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.

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.

To my mom, February 24

Tuesday, February 24, 1981

          I still can hardly believe it! I'm going to be a mother! Oh Lord, help me to be all that I can be, all that You would want me to be.
          Little one, this is for you—

          That I may love you

          and comfort you,

          That I may hold you

          and nurture you,

          That we can hold you up before the Lord,

          In the same way he brought you to us…

          A gift of love.

Tuesday, February 24, 2026

          It's hard to believe how much life has changed in two months. Dad is still living here with us. It's not ideal, but I'm grateful we can provide each other support in this time.
          No spontaneous poem here, I'm afraid. Just a Psalm to balm a troubled soul.

          The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous,
          and his ears are attentive to their cry;
          but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil,
          to blot out their name from the earth.
          The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them;
          he delivers them from all their troubles.
          The Lord is close to the brokenhearted

          and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

          Psalm 34:15-18

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

To my mom, February 22

Sunday, February 22, 1981

          God smiled down upon me when he gave me you to nurture. Feeling you inside of me is such a beautiful feeling.
          I know … I've had several of the "pitfalls" of motherhood pointed out to me in the past several weeks. Still, I eagerly await the opportunity to test my maternal instincts, love, care for, and welcome you into our world. God bless you.

Sunday, February 22, 2026

          God has you in his eternal smile now. Feeling you smile down on me is a bittersweet feeling. I hope I'm giving you enough reasons to smile down. Sometimes, I'm not so sure anything I've done recently is deserving of a smile.
          No pitfalls here, I suppose. Just a dash of self-pity. Forgive me for that. And ask God to do the same, please. In fact, I'll ask Him right now.

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

365 Films in 365 Days — February 21: Cool Runnings

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. This year marks another Winter Olympics, and I would be remiss not to take a look at this modern classic. And so, this day's viewing can be none other than:

Cool Runnings (1993, Walt Disney Pictures, Jon Turteltaub)

The Wailing Souls' Love You Want is such a feel-good, positive, excellent way to start this film. A great Reggae tune to put you in the island mood. The song starts us off on a hopeful track, and forms a great counterpoint to the emotional rollercoaster—err, sliding track—the viewer is about to ride. 

The main cast has such an endearing and distinctive set of characters. Derice is the clear leader and straight arrow with a handsome face. His earnestness and drive are easily visible and he doesn't come off as hokey. Sanka is the loveable joker and pressure-release valve on the team. His smile and quick wit play as natural and funny. Yul (named after Yul Brynner) is the strong, abrasive type. His tough-man attitude is a cover for his insecurities and protection against ridicule. Junior is the baby-face of the bunch and quietly the most insightful. His innocence and sweet-nature don't feel contrived. And, of course, Blizter (played by John Candy) brings a veteran comedy actor's timing to a part that interestingly has maybe the fewest joke moments. Candy's own dark side probably fueled the character's own troubled past and gave the performance a believable guilt and gravity.

The opening scenes in Jamaica really amp up the fun factor and get you invested in the mains. The scene where Derice, Yul, and Junior trip and miss the Summer Olympics qualifier for sprinting is a great bit of foreshadowing that stays buried among the early-goings high-notes. The Jamaicans' pursuit of Blizter to be their coach and the subsequent trials getting accustomed to bobsledding on the island are good slapstick. And again, The Wailing Souls' Wild Wild Life injects such cool vibes. Later, the scene where they each scramble to earn petty cash to fund their dawning Winter Olympic hopes plays like a cheeky montage of comedic vignettes.

The film shifts gears when the crew finally makes it to Calgary. Watching them struggle to acclimate to the weather, put together their gear, and draw inspiration from each other and the international atmosphere has an edge of tension to it. The film manages to pull off this delightful air of positivity and good attitude despite the uphill battle that the team continually faces. It's an alluring tension that keeps you bracing for what's coming next after each little character obstacle that comes up, but deep down makes you feel like it will turn out alright anyway.

"I see pride! I see power! I see a badass mother who don't take no crap off of nobody!" This line has always stuck with me. It's a call to self-actualization. It's part of what leads up to the goofy bar-brawl scene, and completely overshadows the played for laughs fisticuffs that follow. In Hollywood, self-actualization in movies often comes down to using your fists. But in real life it more often comes down to taking firm hold of where we stand against the odds.

The best line in the film is delivered with heart by Candy's disgraced coach: "A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without it, you'll never be enough with it." This can be said about a lot of things in life. Money. Love. Power. Fame. All the things the four Jamaicans were after. All the things you and I might be after. Impermanent things.

Still, the Jamaican bobsled team strives to do their best and even starts to turn heads as they compete. It's charming to see their hard work start to pay off, and even more heartening to see them embrace who they are as competitors rather than cheat who they might become just to win. It's an odd reversal of Blitzer's story, who cheated after he had won to try to stay on top.

In the end, as in the true event that the movie is based on, the Jamaican bobsled team crashes out on their third heat after showing some promise. Though they didn't win, the team crosses the finish line on their feet, earning the respect of the onlookers and the hearts of the viewers who have followed them with interest from the opening moments. It should also be noted that the movie ends with great musical soul thanks to Jimmy Cliff's cover of I Can See Clearly Now.

February 21 — 13 of 365 logged

Go to next! Go to last!

To my mom, February 19

 Thursday, February 19, 1981

          Saw the doctor today (Larry got to go, was go glad he got to hear the heartbeat). I've gained three more pounds and a few more aches and pains which I've told the doctor about. None of which is out of the ordinary so I'm feeling very self-assured.
          "What do I want?" the nurse asked … a healthy mind & body and a happy soul—this is what I want for my baby.

Thursday, February 19, 2026

          Dad was supposed to have seen the doctor yesterday. It's been postponed until early March now. I've gained a few pounds this winter, but nothing to be concerned about. 
          "What do I want?" I can't help but remember reading these words to you as you lay on your deathbed. Your mind, body, and soul had been through the ringer. I pray you managed to recapture a portion of that before the very end. We often don't get what we want, but sometimes we do get what we need. You needed to come to the end, and God gave you that.

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

In the News: "Christian Nationalism isn't Christ-like"

The Good Book: "Where can I find Him?"

To my mom, February 16

Monday, February 16, 1981

          Feeling much better today and tomorrow I've really got to get back on regular exercise program to better prepare myself for delivery. I've been doing them off and on since Christmas but I mustn't waste any more time … blessings on you little one—with all my love.

          P.S. Today is your cousin Eric's 1st birthday!!

Monday, February 16, 2026

          Feeling much better on the days when I can summon some purpose to the tasks at hand, which often requires that I practically strangle any purpose out of it. A regular exercise program is a worthy goal, but an often irritating one to keep. I stay healthier than most, I'd wager, but much like you were I'm not an "exercise-freak" by nature.
          Mustn't waste any more time. Heh. So wild how your words from 45 years ago echo my present situation. I'm blessed to have been your little one.

          P.S. Today Eric turns 46. He contacted me not long after learning to express his concern for us over your loss. Aunt Mamie and Uncle Gary flew out to visit Dad last week. EJ paid for our dinner out while they were here. Fine gestures all.

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

To my mom, February 14

Saturday, February 14, 1981

          Happy Valentine's Day!! Whether you turn out to be a boy or a girl I think you'll make a fine athlete … for all the activity that's been going on inside of me.

          Today has kind of capped a long week for me, I've been sick since Tuesday with a bad cold, and the weather's been pretty bad, too. I didn't get much done so I hope to get going on the projects for your room this next week. I pray for your health, strength & happiness in coming into this world … there are many who anxiously await your arrival. I love you, baby.

Saturday, February 14, 2026

          Happy Valentine's Day!! That one in '81 was your last without me, and this one is my first without you. Strange symmetry. Fine athlete, eh? Maybe only in my head. More than the asthma and comparative frailty to other more muscular boys, it may have been my lack of dedication to any athletic discipline that kept me from becoming a fine athlete. A trait (flaw?) we invariably shared.

          We were pretty sick in December with bad colds/flus, and with the weather turning wet again for a stretch we're doing our level best to stay healthy. I sympathize with the not-getting-much-done aspect of long lingering projects. I'm learning what to hold on to and what to let go, because there's simply too much to manage these days. I pray for your soul, peace & shared memory in leaving this world … there are more than a few who still mourn your departure. I love you, 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, February 5

Thursday, February 5, 1981

          The days seem so long and dreary—and of course the cold, gloomy weather doesn't make it any better. I wish you were here right now, at least I'd have you to do things for—but, I have to be patient … good things take time…

Thursday, February 5, 2026

          Long and dreary. Or fleeting and aimless? I'm not sure which of the two I'm experiencing more. And we both know it's not entirely true: how we perceive things and the way they really are. I wish we were better at discerning between the two, then maybe we'd move through life as God intends: with more grace and understanding.
          Other than that, I'm almost at a loss to respond to your second sentence there … I know having you here right now would not make things better, as I've plenty to do already. I believe you knew that, too, at the end, and that's why you were resigned to the end rather than prolong an undesirable and unpleasant existence. We have to be patient, too, sometimes. But we also need to know when to act. It's a scary place to be caught between stillness and action and being unable to commit. That's ultimately the lesson I pray I take from your example. 

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

To my mom, February 1

Sunday, February 1, 1981

          I will begin work on the curtains for your room soon, don't have a whole lot of time left, ya know! My! but you've been active today, I've got this awful ache in my right side. Oh well, a little pain for a lot of joy—I guess I can endure.

Sunday, February 1, 2026

          And endure you did. But only so much as was reasonable in the end. Ten or twenty more years of life in that state would have hardly been a life at all. That awful ache in your side born of a rolled ankle, imbalance issues, what your doctors termed "spinal stenosis," and ultimately your failing psyche made it hard to stay active.

          My God! Ya know, it wasn't until the final month that we realized how little time you had left. And as the curtain closes on that stage of our lives, we're all—me, Yume, Ewan, Paige, and not least of all Dad—now working on the next stage. A stage we explore now without 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, January 29

Thursday, January 29, 1981

          You are very special you know that!?? God has created another of His many miracles in creating you—you are so loved … just wanted you to know. :D

Thursday, January 29, 2026

          It's a special thing you did to write all this to your then unborn baby. God created us to share opportunities and experiences with each other. I don't know if we shared all the ones that we could have if things had been different, but I feel grateful and blessed for the ones we did share.

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

To my mom, January 26

Monday, January 26, 1981

          Well, things keep trickling in…. Today we got a box in the mail from my mother chock-full of nice little baby things I’m sure you’ll enjoy – oh! By the way, we found your crib! I just can’t wait to start dressing up your room—making it all nice and bright—a happy place for you to grow. Thinking about you really puts the sunshine in my life … I love you.

Monday, January 26, 2026

          Well, things keep progressing as you and Dad planned. We should be making a decision soon on an assisted living facility nearby for him to take residence in, chock-full of nice old people and planned meals and smaller, quieter quarters. I'm sure Dad "just can't wait" to start dressing up his new place—filling it with what remains from 740 Linda Vista—a fine little abode for him to grow old in alongside your memory. Thinking about you evokes a mood that matches the cloudy, foggy days this time of year somewhat—and then the sun burns it all away. You always loved the sun. And we love you.

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