Our kids were never good at sleepovers or sleepaway camps. I was reminded of this several times over the last few days with a wonderful 48 hours where all three girls were here at the farm at the same time for the first time since January. While there have been periods of sadness we have also shared a lot of wonderful and joyful childhood memories. Our farm is a place that cousins and friends loved to visit. My cousin’s daughter told me during a ride on the four-wheeler “If I lived here I would never be bored.” While that is not true, one area of peace for me is knowing that the choices and financial sacrifices Chuck and I made to raise our girls in a rural setting among family were exactly right. However, we had many aborted sleepovers at other kids’ houses and many tortured homesick calls from camp. My mom finally offered a theory: We had made home (or the farm) just too darn much fun. They didn’t want to leave. She had a point.
As other parents know, we walk a careful balance between wanting our children to feel completely loved and secure at home and also in nurturing their independence, and in wanting them to walk confidently into the world. Chuck and I were just beginning to experience the empty nest when COVID hit and our nest was full again. And now I am empty-nesting myself and very proud of the independence the girls are showing despite our loss. My mom still lives in the house my parents bought when my mom was pregnant with me, and there are still moments when I head over there for the comfort of home and childhood. But building lives from the foundation of “home” - whether that is a singular place or simply the security of knowing unconditional love from your parents - is our most important role as parents.
In my morning reflection the other day this concept occurred to me in relation to grief and death. I won’t quote exactly but the concept was that one critical element in moving from overwhelming deep grief to acceptance was in gaining trust that your loved one is in a ‘better place.’ As a practicing Catholic, I believe in the concept of heaven and I have already written of my sense that Chuck is out there somewhere and his presence is made known to me at important times. But I realized that just as my children found most sleepaway camps lacking in comparison to home, it has been hard for me to accept that Chuck could be anywhere that he loves more than this farm with us. Really hard. It is the combination of how fiercely I know he loved his daughters and felt he was leaving them too soon. And his deep love, that was complicated which perhaps made it all the more striking, for this place. And yes, his love and devotion to me. Conjuring an emotion deeper than that type of love & commitment requires faith. Convincing my brain and my heart that there is such a place for Chuck is hard to fathom.
But I also remember some long days and nights when the girls were at an age when sleeping away at camp seemed to me to be an absolute necessity for their healthy emotional growth. And some of those days and nights for each of those girls it was hard. I have some vivid memories of how my stomach physically ached when the phone rang and it was the camp. Or them. And of the sheer willpower it took to make them stay wherever they were - the girls and I had a loving discussion this week that I was always the rule and schedule enforcer. Chuck and I had that conversation a lot too - he just could not do it. I realized during this reflection that the physical ache during those calls, while more fleeting, felt a lot like the physical pains of grief. I also realized that when people externally see me as ‘strong’ or ‘doing well’ they are likely seeing the same muscles I exercised in those calls. Doing what I knew to be right for our daughters, even though it was excruciatingly hard in the moment.
This parallelism brought me comfort. It did not reveal an instant acceptance in my heart that, yes!, there is an oasis where Chuck
is happier, loved more, and more at peace - or whatever the right superlatives are than here on the farm with us. But, I did survive those camp calls. My stomach did not actually rip open and pour its contents out - either then, or now. Our girls are on a path to independence & full lives built on a foundation of love that also has a beautiful, physical oasis to recharge when the comfort of home is needed. So, maybe, just maybe the same is true for Chuck and at some point, my stomach and I will come to believe it.
Wonderful post, Jane.
Your posts are real and true to life Jane. Thank you for your honesty and for sharing these times of your life with Chuck and your daughters 👏👏🙏🙏