To my mom, March 21

Saturday, March 21, 1981

          On this day in 1981, Lance James Wright was born. God has seen fit to bring another healthy happy boy into the world, and he has blessed us as the parents.

          For this child I prayed and the Lord hath given me my petition which I asked of him.

          I Samuel 1:27

Saturday, March 21, 2026

          You honored me with these words you wrote. I pray I do the same with these and more.

          Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you.

          Exodus 20:12

My mom died on January 7, 2026. She was 70 years old. It was both her time and not her time.

To my mom, March 17

Tuesday, March 17, 1981

          Well, here we are, nearing the end ... the end of this 9 months that is! Within my soul and heart the expectation and excitement is really mounting. But, then too, I feel a sort of sense of loss to realize it's all coming to an end. Of course, it isn't an end at all, it's just the beginning of a whole new life—one that I am anxious to see grow and develop. Still, it's hard to put my finger on it exactly, I rejoice at having had these past months of change & development going on inside me—it is a very personal and spiritual experience. I guess it's the "wonderment" that I shall miss ... it's been lovely growing with you ... yes, even in the bad days, it's been beautiful.

Tuesday, March 17, 2026

          Well, here we are, many weeks now past the end ... the end of 5 months of crippling decline. Within my soul and heart the grief conflicts with anxiety and misgivings that wax and wane. Every day I discover another aspect of loss that I, my wife, my kids, or dad are experiencing. Of course, we're all wondering when it will end, and we're eager to begin whole new chapters in our lives—ones that we can feel confident and content in again. I don't know how to say it exactly: I lament at having had these past months of change & development going on around me, but I rejoice that you're not here still suffering—it is a very private and spiritually refining time. I guess it's the "entitlement" that I'm beginning to miss: entitlement to my own desires, entitlement to my kids' childhood surrounded by capable grandparents, entitlement to knowing my parents are well and what that means for my own future. It's not always been lovely grieving for you. Yes, even on the good days, I've found myself begrudging. God, forgive me.

My mom died on January 7, 2026. She was 70 years old. It was both her time and not her time.

To my mom, March 14

Saturday, March 14, 1981

          Well, so far I've had 3 different people tell me that they believe I am going to have a girl. I don't feel I have the right to pray and ask for anything but a healthy, happy baby.
          My mother called tonite, said she'd be down whenever I needed her. I always feel better after we've talked.

Saturday, March 14, 2026

          Do you remember the time you asked me if I was gay? I was probably late teens or early twenties. Not because you thought I was girly per se (though my frame does take after yours), but more probably because I wasn't overtly interested in dating or girls in those days. Yume was and still is the only serious relationship I've ever pursued. And I'm glad you got to get to know her and develop a trusting relationship. You always wanted a daughter, and had your miscarriage before me gone to term maybe I would have had a big sis at home growing up.
          Trev's planning on calling tonight, and has plans to visit soon for the first time since you left us. I always look forward to his visits.

My mom died on January 7, 2026. She was 70 years old. It was both her time and not her time.

Kidding Around: Zoo News Edition

 

To my mom, March 9

Monday, March 9, 1981

          I wish I could say everything is going just fine, but it isn't. Well, physically I'm OK, but we're finding it difficult to get the rest of your room ready for you. There are still lots of things to get and not much time.
          Why doesn't the world just stop spinning and say, "Hey, Cyndi is having a baby"!? Having you is truly awe-inspiring ... from the first time I felt your heartbeat, since those first little kicks—God what a miracle. This is amazing. I love you, beautiful baby.

Monday, March 9, 2026

          It's something more than poetic how your words from decades ago line up with our own goings and doings today. Is this how God is choosing to speak to me in this season of my life? Physically, I guess I'm OK too (cholesterol higher than needed), but I'm finding it difficult—or I should say, challenging—to get the rest of our house ready for all that seems to loom closer day-by-day. There are still lots of wants and needs, and trying to separate out between them which should be considered next and how to muster the time, enthusiasm, and resources for them is more than enough. Add a thing or two more and it slides into overwhelming. It's a battle to stave off self-pity (or self-loathing) and sloth. Staying productive is truly my only choice, even if I have to drag others along with me.

          Why doesn't the world just stop swirling and say, "Hey Lance, here's your joy today"!? Having all this hurricane of emotions and activity swirl with me seeming at the center is anxiety-inducing ... from the moment your heart beat last, since those final bouts and fits on your hospital bed—God what a trial. Still it's amazing. I have hope, Mom.

My mom died on January 7, 2026. She was 70 years old. It was both her time and not her time.

To my mom, March 4

Wednesday, March 4, 1981

          …had a lot on my mind lately … of course, I have a lot of time to think, with Larry gone so much. I pray for you little baby, sometimes I think I haven't taken as good of care of myself as I should—to ensure your health & wellbeing.
          The countdown is on: 27 more days!!

Wednesday, March 4, 2026

          You too, huh? With Yume's and my own health, the kids' growth and constant need for engagement, and Dad living here these past few months (to say nothing of work and home labors), it's been what a lot of others have said when I relate a brief story about all this: "Oh wow. That's a lot." No kidding. And where you seem to have had Dad rarely around at that time to share these thoughts with, I can't help but be confronted with his situation daily. How's that for some striking symmetry!
          27, err, 17 days to go. I arrived 10 days early in '81. And in 17 more days I'll arrive at the exact midpoint of my life. 45 years. 90 feels earned without overstaying. Maybe I'm shortchanging myself, but I know it takes a near daily effort to stay fit enough in mind, body, and spirit to get there. I have your memory to remind me of what it will and won't take.

My mom died on January 7, 2026. She was 70 years old. It was both her time and not her time.