My in-laws home was so much more than just any-old-house.
Designed and built by my father-in-law, Bill, their retirement home rests upon over 50 acres of land on the banks of Lake Mattamuskeet, a National Wildlife Refuge found 30 miles from the nearest stop light.
The land is full of migratory birds, black bears, and deer, to name a few. Rich, black soil supports vibrant family-owned farmland as far as the eye can see.
My mother-in-law, Betty, grew up in her grandmother’s house next door. They didn’t have electricity until she was 12 years old and used a horse before they purchased a car.
Bill was raised with his large family across the Lake. Ten years apart in age, they met shortly after Betty graduated from high school and the rest is history.
They moved to Chesapeake, VA to give their four children more opportunities and moved right back to retire in Fairfield the second my husband graduated high school more than 30 years ago.
Bill passed away in the home when our oldest, Aurora, was only 4 months old. Betty has remained, ever since.
Yes, this house and its land was so much more than any-old home.
It’s where our little family spent every single Easter and Thanksgiving.
This is where our girls picked figs, peaches and pears in the Summer and grapes, apples and pecans in the Fall.
This is where they learned to ride a 3-wheeler, shoot a gun, and befriend a domesticated deer named Jane Doe.
This is the place my children bottle fed lambs and calves, where we roasted oysters over open fire and dyed easter eggs.
Fairfield Methodist Church is where all four of our girls were baptized. It’s where they listened to their Granny play the piano and received treats for the children’s sermon.
When I close my eyes, I feel the soft wind brush my hair. The air is filled with the scent of ripe figs so visceral, I can taste them. I hear the crunch of the pecan hulls underneath my feet and soak in the stunning sunset over the pier my husband built in the lake.
Yes, this home is more than just any-old-house.
It’s a symphony of senses.
It’s a holder of some of our family’s most precious memories that we will carry with us for a lifetime.
At 88 and 93 years old, this moment has been building for decades and yet much like the arrival of a newborn, I still feel wholly unprepared.
While Emmett’s dad passed away shortly after our eldest was born, his mother has remained a steadfast presence in our family’s life.
Home to the great pecan tree where our girls picked up its bountiful offering numbering in the thousands, Fairfield, NC was our family’s escape from the rat race of city life. Fairfield was where we spent every Easter and Thanksgiving. Offering its wide-open spaces and clear, starry skies filled with the ever-present sounds of migratory birds, frogs and the wind, Fairfield felt like home.
Home to the pool, where my dad taught me how-to-swim, my father’s top-floor condo overlooking Towne Point Park and the Elizabeth River, offered expansive views. A docent at the Chrysler Museum for years, my dad’s walls were covered in beautiful and valuable art and yet; the girls cartwheeled through the living room as if it were home.
My dad moved into a long-term care last month and this month, my mother-in-law moves into a nearby senior community providing us the opportunity to see them more often.
Emmett and I are a decade apart and yet here we both are; cleaning out his mom and my dad’s home. Discovering old photographs and letters. Claiming furniture and special mementos.
“You need to tell her. You need to get into your car right now, go over there and tell her.” my husband encouraged.
It was the eve of my birthday. We were on our front porch and I had just read aloud a letter I’d found while cleaning out my father’s condo. Apparently, he had kept a file for each of his children. In mine I found every report card, parent/teacher conference record and a collection of letters.
What a treasure trove of memories this was for me to dive deeply into.
But the one dated December 11, 1987 left me breathless.
If you’ve followed my blog, then you know the story of my beginning. I am the illegitimate love- child of a long-term affair. My parents worked together but no one suspected, not even after I was born. My older sisters, who also worked with my parents, knew me as “Pam’s daughter” but did not learn I was their half-sister until I was three.
My mother was a powerful business woman. She was charismatic, magnetic, and inspiring. She meant much to many across the entire country but it was me, who wanted her attention the most.
I spent so many years of my life resentful and angry for the time she’d spent building her career in place of a closer relationship with me. Now that I have a daughter very similar to me, when I was a child, I understand how challenging it must have been to forge that relationship. I didn’t make it easy.
I finished this letter and instantaneously, my anger evaporated leaving nothing but remorse in its wake.
I desperately wanted to call her and tell her how sorry I was for failing to recognize the love she had held for me my entire life. I was so busy focusing on her shortcomings that, as a result, I completely missed her devotion and steadfast love.
My mother advocated for me. She encouraged my father to maintain a relationship with me not just in this letter but in other letters I found in the file: inviting him to conferences, recording my thoughts to him pen-to-paper when I could not yet write.
How could I ever thank her enough for that gift? The gift of the presence of my father?
What if I had found this after her death and had never apologized?
What if my father hadn’t kept these letters for me to one day find?
But he did and she’s still here and my husband willed me to go to her.
I couldn’t get a hold of her until the next day but when she answered, I started by telling her how much I loved her followed immediately by how sorry I was for remaining angry with her for so long. I thanked her for loving me anyway, in spite of my anger. For never giving up on me. Not then and not now.
Lost amidst the busyness of our everyday lives, it came and went as suddenly and normally as weekly groceries, this event I had so built-up in my mind.
For over 13 years, our BOB stroller occupied precious space in our garage. It’s role and value not to be underestimated.
It carried our first, second, third and last-born.
To the park, across the beach, along rugged, rocky trails in Maine, Costa Rica and the Carolinas. This stroller has rolled through airports, water parks and Disney World. Her wheels have traversed through rain, mud, snow and sand and although one daughter, along the way, bucked through the straps breaking them for good, our stroller safely contained each child.
From an infant in Stroller Strides for eight incredible years to an 8 year old’s backpack hitching a ride to-and-from the walking zone of our elementary school, our stroller has never failed us.
And just like that, she was claimed by a new family and gone, yesterday.
She honorably and dutifully served us and now, she rolls on with new rear ends to hold and sidewalks to explore.
We thank her for her loyalty and service and wish her light loads and a gentle retirement.
I spent the better part of my thirties examining my past to better understand my present.
Now in my forties, I feel like I’ve got a solid understanding of how I came to be who I am.
I understand that while I will never be able to fill the gaps for that lonely, lost little girl of my past, I sure can provide my own girls with a solid foundation.
And instead of wallowing in what happened, I can forgive myself for my missteps, buckle up my shoes and keep walking, eyes forward.
My childhood friends and I always mimicked my mom’s “You have a choice, Lauren.” speech. But my mom gets the final laugh because, she was right!
There are always going to be people we’d rather not be around or challenging, unavoidable life events.
We can’t choose those people or those events but we can choose how we handle them.
It’s how we respond that matters.
I have quite a few friends enduring some major life changes this holiday season- deaths of loved ones, divorce and general heartache.
To them and to all of you reading, I reach out my hand to hold yours and to remind you that in this holy season, you can also put those hands together in prayer to ask for God’s help.
You’re not alone.
We never are.
That’s one choice we can’t make.
Wishing you love, peace and joy this holiday season.
Lately, I’ve started to visualize my life as a river.
She’s a real beaut.
Surrounded by tall trees and mountains. She curves through forests, banked by shady trees; winding through cities, carrying on as rapids to more peaceful pastures.
My river began as a stream and has gained confidence and power along the way.
There have been moments when my river stalled. She was curious, exploring a side cove.
Sometimes, she got stuck in a whirlpool.
Round-and-round she went until she forgot not only where she came from but also where she was going.
Finally, a particularly dreadful downpour left her overflowing back to her main stream whereupon she realized, with great relief, that the whirlpool wasn’t her final destination.
The older I get, the more I learn just how important they are.
Setting them, adjusting as needed, and keeping them.
They are important for all relationships, personal and professional.
Marriage, friendships, coworkers and family.
I’ve come to realize I feel most out-of-control when I’ve either failed to set a boundary or neglected to enforce it.
And I had that come-to-Jesus moment just yesterday.
One of my daughter’s spiraling separation anxiety has left me feeling suffocated. Aside from school, she will go very few places without me present- the entire time. Which is why we end up hosting most of her friends at our house and why I stay for her after-school activities.
It’s not her fault. We are seeking multiple avenues of professional help. But it’s exhausting. I’m sure for her, too.
I birthed her and I will stand by her, through thick and thin. She will know that when things get tough, I am walking alongside her through the muck until she is strong enough to wave goodbye and walk alone.
But yesterday, I was upset that I was going to miss my husband’s volleyball tournament so that I could stay for my daughter’s weekly extracurricular. And in my frustration and resentment, I realized that her anxiety was now directly affecting MY life, MY marriage. I was failing to keep my boundary.
So, I explained- you can go to your extracurricular alone or you can miss it and come with me because today, I choose me. I choose my husband. I choose our marriage, which we’ve always stressed comes absolutely first in this family. Without the strength of that bond, the rest collapses.
He didn’t know I had changed plans and cracked a smile as we walked onto the beach.
Was I the only one with tears streaming down my face while watching Inside Out 2 in the theater this morning?
I’m not sure but sitting next to my four daughters, this movie really hit home- particularly in reference to our 12 year-old.
Those who know me personally know how attentive I’ve always been of our daughters’ feelings. As a child who often felt misunderstood, I know how important it is for my girls’ feelings to be validated, seen and explored, instead of ignored.
Spoiler alert: the climax of the movie occurs when the emotion Joy realizes that she can no longer simply dismiss undesirable memories and power forward through main character Riley’s puberty ignorant of the arrival of new emotions anxiety, embarrassment, ennui and envy. The lesson that struck deep in my heart was that there was no turning back to the way things were before. Instead, Joy recognizes her need to include the new emotions in order for Riley to feel secure with her true self. It’s a hard pill to swallow- that we can’t just keep acting like everything is fine and BE fine. That when we try to fight anxiety with denial, it only grows. We must learn to live with, around and through it.
Watching my child struggle with growing up has broken my heart into tiny little pieces. I want to fix it for her; the embarrassment the rejection, the shame she feels. And like Joy, I can’t. I watch helplessly as she struggles, knowing that there’s no other way than through.
And yet, the overwhelming emotion I left that theater with was pure and true gratitude. As hard and ugly as witnessing Aurora’s journey to adulthood is, it’s also such an incredible privilege. I have been given a gift- this opportunity to empower and encourage my child. I walked away with more empathy than ever for my daughter and the desire to hug her as long as she would allow. Forever and ever. Inside out.
New Leaf Parenting 