Category Archives: Grandchildren

Eric, Jack, Mary, Merck Forest, Riley, Susan

Tribute to My Mother, July 6, 2016

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It‘s kind of a preposterous task to boil down a lifetime of experiences and emotions into a 10 minute tribute. I guess the best way I can sum it up is by expressing the overwhelming gratitude I feel for having had parents like mom and dad. I wish they were still here, but I also know how lucky I was to have had them at all. The way they raised us, the sacrifices they made for us, and the people they put around us… I am a lucky man and I constantly strive and hope I can live up to them.

I loved my mom very deeply, I told her it often, we prioritized our time together even when it wasn’t logistically easy, and we always had fun. We shared lots of adventures, tons of laughs and love, and I can say with great satisfaction that I have very few regrets—nothing left unsaid, and boat loads of great memories to draw on, if only I had more time to ponder them. I treasure this moment more than you can imagine and thank you all for being here to empower it.

Thinking back to our childhood, as Chris touched on, this is such an apt place for this celebration because we have many, many good memories here together from a time when, at least for us kids, things were so very simple…hiking up this path, laden with packs, a pack of dogs, trips to the pond, hikes up the mountain, shopping trips into Dorset and Manchester, and of course ice cream.

I think one of the reasons mom loved this trip so much is that it was a great organizational challenge, and certainly she never shied away from one of those. She always worried about such things, way more than she should, because there was never any doubt when she set her mind to something that it was going to happen. Mom was at her core a doer, biased toward action, an incredibly dynamic person who was never quite so comfortable as she was when in the midst of planning and executing one of her many projects. She was extremely bright, but even more so determined and tenacious. She loved new challenges both big and small, ranging from

  • How to remove a rooftop box from her car without help
  • How to get Gay into the house in Vermont
  • How to move an area rug
  • How to launch sea kayaks out of the ocean by oneself and get them back out again
  • How to line up your car in the garage to ensure its fully inside which as we all know involves a tennis ball
  • How to strap a backpack onto a golden retriever so that they might carry their own weight up the hill
  • Sew a child’s sleeping bag, knit sweaters, a down vest, a falcon mascot costume or ET Halloween costume
  • And of course, how to convert some small, sagging, shack of a home on the beautiful waterfront in Shelburne Nova Scotia into an incredible, sprawling home that was a veritable bed and breakfast, and adventure destination for her family and friends

She loved small kitchen tasks with the exact right tool… all forms of gadgetry and gear. And she loved to teach about it. I frequently remember her sharing some new tool and asking what I thought it might be for… or showing me the results of her completed work with pride and enthusiasm.

Mom found her greatest solace in the physical world, constantly learning and manipulating it to her vision, and she was highly effective and potent in doing so. But yet I’m also struck now looking back at how incredibly humble she was. You would never hear her toot her own horn about anything, she never flaunted or trumpeted her many accomplishments and skills. She was secure and comfortable in who she was as a person and so found no need for such things—always quick to deprecate herself, make a joke, laugh it off, or shift the focus.

Mom was also a loving person, who cared deeply for us, and I am humbled in knowing that Chris and I were her greatest project. That’s an incredible gift. Both mom and dad always prioritized time with the family over anything else and we had a lot of fun together.

The last phase of her life was not an easy one. For a woman who was a planner and doer, losing Dad at the very beginning of the new life they had planned together and waited for was a difficult blow… this was not the plan. But she never dwelled, true to her character she moved ever forward—strong, tough and resilient.

  • This is a woman who broke her ankle quite badly on the waterside in Canada, with an impending hurricane, and then dragged herself up the lawn 200 feet on a steep incline in the rain.
  • A woman who broke her wrist badly while alone in Vermont
  • A woman who drove herself back-and-forth to DHMC hospital on numerous occasions to receive difficult treatments for her cancer
  • And who drove herself home from Canada just 3 weeks before she died

It’s hard to fathom those things—they speak to that same courage, determination, and tenacity that served her so well in life—but I hate the thought of her having had to face them alone. Perhaps that is my only regret, that I couldn’t convince her to come live with us in those latter years. But I guess I am left to understand that this was symbolically something she could not abide—a surrender, a loss of her core identity and the independence she valued so much.

She made the most of those last 6 years living with metastatic cancer. I have no doubt those same strengths she called upon in life allowed her to live as long and as fully as she did. And in that time she got to know Mary really well and I’ve always treasured the bond and friendship they formed, she built relationships with my children, and we had many, many fun adventures — trips to Costa Rica, San Diego, Mammoth, central coast of California, to Vermont many times over, and to Canada. I will cherish those times together forever as some of the best times we ever had. I know it was not easy for her, but darn it she was not going to let anything get in her way, and I thank her for that beyond words for that.

There’s one memory that sticks out for me at the end. It was last time we saw her alive in Vermont, and we had taken her home from the hospital so she could be at home in her last days. We knew this was it, but we didn’t know how long it would be and so Chris and I made some difficult decisions about how we would manage through with our priorities and kids and jobs. We decided it was best if Mary and I got our kids home and I would come back a week later to spell Chris. Mom was pretty out of it by this point, but I told her we were going and I told her I loved her, and I can remember clearly she said “I know, you’ve told me it many times and I love you too”.

True to her nature, when I woke up early the next morning and came down stairs Meg was there and said “your mom is awake she’s been waiting up for you because wants to make sure to say good-bye”. Mom never slept well the night before a big trip so why would this night be any different? And so we all went in and gathered around her bed and she sat up and I can remember vividly her saying good-bye to Jack and Riley, pouring every ounce of strength she had left into being present, making sure to give them a big smile and to engage them. She knew this would be her last chance and she wanted to make the most of it.

I am so proud of her on so many levels, both in life and in death, and can only hope and trust that I will handle my own end, my own challenges in life, with that same grace, courage, and humility that she did.

She only ever asked that we pay it forward to our kids. I don’t know why but it’s always stuck with me a conversation we had as I was choosing a college. Of course I chose an extremely expensive private school over cheaper, just as good options. There was no pressure, I only remember her saying “just do the same for your kids”. Obviously that goes way beyond college tuition. And so I’m left to pay those same ethics, those same life skills, effectiveness, grace, toughness, love and humility forward to my children as my lasting tribute and the only one worthy of her. We will miss her but the things she stood for and valued will live on in the people she loved.

The experiences of life over the past 10 years have taught me that while there is never enough time on this earth with the people you love, there are much more important things in life than the mere question of how many years we have. Mom found solace, she found love, she found friendship, she found fulfillment, she found quiet and peace.

She was a great person. Let’s all take a moment to think about her and what she meant to us, and say good-bye.

Chris, Eric, Gaia, Jack, Mary, Merck Forest, Quinn, Riley, Robert, Susan, Teresa, Thea

Our first visit to the Memorial Bench at Merck Forest

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Robert and Susan’s descendants at the Merck Forest memorial bench

This week we all ventured to Merck Forest to see firsthand — for the first time — a bench installed in memory of our parents Robert and Susan. Located at Merck Forest and Farmland Center in Rupert, Vermont, the granite bench sits overlooking Page Pond near the farm’s barn, sap house, and horse shed. Simple, strong, and a bit rugged, the bench is graced by this simple inscription:

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Sitting on this beautifully-designed bench overlooking Merck’s farm was awe-inspiring for us. It’s so humbling that this tribute to our parents will be located in perpetuity in a place they loved so dearly.

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The bench overlooks Page Pond at Merck’s Farm Center

We are deeply grateful to our great family friend Dave, who conceived of the bench memorial and found a local craftsperson — John Hikory — to make it a reality. We are also thankful that the staff and trustees of Merck Forest — most prominently Communications Coordinator Marybeth Leu and Executive Director Tom Ward — felt that this memorial fit well with Merck’s important mission to demonstrate the benefits of innovative, sustainable management of forest and farmland.

Costa Rica, Eric, Jack, Mary, Riley, Susan

Courage and Determination

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There’s nothing fair about what happened to mom–first losing her soul mate over the course of a week, and then just four years later being diagnosed with late stage cancer. She easily could have given up and I know at times she struggled with the injustice of it. But mom was a fighter and she never wallowed. She was one of the strongest and most determined people you’ll ever meet. She was a doer, she made things happen–organized, ingenious, and highly effective. And she deployed those strengths to their fullest measure during the last 6 years of her life. I’m incredibly proud of her and thankful for that time she gave us. It was difficult for her, living with the constant specter of the end in our midst, but it also gave us an opportunity for a very long good-bye and we took every bit of it. Through her courage she gave us an incredible gift that we will carry with us forever.

From the time mom was first diagnosed with cancer until we last said good bye to her that fall morning in 2014, we visited with her no less than 20 times and never for less than a full week. Over the holidays we would go to Vermont, and a few summers we went to Canada, but more often than not it was mom who made the solo trip across country to California. She underwent a harrowing treatment schedule during those years, but she never let it stop her.

We always tried to make an adventure of it–whether it be a trip to San Diego, to wine country in Santa Yves or Paso Robles, a helicopter ride to Catalina Island, an adventure in Costa Rica, visiting our friend Beth in Carlsbad, or even just trips to the beach and new restaurants in Ventura and Santa Barbara, she was always game. During those years we had great times, with lots of laughs and love. She watched Riley and Jack grow up and built a wonderful friendship with Mary. We wanted more–but those times were priceless and we have few regrets.

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In April 2014, we made a family trip to Costa Rica. We all knew that it could be our last family trip together, but we didn’t focus on it. We went to the beach every morning and to the pool. She went boogie boarding. One of the last days of our trip we went on an “adventure tour” into the mountains. Mom road horseback up a mountain and then zip lined between tree stands hundreds of feet off the ground across spans many hundreds of meters wide. She went down a quarter-mile water slide, bathed in natural hot springs, and volcanic mud. It would be just six months before her death–ever brave and determined to take life head on.

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I’ll never forget the morning in Vermont we last said good bye to her. After more than a week between the hospital and getting mom home, Mary and I decided we needed to get the kids back to California. It was a really hard decision, but it made sense at the time. Our flight was very early in the morning so I said goodbye to mom the night before. But when we woke up at 4am, mom was awake too. She had been up all night to make sure she could say good bye to us. The cancer had taken its toll on her liver and she was not totally lucid all week, but you could tell she was pouring everything she had into being present at that moment. She was smiling and talking to us. She made sure to engage Jack and Riley each individually to tell them how much she loved them. I know it took everything she had. She passed away the next day. I’m so thankful to her for that. She knew it was her final good bye, and she wanted to make it a good one–one last act of determination from an incredibly strong, brave woman. True to her character, mom left nothing on the table.

Gaia, Quinn, Susan, Thea

The first anniversary of mom’s death: the tragedy of what she will never know

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Today is the first anniversary of Mom’s death from cancer. She lived a reasonably long and very full life, but it is still hard to accept that she is gone, especially as a result of a rare and incurable cancer. Life is not fair, because only allowing Mom seventy-one years of life seems like not enough.

In many ways we were very lucky. Mom was diagnosed with cancer in 2009, and initially was told by some of her doctors that she should not hope to live more than a year. Over the next five-plus years she endured a lot of tough treatments but also enjoyed a lot of good times. She continued to go to Nova Scotia each summer, and we all got to join her in a lot of wonderful adventures. When Dad died we had almost no warning; in a matter of days he was no longer present, and in a matter of weeks he was no longer alive. But with Mom’s illness we knew that we had only years left in her life, a very tough reality that also allowed us to appreciate our remaining time with her.

Mom stayed healthy and strong until nearly the end. She drove herself home from Nova Scotia in the early Fall of 2014, and it wasn’t until October that I got the fateful call from her: they wanted to keep her at Dartmouth-Hitchcock because she was beginning to experience serious symptoms of her rapidly-spreading cancer. That short phone call was pretty much the last fully-lucid conversation I had with Mom, although we enjoyed several weeks with her in the hospital and in hospice.

When liver metastases are what kills you, you go pretty gently. Almost mercifully your body’s ability to cleanse toxins from your bloodstream declines, leaving you in a mental fog that slowly thickens. Mom slipped into a state of being less aware of what was befalling her, and I think that was for the best. But before she became completely confused, she had her moments of lucidity. And the one that I will always remember with most love and sadness occurred when she was visited by a palliative care doctor in the hospital.

Mom was never much for emptying her soul: she could be very emotional, but she was not particularly fond of opening up… especially to strangers. So it was a bit awkward as this very kind and gentle palliative care doctor sat with Mom, asking her important — and emotional — end-of-life questions. Central to these questions was did Mom have any regrets that she wanted to address before she died?

In my eyes, Mom had very little to regret in her life. She worked incredibly hard, and became a veritable force of nature, both as the motivating presence of our family and as a talented educator. She had a lot of adventures when she was young, and then with Dad, and then with the family they created, and then on her own after Dad died. Throughout she lived life on her own terms and was a really steadfast, reliable person to all whom she loved. She let no one down, and had nothing to regret.

Mom struggled to answer the palliative doctor’s question. None of her regrets required palliation. But she did have regrets.

“I guess my biggest regret is what I will miss. I would like to be at my granddaughter’s high school graduation, but I know that I won’t be around for that.”

Mom’s honest and clear regret cut right through me, and tears dripped down my face. Although Mom probably did not need the emotional facet of palliative care, I was thankful to that doctor for eliciting this feeling from Mom. For me it was important to face this very sad and very difficult reality: Mom would not be around to see where the family she created would end up.

The tragedy producing Mom’s regret has two mercilessly brutal sides. It is not just tragic that Mom will not get to see what happens to her sons and to her grandchildren. It is equally sad that her grandchildren will not get to experience her — and all of her powers — as they grow up. Eric and I miss Mom dearly, but we carry within us the values and aptitudes that her love and presence as a parent provided. It is tough to swallow that our kids will not have the chance to learn what we have learned from their Grandmother.

This loss inspires a big aspiration of this site: not to replace what having known Robert and Susan would have provided to our kids, but to at least give our kids a rich sense of who their grandparents were.

So, on the first anniversary of Mom’s death, I am most sad for my three kids.

For Gaia, who was lucky enough to get to know her grandmother quite well, but also was just blossoming into a young woman when she lost her Grandma Sue.

For Quinn, who got to experience his grandmother’s adoration and attention, even though he will have no memory of those times.

And for Thea, who only got to meet her grandmother once and under the worst of circumstances.

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My three babies, I am so sad that your grandmother was taken from you too soon, but I am going to try to do my best to teach you everything that she taught me, and to tell you about who she was.