Mark Pavelich, a Miracle on Ice 1980 USA Olympic hockey player, was doing better until his death last week. He was receiving court-ordered treatment for psychological distress. His sister believes Pavelich suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), caused by the repetitive brain injuries suffered through his career with the NHL. Despite his smaller size, he had an inspiring hockey career. He was most noted for his time with the New York Rangers and his integral role on the USA team to win the gold medal against the Soviet Union. The 1980 Olympic game was a David-Goliath event. The favored Soviet Union was heavily favored being a four-time defending gold medalist.
Pavelich’s family will have his brain analyzed through an autopsy to determine if he suffered from CTE. The common symptoms of CTE include confusion, impaired judgment, aggression, and depression.
My husband shared Pavelich’s death with me the day before the third anniversary of losing our son. He mentioned the similarities of Pavelisch being smaller in size for the sport. A statement by the New York Rangers described Pavelich as determined and passionate. My son had such tenacity, spirit, and determination he used that to overcome his smaller stature. He also had multiple concussions from sports, and we both wonder if this had an effect on his brain as he aged.
One of my son’s coaches spoke at his memorial service. I asked his coach to write the story he shared so I could recall it later. The story has minor parallels with David-Goliath, demonstrating my son’s mental strength to overcome his size at a young age. This is a portion of the remembrance he shared at my son’s service.
“Will had so many great qualities about him. He was smart, good-looking, kind, and generous. Outstanding characteristics that we all admire. I had the privilege to be one of Will’s coaches in football, hockey, and baseball. And a privilege it was, as he was respectful and eager to show others that he could always perform at his best. He consistently came with a smile at practice and games.”
“I have a fun short story about Will that I would like to share with all of you that I believe captures Will’s spirit.”
“His dad and I were coaching the 8th-grade football team together, with both of our sons participating. We were working on teaching the kids how to tackle and be safe while doing it. Now our team at the 8th-grade level had four kids that weighed over 225 pounds. Kenny was one of these kids, and I was using him to help demonstrate this tackling drill. Kenny was lined up between the two tackling dummies, and I asked the rest of the team who would like to go up against Kenny? It was quiet, and no hands went up. I looked at my son, and kind of gave him the evil eye; he looked back at me and gave me the look of “are you nuts? No Way!”.
Now Erik was about the same size as Will.
Pretty quickly after that, this young man named Will volunteered for the drill. I looked at his dad, and he didn’t say anything, but I got the look that this better work or Will’s mom will let me hear it. Will stepped into the drill and made a perfect tackle, Kenny went down, Will didn’t get hurt, and he demonstrated to the rest of his teammates that even the smallest kid could tackle the big guys. He got up from the drill with a huge smile. I think his performance that day at practice allowed us to be undefeated that year.”
Three years without my son has been unbearable for us. We think about him every day. I know he is with us, along our journey, us here and him there. He is listening and watching.
Those who love my son and his family cannot be together on this anniversary because of COVID-19. Still, I ask you to carry on the tradition of writing a message to him and float it up in ashes. He will receive it up in the heavens.
Pass along a Will story to wrap it around it ourselves, easing the loneliness from not being together. Peace and love to you.
When visiting family over the holidays, the lot of us always take in a blockbuster movie. Sometimes the whole group of parents and children went to the same film; other times we split up. The movie choice historically was from the latest Disney Animation, Harry Potter or Marvel series, or other independent family comedies.
In 2013 the Disney movie Frozen released in theaters. It was my daughter’s choice to select that holiday because she is the youngest of the cousins at fifteen years old. The other cousins were adults, the next youngest being my son at nearly twenty. Frozen was not my son’s first choice, but we all went along. Fast forwarding, the movie was a box office hit with the best original song, “Let It Go.”
“Let It Go” has become the anthem for those living on the margins, struggling with mental illness or other challenges, giving them the empowerment to uncloak what they have been hiding and accept the things that made them different. The song permits a person to let go of the past, or whatever was holding one’s self back (i.e., fears, doubts, insecurities) and releasing from the expectations of others.
The movie came out when my son was in college at Montana State University. I found the song on my son’s Disney playlist on Spotify. He introduced the movie and music to his exchange-student friends. A college friend shared he had great enthusiasm for the film. It was their go-to movie when feeling melancholy. For amusement, he would send his friends’ humorous Frozen-themed memes through the Snap Chat application (How I wish those were retrievable). He would sing the ballads on road trips, and these were his best performances.
I wonder if the song has special meaning for my son, similar to those on the fringe who have shared their attachment to the song or perhaps he loved the song simply because it is a great one and a way to connect with friends.
Every story, thought, memory, picture, and video of my son that someone shares with me is a gift. I received such a gift last summer. One of his friends from Kent, United Kingdom, who worked at the same summer camp in PA, shared a video. My son is singing “Let It Go” with a karaoke machine in a small town bar with camp friends.
“A video with friends and your son has just popped up on my Facebook timeline from five years ago today. In the video, I am singing karaoke, and your son is dancing and singing along with our two other friends.”
“The camp where we worked is located outside of Poyntelle, PA, in the Village of the Preston Township. The backdrop is beautiful rolling foothills of the Pocono Mountains, surrounded by many gorgeous lakes and ponds.”
The villages are not municipalities, so the Census Bureau does not keep records of the population size, but I did find on bestplace.net the population size of Poyntelle at 20. There are seven named streets in the township. The town supports two summer camps outside of the city limits, one being Poyntelle Lewis Village, where my son worked for two summers.
“There was a small group of camp workers above the drinking age. On the rare evenings free, we would venture out to have a drink and have time away from the campers. We became close friends from these fun nights out.”
“The only bar in the town is The Poynte, and The Poyntelle Dragon was the bar’s signature drink, meant for sharing, which we did. We played lots of card games and shuffleboard. After an evening of fun, we would stumble home around one or two o’clock in the morning, knowing well we had to be up at around seven am the next day. The night the video was taken was especially fun.”
“I have so many fun memories with your son, and I still think of him, especially during the summer, when my camp pictures pop up on Facebook.”
I am thankful for my son’s friends. I remember him telling me how special and consequential they were to him. I can see why.
Frozen II was released shortly before Thanksgiving this year. The three of us, my daughter, her father, and I went to see it together, keeping with tradition. Once again, there is a list of accolades for the movie and the music. Similarly, there is a song for those struggling mentally, grieving, in despair, or feeling betrayed. It encourages at a time when things look hopeless, by doing one positive action at a time, doing the next right thing – not giving up.
The lyrics are so relatable, especially for my daughter, who lost her brother. The character Anna is struggling at a pivotal time in her life and longing for her older sister, Elsa. My daughter saw the movie beforehand with a close friend and forewarned me to bring tissues. She was correct. I sat with the movie replaying in my mind for weeks. Then I went back to listen to lyrics. Comprehending one phrase at a time, then all together.
(Anderson-Lopez, Kristin, and Robert Lopez, 2019)
In the lyrics is a message for the three of us to keep going one step at a time. It would be so much easier to hide under the covers and not get out of bed. Not face responsibility or pursue any feeling of happiness given this complex grief and devastation from the loss of my son and my daughter losing her only sibling.
I do not know how to operate in my new life, and looking too far ahead is painful because he is not there with us in the same way as before. It is okay just to have the ability to get through the next day. It is okay to be where I am at in my life. Later, I may have the strength to take on more. At his moment, I take it as a sign to do things a little at a time.
I am sharing the Facebook video of my son singing “Let It Go, with his friends in that small-town bar, where they are the only patrons that evening. I cannot download it or make a copy of it, so I recorded it with my phone. It is grainy, but it still is fantastic — a joy to watch. Everyone is beautiful, but my son is strikingly handsome, beyond what his mother thinks.
Bell, Kristen. “The next Right Thing.” The Next Right Thing. Kristen Anderson-Lopez, Robert Lopez, Dave Metzger, Tom MacDougall, 2019.
Album: Frozen 2 (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
I wrote to my son almost every day after he died. Each entry began with the day, then months, and eventually year since he left us. In the months, I told him how sorry I was for every mistake I made as his mother. I said how much I loved him and missed him. In the later entries, I was searching to understand why he left and to recount his life during the days and months leading up to his death. In between, I wrote conversations with him as if he would respond back to me.
In addition to writing to him, I made a list of the memories I wanted to document, so as time passes into years, I did not forget them. I want my daughter to have these memories so she can share them with her life partner and her children someday; then, they will know her brother, their uncle.
It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago; “yesterday” because my heart aches the same as the first day you were gone, and it feels like “forever” since I have heard your voice and felt your hug. It is snowing today and unseasonably cold for the second week in October. The days are noticeably shorter. A friend called last night needing a conversation with someone who could understand, I am that someone. It has been eleven months without her daughter. We have been friends for ten months. Through our conversation, we realized the day of the month of your death, and that of her daughter is one day apart. We just figured this out because we do not talk about your deaths. We talk about your lives and what we miss. We then talk about how hard it is to live without each of you.
The cold weather and leaves falling from the wind make me think about Halloween. You love Halloween – the dressing up and socialization. Her daughter does as well. She shares with me a picture of her daughter dressed up as a zombie. Beyond the scary make-up, her big blue eyes draw you in.
Your go-to costume throughout high school and college was a jailbird, you know the striped uniform that you purchased yourself. As you moved from place to place, it moved along with you.
The other costume I remember is one you had in grade school. Your dad designed and built a headless person costume. You could barely see through Dad’s overstuffed shirt as the body, which had holes for eyes so you could look out. A wooden frame sat on your shoulders that held a molded pumpkin head. He put a flashing red light inside the pumpkin head to add an additional scary effect. It was massive for your little frame. You wore Dad’s pants held up with suspenders over your shoulders and big boots. You did not complain and made it through the parade at school, walking through the halls, and trick or treating at night. That costume still sits in the corner of the attic. Historically, I would set it out near the front door as a holiday interior decoration. With you gone and your sister away at school, there is no reason to decorate.
I hope you get to celebrate the holiday in heaven. Whatever costume you choose, have it not too scary. Disney’s Frozen II is releasing to theaters soon. Is going as Sven or Olaf characters from the movie too corny? You so love the first Frozen movie and the music. I am fortunate to have several videos of you singing the original song, “Let It Go” with your friends.
My letters are emotionally hard to read again, but several are relevant to the topic of Halloween.
Last night Dad, your sister, and I watched Jurassic World. The movie came out in 2015, as a sequel to the Jurassic Park series. These days I am doing things I think you would appreciate or encourage me to do, so I am watching this movie. It is a thriller starring Chris Pratt, who also stars in the Marvel Guardians of the Galaxy movies. You are famous for the love of Marvel, and Guardians is my favorites in the Marvel series.
Watching this movie reminded me of the experience you had after seeing a scary movie. One of the three girls in your friend group likes horror movies. You had watched a movie that evening with your friends at her house. You came into our room late that night, saying you could not sleep because you kept hearing clapping hands. Your closet doors sometimes bang from the wind coming through the attic door that provides access over the porch. I grabbed a sleeping bag and your pillows, and you slept on our bedroom floor that night.
I felt needed again, able to comfort you like when you were little, coming into our room in the middle of the night, and crawling into our bed, snuggling in between Dad and me.
The movie was The Conjuring, released in 2013. I tried to watch the trailer but could not get through it as it was too scary for me: clapping hands coming from the closet in the movie while the haunted play a game of Hide and Seek. I hate scary movies.
You have a great sense of humor. It is dry, and with a straight face, you tell one-line zingers. I, on the other hand, have no sense of humor, but one joke came to mind I wanted to share with you the next time I would see you. Friday, your sister arrived home on spring break. She and I talked about the recent Oscar-winning movies. Get Out won the best original screenplay. It is on the thriller spectrum but not quite a horror show. Tolerably frightening, but really good. The story centers around young adults, so it is set more for your generation. We then immediately went on to a different conversation where she was telling me something. In an elongated loud response, I said, “Get out,” pushing her forward on her shoulders. You know, saying it as a popular phrase in response to something unbelievable. We laughed, and I told her I was going to use that joke on you when we met for dinner on Saturday. That time never came.
My “get out” joke was irrelevant. I still hate scary movies. We are making plans to see Frozen II, and I really miss you.
“When you lose a parent, you lose your past, when you lose a child, you lose your future.” Quote from the internet, I do not know who the author is.
“Cooking done with care is an act of love.”
“I’m just someone who likes cooking and for whom sharing food is a form of expression.” Maya Angelou
Cooking together is what makes family dinners so enjoyable for me, and I will accept what interaction I can get from my family in the kitchen. Without people, there is no purpose for cooking, and without interaction, cooking is a lonely task.
There is significantly more time to obtain the ingredients, prepare the meal, and clean up, then the time sitting at a table eating. So why all of the effort? It is in the journey of being together, the community ritual of creating something you will share with love. There is joy in creating pleasurable food events, which if done right, pleases all of your senses.
The food my mother fed me provided the nutrition I needed and satisfied my hunger pains, but that is not what I remember when I think of food.
I grew up in a lower-end middle-class household with four siblings in mostly rural mid-west towns. I am second to the youngest. There are seven years between my oldest sibling and me and six between me and my youngest.
Family meals were a family affair. My Mom did most of the cooking, but we each had a role in helping. Food was not extravagant, but I remember it being exceptional. Most meals I am sure were ordinary, but to me, they were outstanding and a show of love.
There was a period where my Mom did not work. I remember many times coming home from school to a freshly made pie. My favorite pie is sour on sour – sour cherry from my grandmother’s tree with rhubarb from the back yard. Other favorites were German chocolate, and the traditional pumpkin and apple.
Growing up, for a period of time, we baked bread every Saturday. There were a variety of types, and unfortunately, I do not have a recipe for any of them except the cinnamon rolls. My favorite way to eat the bread was shortly out of the oven still warm and smothered with butter, sometimes peanut butter. Oh, the joys of being young and having a fast metabolism.
I carried the tradition forward to my family. I make the cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning, refrigerated overnight, so it is an easy pop in the oven to serve them warm after opening presents. We did this the last Christmas at home with my son, and I have those memories and photos fresh in my mind.
I grew up in the mid-west, so beef was always served on Christmas, and Turkey on Thanksgiving. Saturday night was steak night served with baked potatoes topped with sour cream and chives. For a while, my father was the manager of a hog farm, and I remember having pork cooked every traditional way.
When I think of the holidays, my memories are the food and family time together, preparing the meals, and playing cards games while eating dessert.
Sure there were fiascoes, I think my Mom would laugh back at them now because they are still fond memories, and she learned through failure. There was the time she and my dad grilled the turkey. It took forever to cook, and it is the only dry turkey I remember. Another year, she made a ham in place of a turkey. We were living in a trailer house while waiting for our house to be built. A car broke down, or something and the ham burnt. A sign not to break tradition.
Dinner was served on my mother’s, china, crystal, and good linens with matching linen napkins. Couples no longer put china, crystal sets, and linens on their wedding registry. It may be out of style, or too expensive, but in the fifties, it was a traditional wedding gift, so my mother has lovely sets. I inherited her china, which my daughter will cherish as well. She has relayed to me she too will formally set the table when entertaining as it is our tradition.
For Christmas, my Mom made fudge, divinity, and sugar cookies, along with quick bread, and other trendy cookies from recipes shared by family and her friends.
What I know now, having children of my own, was that my Mom cooked to show us her love. We were a family of seven, and not well off. I remember times of financial hardship, but I never remember being hungry and meals were special.
I asked my daughter what foods are happy memories, and she shared a long list. I am not able to ask my son that question, but I think there are some cross-overs from his sister’s fond food memories.
My son loved meat. After he moved out of the house, if I really wanted to encourage him to join us for dinner, I would fix something grilled. He enjoyed grilled steak, beef burgers, and turkey burgers, chicken wings, and brats. He also enjoyed a few more delicacies such as grilled oysters on the 1/2 shell, grilled prawns, and scallops.
As he got older, he participated in the kitchen preparations for big dinner parties. He was the designee for making French bread crostini’s with garlic, and the stirrer of sauces. One holiday dinner, I heard him tell my sister that the goat-cheese herb sauce he was stirring to prevent separation from the cream fraiche, was his new favorite way to have roasted potatoes. He was a master of blistering the peppers and caramelizing vegetables which went into pureed sauces. He grilled the sweet corn in their husks, so all sides were evenly cooked with the perfect amount of charring.
In my children’s early teenage years, we began a tradition of having prawns with cocktail sauce for Christmas Eve. It was a whole family affair, and they were particularly useful when I could give them a knife. The cocktail sauce has sixteen ingredients, the bouillon has twelve, and the garnish has four, served in a martini glass.
My son loved good food, and I think I inspired that. What is meaningful is to see how he shared that love of food with his friends, whether they came to our house, he hosted at his apartment or ate out with them.
Over time my son was conscious of what he ate, forgoing beef burgers for turkey and limiting sugar. I made several turkey burger recipes, some with chutney, roasted pears, or other elaborate ingredients but my kids request the original simple recipe from Everyday Food magazine, “Our Favorite Turkey Burger.” Everyday Food, 2003.
I would double the turkey burger recipe and send home half with my son, with the request that he bring back my Tupperware container. Eventually, I became wise and bought cheap containers because I never got them back, no matter how much reminding. When we moved his things out of his apartment after he died, I opened up a lower kitchen cabinet and fell to my knees. There were all the containers, nicely staked.
On one occasion after a family dinner, we were in the driveway talking before both children headed out. My son walks out of the house with the whole container of left-over turkey burgers. My daughter stops him, and says, “Your not taking all of those.” He smiles, knowing he got caught. They both went back into the house and split them up so each had left-overs.
When we celebrate my son’s life, we serve those turkey burgers to our guests. When we stay with extended family, we cook those burgers. I will never again get to experience another family dinner with him or see his face as he eats something he enjoys. Those memories I can only take with me as I think, “Do I really want to cook?”
It has been hard the past year and 1/2 to bring myself to cook anything. The refrigerator is filled with half-empty take-out containers and prepared food from Costco.
I still have reasons to cook. I can show my love, especially to my daughter as her future past is my present.
I asked her what happy food memories she has, and the list was long. Through this conversation, I learned I am showing her love through food the same way my mother did for me. Here are a few from her list, until I said, “Stop, I have enough.”
The next time you have an opportunity to cook for someone else, think about how you want to share that experience and express yourself. Start by reviewing recipes, watch a cooking show or documentary on food. Take that inspiration and let the menu form then walk into the kitchen.
You can read other stories on the theme of food in these posts.
Written by my son on September 22, 2014, edited, June 2019 by his mother and sister.
Putting life experiences in a written story is a form of artistry. My daughter is an artist, and we can see that from her artwork. What was hidden on my son’s computer were a few stories he wrote for college classes. He was an artist too, putting a piece of his life in writing.
In this piece, my son captures the emotions and value of a young adult’s college experiences and compares them to the painter’s artistic process of creating beauty in painting.
Happiness is like painting, going through the creative process. Like an artist working on their artwork, each person is an artist of their day, week, life.
Early on, when the painter applies colors to the canvas, they are focused on one spot. The artist’s concentration is on a small fraction of the picture, be it a landscape, cityscape, person, or whatever you intend to capture on your canvas. Occasionally you step back, but you don’t have a complete artwork yet.
Some parts of the painting are not coming out as well as you hoped, but you are pleased with the other parts and can see the potential. These are your up and downs throughout the week. You add more to the painting every day when you get up in the morning, and you don’t stop going in your day till your head hits the pillow.
Happiness is a feeling we have at the moment, and we carry those moments with us as we go throughout the day. Reflecting back on these moments at the end of the day, we decide the happy outcome of that day and then of the week.
Once you lay on that final brush stroke, set your paintbrush down, and step back, this is when you truly see whether or not it is beautiful. But before, while you are painting, you are focused on the little details that make up a big picture.
I went to Montana State University in Bozeman, Montana. I went there for two years and had more fun than some have in a lifetime. I made some fantastic friendships that I will cherish forever. The last day that everyone was going to be in Bozeman, we had a get-together.
After all the tests have been taken, and goodbyes said to the city and friends, it was time to go home. I have friends at home that are just as amazing as the ones in Bozeman, so I was excited to go back and see them. I left Bozeman at about 6am to make sure that I could be with them that night. In the morning, I could still see my foggy breath every time I exhaled walking to the car. Most of the snow had melted away except for the mountain peaks which were still wearing a white hat. The sky was clear that morning. It was a dark blue with a dash of pink starting to fade into the view over the mountains. The night before brought cold air making nature sit still. No wind, no clouds, just a touch of frost on the ground. It made the mountains glisten as if they put on their Sunday best for me. I jumped in my car, turned the heater just so, and set off. I merged on the highway, and as I was getting up to speed, I had a sad thought. I was leaving something significant to me. I started to cry about the people and places I wasn’t going to see again. The sadness faded as I reminisced in my mind about the time I had within Montana, and I began to feel happy again.
I was thinking about the first semester of that school year, where I played Drunk Fifa ( a soccer video game) every weekend with my neighbors from Brazil. Drunk Fifa was just playing regular Fifa on the PlayStation, but every time someone scored, you drink. Throughout the night, more people would come over until there were about ten people in my neighbor’s small door room. Nearly all of them were Brazilian except for me and one other guy, Islam, who was from Saudi Arabia. The more intoxicated the Brazilians got, the more Portuguese they spoke. Islam and I didn’t know any, but everyone understood each other anyway. I spoke with very broken Spanish with hand gestures where they comprehended my opinion towards Islam’s terrible Fifa play. Once midnight came around, everyone would jump on the bus and head to the bars on Main Street.
Bozeman is a small town, so there are only about 4 bars on the main street. One night, everyone suggested I should go along. I reminded them that I am not 21 years of age, and I do not have a fake ID. It turns out neither did half the Brazilians, but they had a strategy where they use each other’s IDs to get into the bar. I said I would give it a shot. I dressed up and jumped on the bus with them. I was very nervous on the bus. I kept thinking of an excuse to leave and just walk home. The bus dropped us off right at the bars, and before I knew it, we were in line. The bar we were going into was “rocking.” It was a fantastic restaurant during the day and a bar at night. There was a garage door made out of windows which would be up during the summer. It is currently 20 degrees Fahrenheit and starting to snow, so this night the garage door was closed. I could see the crowded dance floor, and feel the club music thumping, which was adding to my nerves. My friends handed me a Brazilian ID. First thing I noticed was the guy on the ID is tan, and I’m white and pasty due to the cold winter. He has black hair, and I have brown. I look over every little detail that doesn’t look like me. I tell them, “It looks nothing like me.” They said, “It’s fine they don’t even care.” If the bouncer takes 5 seconds of his time to look at the ID, he could quickly tell it’s not me. I say fine and step to the back of the line. The cold isn’t helping my nerves either. While I’m waiting in line I try to put together a sentence in Spanish that would let the bouncer know I don’t understand, “Just let me in any way.” I finally get to the front of the line. The bouncer was standing on a step, and at the time he looked like one of the starting linemen for the football team. My nerves are making me shiver, but with it snowing I guess it won’t look out of place. I hand him my ID, and he shines his flashlight over it and gives it back. That was it, I made it in! The bouncer just looked to see if it was fake, not if it was me. He motioned me inside, and as I walked in, I felt like the coolest person ever. I found my friends, let know of my excitement and the danger I just faced. I found two other friends who were there as well. We said hello like we haven’t seen one another in years. Faces lit up with a smile, and big hugs were given. I took a couple shots to be polite then went off to find my other friends.
We drank and danced till 2am, then grabbed our coats and went on the notorious drunk bus. For some reason, I was running full speed to the bus. I slipped on the ice and slammed my shin on the bottom corner of the bus. At the time it felt like a small scratch, the next morning I saw that it left a dent in my shin. On the bus, though, I felt no pain. The bus was full with 30 drunk foreigners singing soccer songs, and the people standing started to jump around. I could have sworn the bus was bouncing because of us. This is one of the reasons I was especially happy in Bozeman. I would never have attempted this in Minnesota.
Reminiscing, I also thought about my friend Jordan. He always wanted to go somewhere or do something. His weekends would either involve a crazy activity or a Disney movie. On Wednesday he asked me if I wanted to go ice climbing. I said, “Sure, why not.” That night he came knocking on my door all dress up in winter gear ready to take on the wilderness. He had belts, lightweight coats, and gloves that were probably worth 200 dollars. With excitement pouring out of his body, he asked me if I was ready to go. I quickly get dressed, and we jump in his car at 7pm and head towards the mountains. The further into the mountains we reach, the darker it gets. We pass a car towing a skier driving down the snow covered road. We both quickly decided that we need to do that before the semester is over. It was about a 45-minute drive until we hit a parking lot. There was a group of people grabbing a sack full of gear and heading into the woods. I grab one that had my name on it, and we followed the others. The path was uphill and covered in ice. We finally reach the rest of the climbers with little to no energy left in our bodies. They were all set up and climbing. They were climbing a frozen waterfall, and you could still hear some of the water running under the ice. You could listen to the ice picks stabbing the ice and chunks of ice breaking off and falling.
Everyone had head torches lighting up only the ice right in front of them. It was about a 30-foot waterfall and looked very intimidating. We strapped our equipment on and headed towards the wall. Jordan asked if I wanted to go first and not wanting to look nervous, I confidently said yes. He strapped the rope through my harness and smacked me on the helmet, letting me know he was done. I get next to the wall and start to climb. I take a couple steps up the wall of ice and immediately get scared. I look down and realize I’m only 2 feet off the ground. It was scary trusting the ice picks and boots to hold me on the wall, not my hands. I force myself to climb and very cautiously. I make it to the top. Here the ice was thin, and I could see the water rushing under the ice. I jump down and pass the ice picks to Jordan. I didn’t enjoy the climb very much and will probably never do this again, yet this was an incredible experience. This was something that I never would have done in Minnesota or even by myself. I also have this friend, who I consider a close friend.
My thoughts went on to the time I went camping with 15 friends up in the mountains next to a lake with water so blue and clean you could drink it. We had a bonfire in a mountain pass. The flames would reach 10 to 12 feet high. It snowed a foot and a half that night, but because the fire was so warm, everyone was in tee-shirts. A lifted jeep with fat mud tires towed a guy on skies into a jump we made from all the snow. The skier hit the jump doing 15 miles per hour and landed a perfect backflip, butt naked, no less.
My mind went on to skiing. I was skiing through the trees down a black diamond with my GoPro camera attached to my head. I ducked down to miss a tree but forgot about my camera strapped to my head. I never found the camera, but I bet the footage was amazing.
I thought about my trip to Vancouver with all my friends. I thought about driving at 11pm in the middle of a snowstorm looking for my friends who had gotten their truck stuck in the snow off a dirt road. When we got there, two of the friends had left and been trying to make their way back to campus. We were driving around for 30 minutes looking for them in the storm. When we found them later, one only had a sweatshirt on, and it was 10 degrees outside.
Happiness is a feeling we have at the moment that we reflect back on, reminiscing on those experiences. I realize I was happy because I was trying new things. I had close friends to share these moments. I had great times, and I hope to feel this way again.
Focusing on each faction of the painting, in the moment of creation, you may not see the full beauty of the picture until it is complete. This is akin to reminiscing back on each moment and experience in a phase of your life. You do not know the full worth of those experiences until you reflect back on them as a whole. Reflecting back also allows you to see the growth on how the new things you tried and friends you have made have had a significant impact on you.
If you shared these experiences or any experiences with my son, add to the story by posting a comment or sharing them with me directly through the contact page of this blog.
My son will be turning 25 soon. I believe people still age in heaven, at least chronologically. They no longer have a physical body, of course, but I think they still have a bodily form. I imagine they can choose whatever age they want to be for their heavenly body.
I shared with my loss survivor support group that we will be celebrating my son’s birthday with him. We will be physically apart from each other, but if he can sense us, I want him to know we are celebrating his life.
My son will always be a part of me, and he will be for many of you who knew him. I will forever think of him in the present, as that is how he is in my mind. Therefore, we continue to celebrate his birthday.
Like most children, when he was young, his birthday was a big deal. When he was in grade school, we hosted parties with his friends and grandparents, mixed in with baseball. He played in a league from age four all through high school, and there were baseball games every week from April through July.
As he got older, celebrating his birthday with his friends was primary, as it should be. In place of playing ball, he went to watch the MN Twins at the new TCF Bank Stadium. My son still made time for us to celebrate with him as a family. Our celebration with him usually focused on a family dinner. His dad would grill, and we would dine alfresco on the patio surrounded by the blooming spring flowers.
I always made a cake from scratch, his favorite that became a tradition was banana cake with milk chocolate and peanut butter frosting; recipe also in my blog. He was only food possessive with a few favorites, and this was one of them. He would take the leftovers back with him, to his apartment. If we did not have cake, we would head to our favorite house-made ice cream shop where he would usually order cookies and cream.
I think of my son almost every minute of every day. I miss his voice and his hugs, his humor, and the time together as we stood in the kitchen around the center island, as he shared with me the things he newly discovered from podcasts he listened to, news read, and videos watched. Pop news and talk shows are covering the latest excitement of a movie series my son often talked about.
My son is an avid fan of Marvel. The timing of his birthday since he died has aligned with the release of the Marvel Avenger series. He and my daughter would theorize over the Marvel movie plots, the development of the characters, and their favorite scenes. They had the opportunity to debate about the “Avengers: Infinity War”, before his death.
Marvel released this week the second in a series of the Avenger plot. I will miss seeing my two adult children express their excitement and anticipation about this release.
When hearing the sound of a baseball connecting with a metal bat, think of him.
When you are in the stands of a major league baseball game with your family or friends, look to the outfield and think of him.
When you go to the opening of a new Marvel movie, think of him.
When you hear a song from any of his music playlists, think of him.
When you are on the dance floor, think of him.
When you are out with a bunch of your friends, think of him.
Lastly, enjoy a piece of chocolate cake or bowl of cookies and cream ice cream, and think of him.
Even though you will not see your loved one physically, you have the memory of them and how they filled and continue to influence your life. Celebrate that on their birthday.
When you lose an essential person in your life, they are indelible. They are still present to us, in how they shaped us, and our memories of them. In thinking of them, we may laugh, we may cry from sadness, at times feel like our hearts and minds have been ripped out of our bodies because they left. But, they will always be a part of you. My son will always be a part of me.
My son did not share the most personal things with his friends, regardless of how close they were. What they did not know that he was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) /attention deficit disorder (ADD) in the second grade. ADD is a learning obstacle, and teachers are not educated or equipped to help children and young adults with this disability.
There are a few he confided in about his disability. One recently connected with me who shared she also has the same learning disability and that people with ADHD/ADD are commonly stereotyped as being stupid. Many are smart and with the right educational support, and medication obtain post-graduate education and contribute to society. (e.g., will.i.am, performer, producer and award-winning founder of the Black Eyed Peas; Justin Timberlake, Grammy-winning singer; Will Smith, actor, and singer; Sir Richard Branson, Virgin Founder, and adventurer, John F. Kennedy; The 35th President Of The United States; Albert Einstein, Theoretical Physicist).
Because of his disability, my son did not make it through college, but most think it was for financial reasons. After a while he shied away from people, so he did not have to explain what he was doing now.
His academic skills were in his writing. He was in tune with his emotions and that allowed him to convey thoughts and feelings into words. He was good at math and tutored AP calculus in high school. In college, he helped his friends with math and sometimes acted like it was hard for him too, so they would not be discouraged. Underneath they knew he was being nice, but never let on.
Academics is about showing what you learn in a prescribed delivery setting with many deadlines, where even the people without a learning disability struggle to be organized and keep the pace to meet the continual requirements. Now think about the obstacles for someone with a learning disability who struggles with attention and organization.
The law (Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973) requires accommodations, but it falls to the student to stand up for their rights and follow-through. Educational institutions think if they provide you a quiet room to take a test, they have met the accommodations, but first, you have to bring attention to yourself and ask for it. What young adult is going to do that amongst their peers?
It is hard for me to come to grips that my son has died and it is hard for his friends too. It has taken time for his friends to reach out to us. What is gold from their correspondence is they tell me things about my son. They can be little memories of him or full-out stories. Size does not matter because each is valuable.
One of his friends is from Turkey. He is going to school in the US. His friend shared with me that my son helped him adapt to the US, brought him into the broader friend group and taught him the essential things about living in the mid-west. Essentials such as learning about the National Hockey League (NHL) and successfully turned him into an MN Wild fan. My son taught him about the camaraderie of watching professionals sports together and the fundamental rules of baseball, and American football. And, if you know anything about my son, he taught his friend how to dance.
They would have deep conversations about cultural differences, girls, and friendships. He made him feel welcome and less homesick.
Between short messages back and forth, my son’s friend shared, “I have to tell you a story, your son saved my life, and the lives of three others.”
They went to college in Montana, where it snows a lot. Montana winters can be an adjustment for students coming from warming climates where this is their first exposure to winter.
Growing up in cold climates you learn the fundamentals of winter safety such as how to drive in snowy conditions, when not to drive on the roads, to wear the right winter clothing if your going out in the elements, and never to leave your car if you are stranded out in the middle of nowhere.
This is where the story begins, exchange students, from warm climates, experiencing the elements of a Montana winter. This story says so much about my son, and how great of a person he is.
“It was the sophomore year at Montana State University, in the middle of the winter semester. A late evening on the weekend, four of us headed in a car to Hyalite Canyon Recreational Area.”
Hyalite is a state park located 15 miles south of Bozeman off of South 19th Avenue. The City of Bozeman and park service now plow the infamous road, so park goers have access year round.
The way to the park has a history of capturing motorized vehicles in its snow banks and ruts. I remember my son talking about Hyalite; it was a common gathering place for college students who love the outdoors. It is where he went ice climbing.
“We had been drinking and were not prepared for the elements. It was snowing, so visibility was low, and it was cold. Outside of town, the car sped off the road into a ditch, where it was stuck. Two of us decided to walk to town, and two stayed with the car. Cell phone reception was low, our phones would die from the cold. It was dark, no-one was on the roads, and we did not know where we were.”
“I called your son, and he and a couple of others got in his 4Runner and set out to look for us. When I came across a road sign, I would text it to him. They were not cross streets, just signs. Eventually, our phone batteries died, and we were out there all alone in the dark night.”
“None of us were dressed to be outside, I wore everyday shoes, jeans, a sweatshirt, and a coat. I had stepped off into a deep pile of snow trying to get closer to read the road signs to convey them to your son. My extremities got wet, and I was experiencing hypothermia.
Your son drove around for three hours until he found us. He was so concerned about our safety and was relieved when he saw us. He wrapped us in blankets in the car, found the two others still in our car, and got us back to the dorms.
We did not want to call the police because we had been drinking, and we were all underage. Being from a warm climate country, I was naive about the winter conditions. Your son taught me a lot and saved my life. He is an essential person in my life and for all of us who lived on the 6th floor of our dorm. We have exceptional memories with him.
I am still in Montana, I am going to graduate school. I think of him often and of you. He loved Montana and wanted to get back here.”
If you know of this story, add to it by submitting a comment. If you knew my son, tell me how, and anything and everything about him. You can contact me through the Contact page.
Goodin, Kate. “Famous People with ADHD.” Parenting, 7 Aug. 2014,
<www.parenting.com/gallery/famous-people-with-add-or-adhd>, viewed March 2019
“Hyalite Canyon Recreation Area.” Montana, 16 Mar. 2019, <www.visitmt.com/listings/general/recreation-area/hyalite-canyon-recreation-area.html>
Josephson, Joe. “Hyalite Canyon.” Climbing Magazine, 3 Jan. 2012, www.climbing.com/news/hyalite-canyon/, viewed March 2019
Sonny, Julian. “The 10 Most Successful People With ADHD.” Elite Daily, Elite Daily, 17 Dec. 2018, <www.elitedaily.com/money/10-successful-people-adhd>, viewed March 2019
Team, Understood. “Celebrity Spotlight: Why Will.i.am Says ADHD Fuels His Creativity.” Understood.org, 2017, <www.understood.org/en/learning-attention-issues/personal-stories/famous-people/celebrity-spotlight-why-william-says-adhd-fuels-his-creativity?gclid=CjwKCAjwvbLkBRBbEiwAChbckVV12RvY0mRV9EK9t_p_vzhsVUcyUfSVs2I0PBC07bBIzXliizlkNBoCjbYQAvD_BwE>, viewed March 2019
My son’s friend is a hip hop artist and poet. He gave my son a voice, who is not here to express himself. Being a friend was very important to my son. His friends miss him, and it is hard to bare that he not with them anymore in the physical state.
This song is beautiful and will make you cry.
It feels like my son has been gone forever, and like he was just here. Time has stood still and moved fast. All I know is I want him back. Why did we not get a second chance with him?
During this song, I’m speaking on behalf of dear friends who I miss every day
I’m walking through this world in a haze
I’m looking forward to the the the Sunny Dayz
I’m walking through this world in a haze
I’m looking forward to the the the Sunny Dayz
Sunny Dayz
Sunny Dayz
I just wanna see the sun and the rays
Sunny Dayz
Sunny Dayz
I just wanna see the sun so please just staySky gray and dark
I fall apart
Seems like we are dooming
Ourselves to a life
Of darks roads
Happy thoughts are not blooming
Fighting about our emotions
Let it out that’s a potion
Or poison
Gotta soften up like lotion
Let’s go and
See what others think of me
Or is it me
Contemplating
Continue waiting
I can’t seem to see
Anything beyond what’s inside me
Hiding it with my laughter
And the jokes come right after
I look at life like chapters
And that hurts
It seems like when I’m with the people I love
The sky opens up
But only for a moment
Then they leave, and I’m right back in this funkI’m walking through this world in a haze
I’m looking forward to the the the Sunny Dayz
I’m walking through this world in a haze
I’m looking forward to the the the Sunny Dayz
Sunny Dayz
Sunny Dayz
I just wanna see the sun and the rays
Sunny Dayz
Sunny Dayz
I just wanna see the sun so please just stayEverybody Everybody Everybody stay
Everybody Please just wait
Anybody anybody anybody hey
Anybody help meAnna Marie
Emotions it is
Limited my feelings
Now it’s eating at me
I can’t seem to find my place
I see no other way
And I hope they know I’m sorry
But I cannot stay
Lyrics and music by Vachone Hall, friend of my son, (Snalez), (Feb. 7, 2019)
Yo! Snalez/Drt here! This is my last feature off of the Chris Crave LP it’s also the last song. My friend, brother, homie, pal, family etc. ended up taking his own life last year. It’s my birthday month and the last time I saw him was at my birthday party. It’s hard coming back to this time but this song needs to be shared. KEEP THE ONES YOU KNOW THAT ARE STRUGGLING CLOSE TO YOU!!! PEOPLE CAN BE TAKEN FROM YOU AT RANDOM… peace, love, and happiness to you all
Posted by Synergy Centric on Wednesday, February 13, 2019
Certain dishes create distinct memories; of my mother or of happy celebrations. The Super Bowl LIII is this weekend. When I think of the Super Bowl, I recall visions of chicken wings and young adults.
In junior high and high school, my son hosted gatherings of friends at our house. I enjoyed the background noise of young adults laughing late into the night. Many gatherings were impromptu, and others were planned events. Watching the Super Bowl was one of those planned events. The annual party started in junior high and continued for many years. My husband and I used these opportunities to cook for a group of hungry kids.
My favorite recipe for chicken wings comes from a Minnesota born chef, author, and Napa Valley restaurant owner, Cindy Pawlcyn.
We would make sure we had plenty of wings to go around, at least twice. I have pictures of the kids smiling with sauced faces and sticky fingers. After the hosting responsibilities were passed on to his other friends, my son engaged us to help him make the wings to take along with him.
Parents would tell us stories of stashing away the chicken wings for themselves for later.
The recipe is simple. The main flavoring ingredient is mushroom soy sauce, with large amounts of chopped fresh garlic and freshly ground black pepper. You can get the mushroom soy sauce at an Asian specialty market, or you can use a good grocery store brand such as Kikkoman. It is worth firing up your grill to cook these wings. I live in a northern state, and we grill outside all year around. I think that makes them even more enjoyable in the middle of a cold winter.
After a National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) fundraiser to honor my son, we hosted a gathering at our house. As we were bringing out the food and talking with his friends while they filled their plates, they reminisced about the chicken wings and my son’s gatherings at our house.
I miss my son beyond words, but these happy memories I share with you keep him present in my life.
Pawlcyn, Cindy, et al. Big Small Plates. Ten Speed Press, 2006.
I turned the television on and opened up the streaming service Netflix. I scan through the trending movies and series, then past those recommended for me. I move the cursor to the right to view more selections. A couple of titles over is the series Grand Tour. It is a new series by the same original hosts of the BBC series Top Gear.
Top Gear“ is a car show that refused to be a car show. It was about three guys (Jeremy Clarkson, James, May, and Richard Hammond) having fun, doing crazy, stupid things with cars, and many other types of motored and non-motored vehicles, pushing everything to the extreme. It was very bizarre, funny, intense, stupid, brilliant, and pure entertainment (Top Gear A-Z, 2015).” Periodically there was racing, education, and reviews on cars, but mostly silliness spanning over 13 years (2002-2015) and 25 seasons.
My son loved cars, as I think most males do. He knew all about the latest models.
The series also published a magazine with the same name. For gifts, we would get him a yearly subscription. In his room is a basket full of the magazines. I never felt it was my place to throw them away. He outgrew the fun of reading them, but he kept them in his bedroom, as a decorative fixture or piece of furniture.
Our kitchen and dining room are connected as an open living space. We spend a lot of time in this area, so the room includes a television. One winter break we cleared the dining table, put out a 1,000 piece puzzle, and began a Top Gear binge-watching marathon. We have done other puzzles as a family, but this was one of the most concentrated duration of time together, completing one.
After that, we long awaited for each new season. One of the last Top Gearseasons we watched was when he was home from college. He hooked his computer up to the television in our bedroom, and we all crowded on the bed to watch the show. I am not a car aficionado in the least, but this is irrelevant. What makes the show so enjoyable for me, are the relationships between the three hosts (my favorite being Hammond, as he reminds me of the teen idol Davy Jones) and the challenges they are required to take to test high-end cars or not so high end. We sat on the bed, laughing, and enjoying this shared connection. Looking back, I must have felt some connection to the British, as I owned a 2004 Land Rover Discovery when the kids were in middle school through high school. After trading it in, I always turn to look when a vintage model passes me by on the roadway.
We talked about taking a driving holiday through Europe together. We would rent a high-end car for three weeks and drive the iconic roadways. I distinctly remember watching an episode on Topic Gearas the three hosts raced on the Trollstigen, in Norway. I think that episode started the planning. My son found a villafor us to rent in Provence, in a hilltop village. I recently discovered the linkI had saved to my favorites on the internet.
My son moved out of the house by the time Netflix produced Grand Tour. When Grand Tour first was released in November 2016, he would come over, and we would watch it together. He is choosing to lay on the family room floor next to the dogs.
My daughter said he always knew the best shows and introduced her to others that became her favorites: That 70’s Show, How I Met Your Mother, Big Bang Theory, Psychand Avatar the Last Airbender, to name a few. The latter maybe generational, as I do not recall this one.
The magazines are still in the corner of his bedroom. I dust them like I do his other furniture and memorabilia. I have kept his other toys and books from his childhood. I use to think he may want these things someday for his children. We never talked about why I kept his toys, and he never asked me. I now wonder if those were happy or sad memories for him. I never asked him for fear of the answer.
You can watch past episodes of Top Gearon BBC Two and Amazon and Grand Touron Netflix.
