Ten months ago, I shared a story of a woman named Megan and her mother Nancy. You can follow this link to get to that story.
About a week ago, Nancy died peacefully in a nursing home in Overland Park, Kansas. She is survived by one son, James III (Casey), and three daughters Michaela, Jenny, and Kelly and a slew of grandchildren. She was preceded in death by her husband James, Jr. (Jim), and daughter Megan.
Nancy came to Marie and my wedding in Colorado. I wrote this in the last entry:
Megan’s mom came to Colorado for our wedding. During the dance at the reception, I thanked her for coming. And I told her that I am a better man, and will be a better husband, for having known her daughter.
Days like this, I feel sad, and a little depressed. It's gray, it's cold, it's sharp outside. Inside Marie is recovering from surgery and pneumonia and I'm recovering from bronchitis. It's been a tough year, tougher than the year before. And it's probably going to be tough next year too. So I feel overwhelmed.
Still, I think that I am more overwhelmed by an equal measure of promise and un-experienced promise. I am blessed, and I am tired. I have given, but being blessed still more is expected. I rejoice in what I have received, and regret what I have not yet accomplished.
Maybe that's not so bad, without the overwhelming stuff going on. Because when "overwhelm" takes over, then the blessings tarnish and the un-experienced promise is a burden not its own blessing.
Megan's sister Jenny came to our wedding too. She caught the bouquet. She's the one who talked me into seeing "Harold and Maude." If you've never seen it, go, it's a fine movie and her favorite. To say the least, I had no idea what to expect when I went. Still, there is a theme of a cusp of old life and new discovery that is glorious. But this discovery is not without its own pain and misery.
Nancy, go with God. God be with your children and grandchildren. Thank you for the gift of your love and your daughter.
So now I leave you with Cat Stevens' "Trouble" from "Harold and Maude."
About a week ago, Nancy died peacefully in a nursing home in Overland Park, Kansas. She is survived by one son, James III (Casey), and three daughters Michaela, Jenny, and Kelly and a slew of grandchildren. She was preceded in death by her husband James, Jr. (Jim), and daughter Megan.
Nancy came to Marie and my wedding in Colorado. I wrote this in the last entry:
Megan’s mom came to Colorado for our wedding. During the dance at the reception, I thanked her for coming. And I told her that I am a better man, and will be a better husband, for having known her daughter.
Days like this, I feel sad, and a little depressed. It's gray, it's cold, it's sharp outside. Inside Marie is recovering from surgery and pneumonia and I'm recovering from bronchitis. It's been a tough year, tougher than the year before. And it's probably going to be tough next year too. So I feel overwhelmed.
Still, I think that I am more overwhelmed by an equal measure of promise and un-experienced promise. I am blessed, and I am tired. I have given, but being blessed still more is expected. I rejoice in what I have received, and regret what I have not yet accomplished.
Maybe that's not so bad, without the overwhelming stuff going on. Because when "overwhelm" takes over, then the blessings tarnish and the un-experienced promise is a burden not its own blessing.
Megan's sister Jenny came to our wedding too. She caught the bouquet. She's the one who talked me into seeing "Harold and Maude." If you've never seen it, go, it's a fine movie and her favorite. To say the least, I had no idea what to expect when I went. Still, there is a theme of a cusp of old life and new discovery that is glorious. But this discovery is not without its own pain and misery.
Nancy, go with God. God be with your children and grandchildren. Thank you for the gift of your love and your daughter.
So now I leave you with Cat Stevens' "Trouble" from "Harold and Maude."
As sad as this scene is, I don't wonder if it doesn't also show what it looks like to make a difficult transition, even if it's on the banjo.
