Truer Words - A Journal

There's No Celebrating This Anniversary

seth@macrobyte.net — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 16:53:18 GMT

Six years ago today: March 12, 2004. Much of that day is like a broken mirror, every tiny shard a piece of shattered memory and lost life. Every sliver seems significant, but none of it making much sense on its own.

What I remember most clearly is sitting with Corinne on the front steps of our house in Mystic. Waiting.

We'd spoken with a police officer from Norwich who told us only that "something happened with Shane," and "I can't tell you this over the phone."

Denial. We sat, waited, and denied in the mid-afternoon sunshine.

I held her, we talked. "Maybe he just got in trouble." "It could be anything."

Three of them came that day. Two officers. One priest-type, whoever was on call that day. We knew as soon as we saw him, and there was no more denying.

Somehow we were in the house, no longer on the front step. The officers tried talking to us, Reverend Badnews tried to be something other than what he was.

Corinne stormed into the kitchen and slammed the door. Her breaking heart sounded like shattering dishes and crashing cutlery. (Looking back now, I think, "How apropos.")

I tried to hear the men, let them tell me what happened so I could share it with Corinne when her storm had passed. If it would ever pass. I got that he fell from a balcony and hit his head. There wasn't much more to tell. The storm was raging, all I could do was shoo these helpless messengers out of our hell.

"Why are you here?" I asked Reverend Badnews, looking him in the eye. "I, I... to help." "You need to go."

The officer gave me his card.

Shattered slivers of memory from the day Shane Michael Ray Kilhefner, my wife's only child, died at 23.

Life Never Does

seth@macrobyte.net — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 18:27:31 GMT

Shane would have and should have been twenty-nine years old today.

Life never does what you think it will, what it should. You never think you'll lose a child. Then when you do, you think life and the world will stop, maybe forever. But it keeps… it just keeps going. On and on. Then you think you'll never have another, you're too old or it's just not in God's plans... and here comes another baby, from out of nowhere, to raise as your own. You can't believe it happened, and how good it is, and she'll never replace the first but she expands your heart and teaches you to love again.

Then she's taken away, too. Almost as far as Shane was, but not quite, and it hurts almost as much but now it's the "not knowing" that burns so hot. It'll never be right again, you know she's gone forever just like him.

But now she tells us she loves us again, almost every night, and her sweet little face blows us kisses while her mommy and daddy smile and tell us they miss us and hope to see us soon. But never soon enough.

We miss you, Shane.

Five Years

seth@macrobyte.net — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 11:27:58 GMT

sell me your suffering
dear one
for a nickel
tis all I have
but I'll have it all
 
“take it
away, away with it
(but not too far)
oh how I miss him”
 
the nickel was not enough
burning still, never cooled by tears
the nickel was not enough
but it helped

(Explanation: Shane died 5 years ago today. If you still don't understand the poem, imagine I'm talking, Corinne responding, and then me again. Better?)

Twenty Eight Years

seth@macrobyte.net — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 14:09:25 GMT

Shane Michael Ray Kilhefner should have been twenty eight years old today.

One would expect today to be one of the most difficult days of the year for Corinne, but it's actually somewhat cathartic. More difficult are the six weeks leading up to his birthday. I can't say that she thinks about him more during those weeks, it just seems that the anticipation of his birthday is worse than the day itself.

What's hard for me is to hear her reminisce about being pregnant with him. Those last six weeks of pregnancy when she just wanted to meet him and was so excited about it. When she could feel every kick, every turn, every hiccup.

Hearing her talk about it chokes me up. Just thinking about it chokes me up.

Anyway, as I've suggested, Corinne seems to be dealing with it fine today. She's out with Lauren for the day, and will spend some time with Ellyn before bringing Lauren back so they can both have their naps.

Four Long Years

seth@macrobyte.net — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 19:39:40 GMT

It has been four years today since Shane died. (Sure have been a lot of changes in our lives since then!)

Sometimes it seems like it was just yesterday. That's both good and bad. We can still remember the sound of his voice, his devilish smile, the way he and his mom loved each other. But we also remember the pain of that day, and I particularly remember how close I came to losing Corinne at the same time, and the sound of her heart breaking when she screamed.

March 12th reopens wounds every year, sheds new tears every year, rains every year. I hate this day.

On the other hand, Shane's loss is always there, in the background. The anniversary is the day when it all comes to the front. This is the day when we talk about it the most, when we deal with it directly. It's also the day when we talk about him the most. That, at least, is a good thing.

Still, we hate this day.

Life, the Universe, and Everything

seth@macrobyte.net — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 15:18:37 GMT

Shannon started working last week at the Staples in New London.

Shannon's mom came up for the week with Shannon's son, Richie. For about half the week Richie was here with us, the other half he was with her mom. She also gave Shannon her manual-transmission Jeep. We're working on teaching Shannon to drive it. Shannon doesn't stall at every intersection, and she doesn't panic every time there's a car approaching on the right.

I have the flu.

The Blazer and Toyota are both on the road again. Knock knock.

Doris Sternberg, an old family friend and my mom's surrogate-mother for the last 20 years, died last night. She was quite old, and was loved by pretty much everybody. (I remember picking Aunt Doris up at her apartment every Wednesday night when I was a teenager in NH, to drive her to Bible class.) She'll be missed, terribly, but we know we'll see her again.

Lauren and Shannon have started to come to an understanding. Shannon's forcing it a little, but babies adapt very quickly. All Shannon really cares about right now is that Lauren start calling her "mommy" ASAP. Sigh.

She's even trying to compete with us for Lauren's attention, though I'm not sure she's aware of it. (And, it's a very one-sided competition.) Example: yesterday Lauren had some toy in her hand, and was holding it out to me. Every time I put out my hand so she could give it to me, she'd snatch it back and smile devilishly. Shannon saw it happen and immediately started asking, "Can I have it? Lauren, can I have it?" Lauren gave it to her, and Shannon showered her with praise and thank-you's. ::shrug::

Corinne is thinking about Shane even more than usual, these days, as we approach the anniversary. It all starts with the Super Bowl (which, in 2004, was when we started seeing a lot of him again). She went through a really bad patch last week when Richie was here and she was feeling overwhelmed, but she's better now.

I plan to start asking for donations for the PMC software auctions this month.

I'm sorry that updates have been so few and far between this year. I barely have time to live this life, never mind write about it.

What Should Have Been

seth@macrobyte.net — Tue, 18 Sep 2007 15:33:16 GMT

Shane should have turned 27 today. Instead, we just miss him, and try to remember all the moments.

Corinne said he would have been old today. "That's not old," I said, but I was wrong. "For my son," she replied, "that's old."

Some things are too big to understand. But, we still love him, and still miss him.

Eighty Laps

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 02 Sep 2007 18:55:18 GMT

My father's father (Arthur Dilingham, Sr.) has a beautiful birth date: 7 • 27 • 27. It's symmetrical and palindromic, and also happens to mean that this summer marked the end of his eightieth lap 'round the sun.

Saturday his wife, his children, his children's children, his children's children's children, and a very (very, very) small percentage of his friends and extended family from around the world gathered in his honor to tell him just two things: "Happy Birthday," and "We Love You."

The party was held at Goddard Park in Warwick, RI, at the old Carousel Building.

There was a very cool tribute video assembled by my cousin Tiffany and her husband Josh (with, I think, the aid of the rest of the NH contingent of Dillinghams and their kin). It included pictures and/or video of most of the family, and a stirring, deeply emotional, recorded message from Barry Van Heerden in South Africa. (I've heard Grampa sing Barry's praise many times over the years, but I had no idea that he looked at Grampa as a father and mentor.)

Corinne shed a few tears when she saw Shane's picture in the video. Tif had written to me in advance to make sure it was ok. (Of course it was! Including and remembering him is always better than the alternative.)

They even included at least one picture of Lauren in there. That was cool, especially as Gramma and Grampa have both treated Lauren as their latest great granddaughter.

There was also an open mic on the stage, where we were all supposed to tell stories. Unfortunately, though some of us inherited some of Grampa's storytelling talents, none of us will eve be The Master Storyteller that he is. So, most of the stories were told by him! Three times he (literally) lept onto the stage to tell another story, and then hopped back off it again to retake his seat. (Eighty years old, hoppping onto and off of a two-foot-high stage! He's spry.)

He told the Bert and I classic, "I am Gagnon, Champion Moose Caller" story, but (more importantly) he also told some of the TRUE funny stories from his life, including the one about the skunk in the ventilation system at his school in Dighton, MA. I think his school principal probably went to his grave wondering who did that.

I have tons of stories I could have told, but couldn't think of the best ones until after we left so I never took the stage. Had I remembered, I certainly would have recounted the trip to Florida with him, Jed, Dad and myself (I wasn't ten, yet), to move Aunt Marrion. The highlights of that drive to FL included:

Arthur Fiedler's Greatest Hits (Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B!)
the brain teaser about the man with three sons
the brain teaser about the egg-laying chickens
Dad and Grampa acting like it was hot the moment we crossed the state line
Aunt Marrion freaking out when Jed and I happened to be in the vicinity of Grampa's wallet
feeding the seagulls on the beach

Everybody picks on Dillinghams for being... well, Dillinghams. Smart, knowing it (all of it), easily brought to tears, always having an opinion, and "talking until we think of something to say." Though Gramma had as much of a hand in forming us as did Grampa, there's no doubting the source of those particular characteristics. :-)

But, as much as we tease him and each other for those things — endlessly — we love him for them, too. We're a big family (wink, wink), and he’s been the patriarch for as long as most (any!) of us have been alive. (So it's not that we think he's perfect, or pretend that he is. It's that hearing him speak yesterday, and hearing everyone else speak about him, it's clear that he inspires us to aspire to perfection, and we're all better for it.)

Happy Birthday, Grampa. I love you, we all love you.

Three Years

seth@macrobyte.net — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 16:05:54 GMT

Three years ago today, we learned that Corinne's son Shane had fallen from his balcony the night before and died.

Much has changed in the meantime, but the "misisng him" never does. It doesn't diminish, it doesn't get better or stop hurting. This is especially true for Corinne, as the mother's brain — or at least her brain — seems to be hard wired at the child's birth to always love and long. She has (we have) learned to cope, to keep living, and to do some good in this life, but NEVER to stop longing for him or missing him.

Happy New Year, One and All

seth@macrobyte.net — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 15:22:11 GMT

2006 was a good year for me and mine, in many ways.

To all of my family near and far, to my ecclesia here and worldwide, to all of my friends new and old, close or distant:

Happy
New Year!

Hoping 2007 will be even better, for all of us...

Candles in the Dark

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 22:40:39 GMT

If you're out tonight, between 7 and 8 PM anywhere in the country, watch for candles in windows, or in the hands of small groups of people.

These lights, to them that light them, are the memory of a fallen child.

Tonight is the Compassionate Friends Worldwide Candle Lighting.

Yes, Shane's memory burns bright tonight, along with millions of others.

Twenty Six

seth@macrobyte.net — Mon, 18 Sep 2006 13:40:28 GMT

Happy Birthday, Shane.

You should have been twenty six years old today.

Your Mom pointed out this morning that you weren't actually born until almost tomorrow. 10:30 PM! At least you were consistent. It was never easy to motivate you in the morning. :-)

We still miss you, but I guess we always will. These special days are always the hardest.

Oh, and Kim talked about you a lot at Mandi's wedding on Saturday. She seems to understand, better than most, about the 'big occasions.'

Mother's Day

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 14 May 2006 21:55:32 GMT

This is a very difficult "Hallmark day" around my house. As with all of the special days, you can feel it approaching for at least a week in advance. It's like "smelling" a storm before you hear any thunder.

I do want to wish Corinne a happy Mother's Day, but it just seems so unrealistic right now! Shane has been gone for two years, two months and two days. We've healed a lot in that time – even Corinne has healed — but that doesn't mean the pain is gone. Anyone reading this who has lost a child, or who is close to someone who has lost a child, knows what I'm talking about.

There's a pain, like a migraine, that never goes away. You learn to survive with it, and some days it's more bearable than others.

Birthdays, holidays, and Mother's Day are not those "more bearable" days.

Corinne's friends have learned how to help her cope on these days: they try. I mean that trying is how you help. For the last few years, Andrew has given her a hanging flower pot for the front porch. Last year, some of the sisters in the ecclesia gave her a gold heart pendant which was laser-engraved with Shane's face, and Katie gave her a beaded necklace that says, "Shane's Mom." This year, Allysia (sp?) gave her a handmade, miniature, wall quilt with four pictures of Shane. Loanne (sp?) C. always sends a card, or a thoughtful gift.

It might sound otherwise, but the key isn't the gift, it's the thought. Or really, the expression of it.

Loanne always brings a tear to Corinne's eye because they've never even met and live 3,000 miles apart, but Loanne just never forgets! (I know you'll read this, so: thank you.)

Children become your future, your heritage. Losing them makes you feel broken and alone. Thoughtfulness can't make you feel whole again, but it does a great job of taking away the Alone.

To everyone who told Corinne, today, that you know this is a 'tough day' for her, or that you're thinking of her, or love her: thank you! You all helped make it a little easier.

Oh, and Happy Mother's Day to my own Mom, and my sister, and grandmother, and aunts, and...

Two Year Anniversary

seth@macrobyte.net — Mon, 06 Mar 2006 21:34:31 GMT

This Sunday, March 12, marks the two year anniversary of Shane's death.

Lat year was really hard, especially for Corinne. I imagine every anniversary will be hard.

My plan to ease things a little, this year, was a trip to Lancaster, PA. That's Corinne's home town, and where the grave is located.

She loves visiting Lancaster, and we haven't been back since July, 2004. So my sneaky little plan seems to be working, at least a little: she told me last night that excitement about the trip is helping to keep her spirits up and her mind "off things."

2006, Fore and Aft

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 01 Jan 2006 20:12:18 GMT

On the last day of 2004, I was happy to say goodbye to the worst year of my life. The best I could say about it was that it wasn't all bad. That's the year Shane died. The love of my life realized her worst nightmare. Literally, it was the worst possible thing she could ever imagine happening in the whole world. It happened at night, just fifteen miles from our home, without any warning. There was no prickly feeling on the backs of our necks, no goose bumps. None of the people in our life (myself included), who so often anticipate big events, had any freaking clue.

It just happened.

We still don't know why. We may never know why. I am inclined to believe there may not even be a 'why'.

It just happened, and it changed everything. And nothing. Corinne is still here. I'm still here. We're more in love than ever. We trust and understand each other in new ways, and rely on each other for different things. Some things in life matter more than they used to (more on that, in a bit), others matter less. Some of our friends proved themselves to be people of great compassion and empathy... and others not so much. But that's ok; it's only natural that our relationships would change as we do. And we are.

Does everything in life revolve around Shane, still, almost two years later? No. Yes. No. Well, ok, yes. You -- we -- can't possibly understand our lives without it. It plays as big a part as our faith, and in fact the two things have merged in many ways.

Does everything on planet earth really revolve around the sun? Yes, in some very literal ways... but it's not like that's all we think about, right? We don't all hide in our caves on rainy days, but humans sure love to talk about the weather.

For us -- and I know it's not exactly the same for the two of us, but I think it's similar -- there was a second... hmm, I almost want to say a second sun, but that's not right. Let me try that again.

If our life revolved (mostly) around our faith, then that faith was like the sun. When Shane died, that faith was dwarfed, for a time, by the gravity of that new thing. The faith was still there, but this new 'black hole' in our hearts threatened to eat it and us and everything. For a long while, we revolved around that, just trying to survive, trapped in its gravity. (Got that?)

In all the confusion of trying to grasp our new reality, there was a time when everything related to our faith took some blame. Blame the ecclesia, blame God, blame family, blame our marriage. Blame anyone who didn't do something exactly when they should or could have.

Slowly, the blame faded. The anger receded. The black hole moved a little further away, or we moved a little further from it. By the middle of 2005, life seemed to revolve around two forces.

Our faith (and how we live it) changed. That's what I see clearest about 2005, even though I don't yet understand how it happened. Somehow, a new emphasis on 'doing good' (and I mean that in a way that makes it grammatically correct!) has been added. Helping, comforting, feeding, exhorting, teaching, providing... all these things seem to matter more now than they did two years ago.

This isn't the first time I've tried to explain the changes in our lives -- not even close -- and I'm sure it won't be the last. Yet, I hope you don't understand it, and I hope you never do, even though I'll keep talking about it.

There was more to say, but my boiler is running out of steam. Let's wrap this up...

So what of 2006, this promising new year? I'll finish with some personal resolutions. I resolve...

to help you smile, and to smile back.
to focus a little more on doing Good, even when it's hard. "More do, less be." Yes, I recognize the irony.
to spend more effort on what's important, and truly put the urgent distractions in their proper place.

That's our life (some of Corinne's, a lot of mine, and a whole lot of 'little us'), looking fore and aft on the first day of 2006.

I hope we all have a Happy New Year!

Happy Birthday, Shane

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 18 Sep 2005 20:29:25 GMT

Today would have been your 25th birthday. Your Mom and I wondered, today, where you'd be and what you'd be doing now, if you hadn't fallen eighteen months and six days ago.

We still miss you and talk about you all the time. Most days we can smile when you come up, your name is tied to an awful lot of good memories. With our new perspective, even any trouble you caused has become a fond memory... but really, there was very little of that. (Unless we're talking about cars! ;-)

Today I thanked God for the time we had (shortened as it was). It's the best I could do. You definitely left us 'wanting more'.

Happy Mother's Day, Moms

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 08 May 2005 18:10:46 GMT

Happy Mother's Day to my own Mom, who's currently attending some sort of wool festival out-of-state with her friend, Maureen. Hope you have a great time, but even more I hope you come back soon so Dad doesn't go completely nuts without you. :-) I love you, Mom!

Happy Mother's Day also to my sister, Sarah, now the mother of my only two nieces, Allison and Talia. You've proven to be a great Mom, and I'm proud of you for it.

Last but definitely not least, Happy Mother's Day to Corinne. I know this day is very hard for you. We may have lost him, and we'll always miss him, but at least now we can smile at every memory of him instead of crying at the mention of his name! You'll always be his Mom, and I love you for it.

One Year Ago Today

seth@macrobyte.net — Sat, 12 Mar 2005 14:41:04 GMT

It's hard to believe that it has been one year.

But believing that a year has passed is so much easier than believing or understanding what happened that day, or how it changed us and our lives forever.

We still miss you, Shane. Every day.

It Has Been Nine Months. Light a Candle?

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 12 Dec 2004 16:31:05 GMT

Shane,

Nine months have passed since your mom and I were given the news that you died. I really, truly still find it hard to comprehend.

Like we do every month, we're going to free another helium balloon with your name on it into the wind later this evening. Perhaps someone, someday, will find one and come to know a little more about you. That's really all we want, for people to remember you.

There's a group of parents that have lost children, called the Compassionate Friends. It's really just a support group. They've organized a candle lighting "thing" for tonight. In honor of sons and daughters that have died, people will put lit candles in their home windows for an hour. Everybody will do it from 7-8 pm tonight, local time, so that for twenty-four hours our memories will burn their way across the globe. I hope that makes sense. Sappy and a little goofy, but that's the kind of thing we need.

Some people are uncomfortable with it. It's a small thing, but they feel that it's too close to Catholicism. I don't remember reading, "thou shalt not light candles," but I do remember reading that Paul would never again eat meat rather than risk offending one of his brothers. Now I'm wondering what he would have done if *not* eating meat would have offended one of his brothers. I'm sure you know what I mean. Somtimes it's easier to work hard at "avoiding the appearance of evil" than it is to really show love and support for the downtrodden and broken-hearted.

"Discomfort." That word hardly means anything to us anymore.

Anyway, we'll see what happens. Hopefully those that can't bring themselves to light a candle will at least sign the online guestbook and put your name in it. Doesn't seem as significant, but at least it will be longer-lasting.

Your Mom's having a rough day, but you know what that means... she's cooking. Cooking and crying, crying and cooking. Hey, a little extra salt brings out the flavor, right?

I'm... well, I'm just me. Trying to deal, trying to accept, trying to understand, and most of all, trying to help your mom. The ecclesia made me a little nuts today (endless debate, committee decisions, yuck), but i kept my cool and finally left when I felt like your Mom needed me more than they did. I find that I'm very scattered lately, anyway, and I quickly tire of wearing the happy face. Leaving was the right thing to do, though I know I'll hear about it from "gramps" sooner or later.

Hey, we miss you. What a revelation, huh?

A New Thanksgiving

seth@macrobyte.net — Fri, 29 Oct 2004 16:41:05 GMT

A few days ago, Corinne asked me what I thought about providing a full Thanksgiving Dinner for anybody on duty at the Norwich Police Department (on Thanksgiving Day).

Shane was living in Norwich when he fell from his balcony, and it was a couple of Norwich detectives that came to our home to notify us.

We both feel pretty strongly about Norwich now, and as soon as she mentioned the idea I knew it was a good one.

Wednesday I finally remembered to call them. Had to let them know what we were planning, and why, as well as find out if they'd accept it and if there were any special details of which we should be made aware.

Det. Dolan said everyone there knew who we were, and at first he was afraid that we were doing this as a sort of apology for getting so upset with the detective that came to the house. I explained that no, that had nothing to do with it, and that we both really feel the need to do something.

He explained to me that working on Thanksgiving Day is the toughest day of the year for a policeman, and it really helps "immensely" to know that someone is thinking about them. To actually have someone prepare a full meal for the whole department, well... by the time we hung up, there was a definite hitch in his voice.

Our Thanksgiving is going to be different this year, because our lives are so different than anything we knew before. When it's difficult to find something within ourselves for which we can be thankful, well, perhaps we can find it by giving.

Happy Birthday Shane

seth@macrobyte.net — Sat, 18 Sep 2004 17:39:35 GMT

It's been twenty-four years since Shane was born. I wish he was here, so I could tease him about getting old, or listen to his current plans for getting a better job or going back to school, or just let him charm me with that amazing smile.

Instead, Corinne and I hosted a birthday memorial party for his friends, at the Lord's Point Community Center. The three of us lived in Lord's Point the first year that Corinne and I were married, and some of his friends were able to reserve the community center. We were expecting a lot of people to show up, and the community center is a nice building with lots of room.

See, most of Shane's friends never got a memorial or funeral when he died. Since we didn't know how to reach them all, we asked the local papers if they'd run the story. They all ran it, and one of them even interviewed Corinne and ran a full page story with a big picture of Shane! That was excellent.

Unfortunately, mother nature seemed to be as sorrowful (or outright cranky) today as any bereaved mother. Hurricane Ivan's leftovers stormed through, dumping tears by the bucketful and always threatening to blow us and our "great loss" out to sea. Only about fifteen people showed up for the party, even his best friend (Scott) didn't make it.

I said that I wish Shane was here, but not just for me. This has hollowed Corinne, hollowed and drained and nearly beaten her. I still love this woman with all my heart, but I can barely remember what life was like -- what anything was like -- seven months ago, before the mother lost her son.

So, Happy Birthday, Shane. We did our best to celebrate you a little today. We talked about you, and ate your favorite foods, and watched a video of your High School Senior Party, laughed at your singing and dancing and walking on your hands. In the end, we all released balloons bearing your name into that windy chaos, like your Mom and I normally do on the 12th of every month.

We'll never forget you.

(Almost) Too Good Looking

seth@macrobyte.net — Mon, 13 Sep 2004 15:00:16 GMT

This kid was just too handsome for his own good!

That's Shane's senior picture. Way better than anything else I've posted here, but we just recently got it scanned. (Thanks, Eric!)

In cat-breeder-lingo, you'd say that Shane's looks tended to give him the "pick of the litter." (Hope that doesn't offend any of the girls he dated, especially Karyn who was definitely "the pick.")

Karyn Writes About Shane

seth@macrobyte.net — Thu, 29 Jul 2004 07:31:54 GMT

Karyn Bessette -- one of Shane's old girlfriends, and later (perhaps more importantly) one of his best friends -- recently put up a temporary web site while she prepares her "real site."

There are only three pages there, but one of them is about her memories and feelings for Shane. Very nice, thank you Karyn!

Karyn meant a lot to Shane, and vice versa, and she's come to mean a lot to us, too. Especially to Corinne, who has found it rather comforting to talk with Karyn about what we've lost.

Roses on Mother's Day

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 09 May 2004 17:32:19 GMT

Two years ago today, Shane gave Corinne a miniature rose bush, which I then planted in the front yard next to the cement walk leading to the front door. It suffered some damage this winter, but appears to be recovering.

Last week, we planted a miniature rose bush on Shane's gravesite in Lancaster, PA. I took pictures, but the roses weren't open yet and so the pictures are really stupid looking. We'll go back sometime in the next couple months to get better shots, and the roses should be in full bloom (all summer, in fact).

Yesterday, to remind her that I still see her as a mother no matter what, and that I love her, and in honor of Shane, I gave Corinne another miniature rose bush, and planted it right next to the one Shane gave her. This has the makings of a new tradition.

I also bought one for my Mom, and drove up to Mom and Dad's house this afternoon to plant it, also in their front yard, right next to their cement walk (just a coincidence).

Miniature roses are small (duh), and look a little lonely by themselves. They're not large enough to be stand-alone "specimen" plantings. Still, I like the effect... they're hard to miss, with the bright green leaves and brightly colored flowers contrasting the black planting soil.

Moms love saying, "my son (or daughter) planted that for me on Mother's Day...," so it's good that they stand out.

Mother's Day

seth@macrobyte.net — Sun, 09 May 2004 17:11:23 GMT

I've seen a few comments on weblogs today about the pain of celebrating Mother's Day when your mother has died in the last year (since the previous Mother's Day).

I'm sure that is hard. Thank God my parents are still spring chickens.

But... think about those mothers who have lost their children since the last Mother's Day. This day is especially hard for them.

Sometimes my wife, Corinne, doesn't even know if she's a mother anymore. She is, in my opinion, and always will be, but I'm sure you can understand (a little) the confusion.

Also, thanks to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, there are now a lot more mothers without children than there were a year ago.

(I first mentioned this to Dave, and told him I didn't think I could post it here without causing Corinne more pain. Then I talked to her about it, and she said it was fine, that she likes thinking about him.)

In Lancaster, PA

seth@macrobyte.net — Thu, 29 Apr 2004 08:36:40 GMT

Corinne and I are in Lancaster, PA (and vicinity) for the rest of the week. We drove down yesterday.

On the agenda today: planting a miniature rose at Shane's grave, visiting with Shane's Dad, soaking up as much Lancaster as possible, taking a nap (Corinne), riding my bike (me), and making time for a few hours of work.

I have no idea what we're doing tomorrow, but tomorrow night we're going back to Hershey, staying at the same hotel as we did in February, and seeing the same band: Derryl Perry.

We'll be home Sunday evening.