You're My Lobster

As you may know, Margaret graduated from college last month. 

We are incredibly proud of her! She persevered despite the pandemic and other challenges, and we are excited for whatever her next chapter holds for her.

A few years ago, she mentioned that her school has a tradition of the graduates carrying mylar balloons during the procession, and that she'd like me to get her a lobster balloon. I haven't been a fan of balloons since learning the harm they do to the environment, but when she told me the balloons are collected and given to kids in the hospital, I felt better about it.

So, for years I've had a reminder on my phone to fulfill her request for a lobster balloon in honor of her brother Jack. They had some inside jokes about lobsters from their early days observing the lobster tank in the grocery store, and wishing that could save them. "You're my PAL!" Jack would say to the lobsters, in a funny voice. And even though Jack and Margaret never had the chance to watch the tv show Friends together, I loved the association that lobsters stick together for life, as in, "You're my lobster." We've always considered Jack to be Margaret's lobster. 

At least 6 months before graduation, I started looking for lobster balloons. 

Her high school and college years were a jumble to me, as I felt torn between being a baby's mom and a teenager's mom, and not always doing well at either. We didn't go on many college visits when she was a junior, and the first two years of college we were so concerned about Covid, I don't feel like we were much of a haven to come home to. I couldn't run down to see her on campus at the spur of the moment if she got lonely or sick,  I did what I could, but everything took so much COORDINATION.

But I could buy a balloon. 

So I scoured ETSY and found two contenders. One was so big I wasn't sure it would float, so naturally I bought a back-up lobster. I purchased a helium tank, not wanting to leave anything to chance. I left sticky notes around the house. LOBSTER? LOBSTER?

By the time we got down to her school the day before graduation, our nerves were fraught. Tim had expectations about the time Margaret would spend with us, and he was annoyed that this didn't match up with her plans. I was fried from arranging dog care for Charlie, packing, getting Andrew out of first grade early, and trying to run interference between Tim and Margaret. I kept checking to make sure I had the balloons. 

Mainly, I believe we felt the unspoken emotional weight of not having gone through any of this with her big brother Jack two years before. As with many families even long after the rawness of grief has subsided, celebrations can include joy and yearning. Both/And.

In her apartment, we inflated the first balloon. 

It was big!

It was gorgeous!

It didn't float.

Our helium tank said it would have enough to inflate two large balloons, so we started to fill our back-up lobster. After it was plump, and full, and floaty, we gave it one extra squirt of helium.

POP!!!!!

It felt like a tightly wound ball of grief in my chest exploded. Hot tears sprang to my eyes as I failed to provide the one thing I had promised Margaret on this day. The one thing I could do, amidst so many things I couldn't. But I didn't just want to give her a lobster balloon. I wanted Jack there for his little sister, as so many brothers were that day. Grown-up sisters and brothers together, who had paved the way and supported each other during adolescence and college, whose photos were already popping up on my phone in celebration. 

In that moment I felt sick and weary of trying to keep forging ahead in whatever life handed us. Again and again and again. Jack was her lobster, and of course the damn lobster popped. I sat quietly on the balcony as Andrew rubbed my arm to comfort me. He may not have understood all the subtext, but young kids certainly relate to the sadness that comes with the sudden pop of a balloon.

Soon, we rallied, because that is what we do. I went to an amazing party store and got what they had left. A giant M, a Margarita for  "Margaret," and a Sponge Bob because she and Jack had watched every episode together. 

We tucked ourselves in early and left the partying to the other parents. 

The next morning, the graduates were up at 5, per tradition, heading to the strip of bars on the corner across from the university. They were a jumble of caps, gowns, champagne bottle, selfies and giant balloons. It was a gorgeous day, and during the ceremony, we were able to spot our beautiful Margaret by the balloons she carried. We listened to an amazing speech about loss and community.

Later, Margaret sent me these photos so I'd know that while her non-floating lobster may have gotten lost somewhere on the way to the procession, he had made it out for some of the early-morning hoopla with the graduates. 

Love you, Margaret!

To Jack's Friends on Graduation

 I was trying write a speech for all graduates this spring, but I kept getting stuck. 

I wondered if it was because I was just too heartbroken to write about graduation, when Jack wouldn't be walking across a stage, collecting awards, and smiling for pictures.

There would be no party.

Then I realized that addressing all graduates, and trying to come up with words of wisdom was too much. How wise am I anyway? I really just wanted to address Jack's friends, the ones who knew him in the flesh. These are the kids who for a while would glance over their shoulders thinking he'd be there. They are the ones who likely can still half-close their eyes at a group gathering and picture Jack as part of the scene amidst the laughter.

To them, Jack is not an idea, a concept, or a cautionary tale.

He's just Jack.


To Jack's Friends on Graduation: 

Congratulations on your big day! We are so very proud of you and all you have accomplished! I'm not saying I couldn't have pictured all of this when you were goofy little kids, but I will say you've come a long way. You are smart, poised, generous and kind. 

You will always have a special place in our hearts, in honor of the place you had in Jack's life, and the big love he felt for you. As we've watched you grow and change, we've pictured Jack alongside you, and although that hurts, it is also healing.

I am so sorry that our family's struggle represented such a shift in your childhoods. You didn't ask for heartache and the harsh reality of death to crash into your lives at such a tender age. It was shocking and scary. It left you feeling vulnerable. I wish we could have spared you.

I am relieved those horrible days and months are far behind us all, but I believe there are fruits that have come from this hardship, things most people don't discover until they are much older, if at all. 

You learned so much.

You learned how to grieve and how to memorialize a loved one. You learned how to support each other and a hurting family in times of crisis. You learned that saying someone's name might feel awkward, but that it is a loving act. You know how to reach out, how to give a hug when all words fail, and how to persevere when life seems scary. I know the people you encounter will be blessed by this. 

You learned how important each person, each life, is to this world, so much so that when he or she is absent, the world feels a little different. Your life is important. You matter. Your presence is valued, valuable, and needed. There will be times when you feel insignificant, hopeless, or alone. You will wonder if you are heading in the right direction, or if anything you do holds meaning. Remember that you don't get your value from what you do, but from who you are, and whose you are. 

You learned to lean on your faith and to see things from an eternal perspective. Yes, you had heard your parents talk about heaven for many years, but now one of your own was there, and it became even more important to live a life that focuses on what's real and what's true, not on the petty concerns of the world. You know that this is NOT the end.

You learned to persevere and to thrive. To trust even though things felt scary. To let yourself laugh and be kids. You saw us persevere as well, and this helped illustrate to you Luke 1:37-- "For Nothing is Impossible with God." Not even a new little baby-- eek!

I know we haven't seen each very often over the years. We were too new at grief to know how to navigate it and how to keep you integrated into our family life. I especially missed you as older brother and sister figures to Margaret, as I know you be if Jack were alive. I didn't know how to articulate what we needed, if I could have even figured it out. Yet you showed up again and again for special events and milestones. You snuck out in the wee hours and hung blue ribbons near our house for Jack's birthdays and crapiversaries. You culled your memories for any stories of Jack you could share with us. 

It would have been far easier to pretend we didn't exist, but you and your families didn't give up on us. You held a space in your life for our joys and our sorrow. We never once doubted that you still love Jack and you love us. THANK YOU!

I've mentioned some things we all learned from Jack's death, but what about from his life? Remember when Jack's Auntie came up with these at his funeral?  They are the way Jack lived, and I believe they are applicable to you today as you head off to college and to new adventures:

Be Kind.
Pay Attention.
Think.
Play.
Never Give Up.
Share Others' Joy.

Friend, we share in your joy today. 

And I know Jack does too. Remember in the Bible where it talks of a great cloud of witnesses cheering you on? Well, please know that wherever you go, you always have someone cheering you on. He's no longer the 12 year old boy you knew, or even the young adults you are now, but a soul with more knowledge, wisdom, joy and perspective than we will be able to get until we are with God. 

He wants the best for you, and so do we!

You have so much to offer the world, and we will watch with pride and anticipation to see how God uses you and your gifts. 

Love, The Donaldsons

Micah 6:8
Joshua 1:9

Thanks to my friend Carolyn, also a bereaved mom, for modeling this letter writing for me. 

Grad Week

Just checking in to you to let you know this would be Jack's graduation week.

So far, we are doing well, even though it hurts. Andrew is keeping me active chasing after him in this intense heat, Margaret is wrapping up sophomore year, and Tim is busy at work. Tomorrow I am hanging out with another bereaved mom whose son should be graduating as well. We feel a strong kinship as we both lost our sons in freak accidents. We have no agenda. Just support and conversation
during Andrew's babysitter time.

photo credit: doriehowell.com

On Sunday, Father's Day, Tim will board a plane for San Diego for work. It will be his first trip there since his trip with Jack to Legoland.

So, we are doing well. But, as always, we appreciate your prayers and support!

Thanks, Loves.

p.s. When Tim gets back, I'm heading to a blog convention in Orlando. If you will be at BlogHer, be sure to say hi! I'm usually the one holding up the wall or looking awkward.

Graduation

Prom and graduation are approaching fast.

It's weird and hard being in the throes of toddler parenting when I thought I would be planning a graduation party and have a house full of teenagers soaking up as much time together as possible before scattering for college.

Tim and I are ragged out and on edge. Interrupted sleep isn't helping. Thank you to An Inch of Gray readers on Facebook for the gentle advice on helping Andrew sleep past 5:12 a.m. We've had a bit of progress this week, but we're still so darn tired. "Andrew liked the, um, bread. You know, the brown kind," Tim says. "Wheat." I reply. We talk about, "that thing" and "that other thing" and do a lot of pointing because our brains are mushy.

But guess what?

Jack and Margaret's high school asked me to be a graduation speaker!

I was overwhelmed with gratitude because that means that Jack is remembered, even 5 1/2 years later. Through Jack's death, the students have learned important lessons about grief and being supportive, and I believe those lessons and their kind hearts will have positive consequences in the world. They didn't think in terms of "Dead kid, how depressing! Let's not drag down our big day by listening to his mother speak." Instead, perhaps they remembered what it was like in 7th grade to have their moms and dads stop, hug them extra tight, and give them a naked glimpse into the fierce love of a parent that goes way beyond grades, achievement, or even likability-- a sacred glimpse brought on by death of a boy just their age somewhere across town.

I thought about the offer for a few days and then declined. Yes, it would have been difficult, but I often surprise myself by doing the next hard thing that comes my way. Speaking is one of my favorite things. However, when I pictured what it would be like to go to the beautiful venue and be surrounded by happy parents and kids I've known forever, but then have to drive away alone, I decided to cut myself some slack and decline.

Sigh.

Would you do me a favor these next few weeks? Would you remember Jack this prom and graduation season? I know it's hard to picture him as an 18 year old, but let's try to do it anyway.

And while he doesn't get to graduate from high school and I don't graduate from missing him, there's still a place for him in the festivities, in our town, our world, and in our lives.

Love never dies.