To my mom, May 13

Wednesday, May 13, 1981

          Reflections:

          Now that we've been home for awhile now and things have fallen into a pattern, more or less, I am feeling somewhat more secure as a mother (I celebrated my first Mother's Day the 10th of May) and I wonder as I watch you in your sleep when a smile creeps over your face, just what it is that you could possibly be thinking about … Are you dreaming? Well, if you are, I hope they are nice dreams.
          And what went through your mind as we were passing the days in the hospital? Me in my room, you in the nursery.…

          I can recall one night in particular that the nurse was getting ready to bring you to my room for the 1:00 AM feeding. I had not been feeling well all day and I was having one of those cold sweats that sometimes hit me in the hospital, there I lay in my perspiration-soaked sheets, wanting just a few solid hours of sleep. So, I asked the nurse not to bring my baby to my room cuz I didn't feel up to nursing him. Did you feel all alone in the big nursery by yourself? Could you sense what was going on? Did you think I didn't love you? Well, I did, and I do; I felt very guilty that night. But, I also feel that when I got to have you in my room for rooming-in, well, that sort of made up for it.

Wednesday, May 13, 2026

          Reactions:

          *big breath out* I'm kinda speechless thinking about your words here again. I feel ill-fit to respond to them, as I've never been a mother. I'm a father, true, but that's different.
          I'm taken to thoughts on where you are now. They seem as mysterious to me as I'm sure these thoughts were to you then. I'm confident you're in heaven, but what must it be like. Do you dream of us? Is is all like a dream now? Or are you finally awake, and this life was the dream?

          I was a generally happy, well-balanced kid (if memory serves). I have you in large part to thank for that. I know I've expressed as much before, even when you were still here, but thanks again, Mom. I know there were times there in the final months when you probably didn't feel particularly loved. You were, and still are.

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

To my mom, May 8

Friday, May 8, 1981

          You are now 7 weeks old, and how you've grown!! Except for an occasional gassy stomach you are thriving very well. I also feel very well. I'm looking and feeling pretty much the way I felt before I became pregnant. Through it all I think I have fared well. Despite the down days, I now am spiritually, physically, and mentally on a much more even keel. A few days after coming home with you from the hospital some of the girls from church prepared and brought over a complete dinner meal—boy, I can say it sure was nice, my mom and your father and I really enjoyed it. Since that time, I have been given a shower and the next door neighbors have been very helpful to me especially since your nanny left. Your Aunt Sue had another little boy and his name is Scott Joseph—so you have another little cousin. I sure hope you grow to love and care for your family, cousins, etc., cuz they're important.
          My dear little one, grow up strong and be kind to people and most of all give thanks to God for life goes quickly and I want only the best for you.

Friday, May 8, 2026

          You are now 17 weeks since having left us. Except for occasional bouts of listlessness and anxiety, I am faring well enough. I had a promising interview yesterday. I'm looking not at all my age according to a co-worker who said I don't look as old as I am. The down days are necessary, I think. I haven't grown as much spiritually, physically, nor mentally these past couple years, but I wouldn't know that without those down time reflections. I know I have to ultimately act after periods of reflection, but it's harder to know I have to act without having you and dad reliably there to help me prepare for the years to come.
          We celebrated your birthday with a half cherry pie and half lemon meringue last week. This Sunday is the first Mother's Day without you also. We'll celebrate Yume and Jessie with conveyor-belt sushi today. New rhythms mixed with old traditions. We love and miss you! 

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

To my mom, April 28

Tuesday, April 28, 1981

          Today is the first entry I make since your birth, Lance, and I'm sorry it has taken me this long…
          Two days till my 26th birthday. And so, at age 26, I have a beautiful, bubbly, month-old child. I have nearly forgotten the pain of that day—when you came into the world. It was some experience. Nobody can really tell you what it's like until you go through it yourself. Of course, we didn't plan for the cesarean, your father and I had hoped to be able to watch you come into the world in the delivery room, but after 24 hrs. of labor I was ready for any way that they could get you out!!

          Looking back—the hospital stay wasn't that long (6 days) but throughout my stay I felt some self-pity on account of the pain and all, but, guess what?—I am now looking forward to the next time, when I can give you a brother or sister. So, little Lance, I'm just glad you're home and now we are three.

          (Edit added later) April 30, 1981—Spent 45 min. in neighbors' storm cellar. Tornado strikes!! Lance slept thru it all!!!!!

Tuesday, April 28, 2026

          Today is the first entry I make since my last birthday. And the first year we'll go without celebrating yours. Doesn't seem so long, but when I compare our ages you were 36 when I was 10 and I'm now 45 as Ewan is 10. That's nine years of child-rearing you started before me. And in 25 more years I'll be the age you were when you passed. Many of the days since your passing have been pained, but there's a measure of peace and relief, too. Nobody can really tell you what it's like to grieve until you go through it yourself. Of course, we didn't plan for so much of this so soon, as I'm sure Dad would love for you and him to still be bickering and arguing and carrying-on in the house in Rio like you were a year ago rather than where things are now.
          Looking back, I think I knew the years would add up to something like this. I think maybe since my return from Japan and that year you spent teaching in Pleasanton. But what great memories there were along the way. Our wedding at your house. The kids' births. Lots of ups to balance the downs. I try hard to be grateful and not roll into self-pity, whatever may come. So, Mom—despite all the times I'm sure we'll still mess things up—I just hope you find more occasions to smile down on us from heaven than not.

          (Edit added later) Summer 1998ish—Remember that hotel stay in Washington D.C. when a car accident happened outside and we were on the first floor?! I do! I slept thru that, too. :p

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