly the way God made you to be to look for those in the world who need to be loved, who need to be included, who need a friend, who need someone to speak up for them, and who need a safe place to land. Because in the last sixteen years, I have seen you do these things many different times. Fearless is a part of your DNA.
Watching the video where you ran out of your room, down the hall, through the kitchen and then slid through the dining room was just the icing on the cake of my fearless theory. You didn’t just show us your amazing stunt woman skills once or twice, but over and over. Even after you wiped out once, you got up, shook yourself off and showed us again. Fearless! Totally fearless!
Of course as your not-so-fearless momma, I have cringed more than once when your adventures have gotten you into scrapes (especially the time when you climbed the dog kennel fence, fell down, and had a pebble lodged in your nose until “it festered its way out”). For the record, it took more than a month before the rock came out and equally as long for the scab to go away.
Every word is true. I am NOT making this stuff up.
But what I think very few people know about your fearless heart is that you are not afraid to go your own way, even when no one else is doing it. A quick look at the end of a basketball game, and you will see most of your teammates go and shake the referees’ hands. It wasn’t always that way, but you started doing it in the fourth grade and the trend caught on. Classy, trendsetting and fearless!
Bucking the norm, one year for Halloween, you created your very own superhero: Super Organ Donation Girl. Mostly you wanted to explain and honor the priceless gift your brother gave, but you never once batted an eyelash when adults asked you “What are you?” that evening. Not settling for being like everyone else, even if some people thought it was weird takes courage. And you, my fearless girl, have got that down!
But something about a fearless heart is that others don’t see all that goes on behind the scenes of life. Recently you did something that will forever take my breath away. Coming into the recovery room to finally see you after the agonizing wait during your most recent surgery, we knew the bad news. When we asked if you knew what had occurred, you told us you could see the clock and you knew from the long elapsed timeframe. I braced myself for tears and sadness (which, trust me, you had every right to express), but I could have never prepared myself for what actually happened. You looked me in the eye and asked if you could write your donor’s family a letter thanking them. Most people don’t even think of it, but you knew the gift and you wanted the family to know how much it meant. Your amazing, kind, loving heart wanted to give back even when you were at what some would consider a very low moment in your life. Brave and fearless!
Even though I am not as fearless as you are, one thing we do share in common is our love for children. I used to love to sit outside your bedroom when you played school and would use extra sheets from your own class, completing each page purposefully with mistakes. I would have to stifle my giggles when you would tell one of the dolly pupils “to go back and recheck number 5”. It was adorable and precious and a girl after your momma’s heart. Over the years, you have babysat as many children as you wear the number on your basketball jersey, and to see the love that radiated through them today says that your fearless heart touches the lives of others in immeasurable ways. A precious video wake-up message showed all the love in the world, especially when “Happy Birth-day Erin” was morphed into “Happy Erin”! Later, a specially tailored rendition of the birthday song from a favorite cutie had you grinning from ear to ear. Throughout the morning watching all the surprises for “Happy Birthday” planned as “Happy Mummy Day” because those little girls believe that you will grow up to be a great “mummy” someday . . . melted my heart. And you know what? I agree with them all one hundred percent. They love you, and so do I. Some day you will be a fabulous teacher and an amazing momma (mummy), and probably one who doesn’t let fear stand in her way. Just don’t be surprised one day when you see your daughter climbing the fence and letting go. But who knows? For one millisecond, she might fly just like her momma!
So we wish all these greetings today:
Happy Birthday, Sister!
Happy Golden Birthday (16 on the 16th)!
Happy Sweet 16!
Happy Mummy Day!
or my new personal favorite, Happy Erin!
Soar to great heights, my fearless girl, and don’t ever look back! Because if you do, I might be holding my breath, but know I am cheering you on every step of the way.
Love, Momma
The great cactus birthday cupcake challenge!
Special note: In lieu of birthday presents, Erin has asked for donations be made to one of her favorite charities. http://showhope.org/restore-hope/care-centers/diapers-for-orphans/ Wanting to serve in orphanages in Haiti, China, and some day Uganda – oh, the love my girl will leave in her path.
kandynolesstevens 