It was 20 years ago today that the phone rang on a Saturday afternoon as I hosted Saturday by Request at the radio station. It was my dad calling to tell me with trembling voice that my mom had died quite suddenly and unexpectedly just a few short minutes before. . . at the age of 58. My sister Randi said it very well in an email to me this morning- in some ways it feels like yesterday and in some ways it feels like a hundred years ago.
You could tell it was an uncommon day when I signed on to my email this morning and found emails from both Steve and Randi (I suspect that Nathan would have emailed as well if he had an email account) plus a lovely email from Marshall as well. But otherwise, this was a very quiet and private milestone for me- unlike the 15th anniversary of her death, for which I organized a memorial concert at Luther Valley which involved the whole family, Caritas, and my then voice student / now friend Trevor Parker. This time I just didn’t feel any inclination to do anything like that- the closest I came to any sort of public tribute to her was when I made mention of the occasion during today’s Music Potpourri, when I elected to play over the air (and dedicated to her memory) the same piece of music which I played in her memory twenty years ago: Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. Otherwise, it ended up being a quiet and relatively simple day which allowed me plenty of time to remember my mom and to grab hold of some of my most precious memories of her, even as I was standing in line at the post office or sitting in the barber chair or walking the aisles of the grocery store or listening to tonight’s sermon.
Only now as I reflect back on the day am I realizing – perhaps for the first time – that I spent almost no time today thinking about my mom’s death. . . but rather spent the day thinking about her life. And I am so grateful – as are my siblings, I’m sure – that my mom was such a vibrant person and impossible to forget. In our mind’s eye we can still hear her voice and her laugh . . . we can still feel her hugs . . . we can still see her brilliant smile . . . and we can still sense her love. And all of this is true despite the fact that she has been gone from our lives for twenty years. That’s a long time. That’s long enough for someone to be born, live out their childhood, graduate from high school, and be halfway through college. That’s long enough for Bush Sr, Clinton and Bush Jr., and on to president-elect Obama. That’s long enough for the emergence of the personal computer, the world wide web, and DVD’s. That’s long enough for me to meet Kathy, date her for several years, and be married to her for seventeen years. That’s long enough for Randi and Matt to have three children and for Steve and Scott to adopt Henry. My mom has missed all of that – or maybe it’s better to say that we have missed her through all of that. . . and yet I also feel like she has been part of this, and not in a looking-down-from-the-clouds sort of way, but more that she remains so vividly in our hearts. In these words from my song “Your Music” :
You live on in the hearts of all the children you have touched. . . You live on in the hearts of all who miss you o so much. . .
pictured: My sister Randi’s wedding day: September 13, 1988 – Two and a half months later, my mom was gone.
for more about my mom, you can look at my blog entry on May 13th, 2007 – titled “Missing my Mom.” It’s the longest entry I’ve written in the twenty months that I’ve done this blog.