hospital with me,
since Brian was out of town.
When Brian’s
father died, Anthony went with him to the lake house to clear out some of his
things.
And when I fell
apart for those few, dark weeks after Brian’s death, Bee and Amy took turns
staying with me. They would sleep on a small cot Anthony put in my room. I woke
up more than once at night to find myself comforted by my friend.
We were always
there for each other. And we always tried to include each other, and our kids.
We always joked that we each had seven kids—as opposed to the five and two that
we actually had.
When Anthony
took Ant fishing, our kids were often included in those weekends, and vice
versa. Camping trips. Cookouts. Game night.
When we moved
into the neighborhood, that is what I wanted—for me, my kids... my family.
Friendship.
* * *
I was an only child, and I was never
close to my parents. My mom died when I was six, and my father was a cold,
quiet man. When he passed away 12 years later, I felt a loss, but I didn’t feel
lost. I had been on my own for years, so his death just made it formal.
But when I met
Brian, we made our own type of family—one that worked for us. Brian was also an
only child, but he was close to his parents, and when we got married, his
parents welcomed me with open arms. His mother, Lynette, used to joke I was the
child she had always wanted, and she became the mother I never had. Her death
was hard on us all, but Mark, Brian’s father, pushed forward because he knew
what they had. Mark used to tell me all the time that the memories of the good
times he had with his wife kept him warm on a cold night. He held all the
memories close to his heart, and it wasn’t until after he passed that we found
the scrapbooks he made for Brian, the kids, and I.
“J! Looks like
my dad took a scrapbooking class.” Brian came into the house late one evening
after he and Anthony got home. The guys had been up at the lake house cleaning
out Mark’s den.
“What?” I
looked up from the vegetables I was chopping.
Brian brought
in a box filled with books and papers. On top were three beautiful, leather-bound
scrapbooks. I picked one up and opened it. In Mark’s precise handwriting was a
note to Brian and I.
My Dearest Son and Daughter,
First of all, this is
all your mother’s crap. That woman saved everything! Report cards, art projects
(Apparently she thought you were some sort of Picasso, Brian!), trophies, and
pictures. You know me. I would have kept the pictures and thrown most of the
other stuff away. But when your mom died, I realized why she kept it all. For
the memories. The good ones and the bad. I was just going to give you the boxes
she had and tell you to take what you wanted, but then I found her pictures.
See, Mom printed out all the pictures I took! You remember how long it took me
to figure out how to put them on my computer. That damn camera you two got me.
But your mom. She got it. She printed them out and kept them. She put them in a
box with all the old pictures we had of you growing up. Your football games,
your swim meets, your graduation. It was all there. And so I went to the craft
store and this nice young lady helped me pick some stuff out. I wasn’t gonna
waste my money on some class, so I just looked stuff up online and used
magazines. And I made these for you two and the kids.
Look at them. Tell the
kids about the first touchdown you scored, and the first time you came home
drunk. Yep, Mom had a picture of that too! Brian, tell the kids how you botched
your proposal to Julie (YES, Mom took a picture. I’m surprised you didn’t see
her around the corner!). And Julie, tell them how you said yes anyway.
Keep them and look at
them. Remember the past, live in the present, and look forward to the future.
I love you all,
Dad
Each book was
beautiful. The pages had themes. They had tickets to football games, graduation
announcements, our wedding invitation, birth announcements, but most
importantly
since Brian was out of town.
When Brian’s
father died, Anthony went with him to the lake house to clear out some of his
things.
And when I fell
apart for those few, dark weeks after Brian’s death, Bee and Amy took turns
staying with me. They would sleep on a small cot Anthony put in my room. I woke
up more than once at night to find myself comforted by my friend.
We were always
there for each other. And we always tried to include each other, and our kids.
We always joked that we each had seven kids—as opposed to the five and two that
we actually had.
When Anthony
took Ant fishing, our kids were often included in those weekends, and vice
versa. Camping trips. Cookouts. Game night.
When we moved
into the neighborhood, that is what I wanted—for me, my kids... my family.
Friendship.
* * *
I was an only child, and I was never
close to my parents. My mom died when I was six, and my father was a cold,
quiet man. When he passed away 12 years later, I felt a loss, but I didn’t feel
lost. I had been on my own for years, so his death just made it formal.
But when I met
Brian, we made our own type of family—one that worked for us. Brian was also an
only child, but he was close to his parents, and when we got married, his
parents welcomed me with open arms. His mother, Lynette, used to joke I was the
child she had always wanted, and she became the mother I never had. Her death
was hard on us all, but Mark, Brian’s father, pushed forward because he knew
what they had. Mark used to tell me all the time that the memories of the good
times he had with his wife kept him warm on a cold night. He held all the
memories close to his heart, and it wasn’t until after he passed that we found
the scrapbooks he made for Brian, the kids, and I.
“J! Looks like
my dad took a scrapbooking class.” Brian came into the house late one evening
after he and Anthony got home. The guys had been up at the lake house cleaning
out Mark’s den.
“What?” I
looked up from the vegetables I was chopping.
Brian brought
in a box filled with books and papers. On top were three beautiful, leather-bound
scrapbooks. I picked one up and opened it. In Mark’s precise handwriting was a
note to Brian and I.
My Dearest Son and Daughter,
First of all, this is
all your mother’s crap. That woman saved everything! Report cards, art projects
(Apparently she thought you were some sort of Picasso, Brian!), trophies, and
pictures. You know me. I would have kept the pictures and thrown most of the
other stuff away. But when your mom died, I realized why she kept it all. For
the memories. The good ones and the bad. I was just going to give you the boxes
she had and tell you to take what you wanted, but then I found her pictures.
See, Mom printed out all the pictures I took! You remember how long it took me
to figure out how to put them on my computer. That damn camera you two got me.
But your mom. She got it. She printed them out and kept them. She put them in a
box with all the old pictures we had of you growing up. Your football games,
your swim meets, your graduation. It was all there. And so I went to the craft
store and this nice young lady helped me pick some stuff out. I wasn’t gonna
waste my money on some class, so I just looked stuff up online and used
magazines. And I made these for you two and the kids.
Look at them. Tell the
kids about the first touchdown you scored, and the first time you came home
drunk. Yep, Mom had a picture of that too! Brian, tell the kids how you botched
your proposal to Julie (YES, Mom took a picture. I’m surprised you didn’t see
her around the corner!). And Julie, tell them how you said yes anyway.
Keep them and look at
them. Remember the past, live in the present, and look forward to the future.
I love you all,
Dad
Each book was
beautiful. The pages had themes. They had tickets to football games, graduation
announcements, our wedding invitation, birth announcements, but most
importantly
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