I love my kids. The impact they’ve made on my life can’t be quantified. Daily, I’m reminded of the great privilege it is to be their father. I feel the deep pride that comes with looking at all the great things they’re each doing in the various stages of their lives. There is a profound power that rises up in my soul when I think of the lengths I would go to protect them. My love for them knows no bounds.
With this week encompassing National Daughter’s Day and National Son’s Day, I couldn’t help but scroll through old photos. It’s crazy how technology has changed this aspect of reminiscing for me. Not too long ago, I would’ve been pouring over physical photo albums. Now, I have them on my phone. The process of selecting a handful of photos to share on a Happy National Daughter’s/Son’s Day was quite complex. Years upon years of so many beautiful memories.
A Precious Stroll Down Memory Lane
During my stroll down memory lane, I came across a picture of my mother holding my oldest son, Jordan. And I sit with this photo, in deep thought, for a good while. Nearly two years before this photo, she’d been diagnosed with Leukemia. From the moment of diagnosis to the time of this picture (July of 1996) she’d undergone several rounds of chemotherapy, a bone marrow transplant at M.D. Anderson in Houston, TX, gone in and out of remission, watched her eldest son (me) graduate high school, and, now, was able to hold her first grandchild.
This would be the only time she ever got to hold him. And it was as if she knew that this would be her final opportunity. My mother was not feeling well, at all, but was able to leave M.D. Anderson and she return to my grandmother’s house in Itasca, TX to celebrate my 18th birthday. My mother was one of the strongest women I’ve ever known, if not the strongest. But Leukemia doesn’t care how strong you are…neither does the chemo…it devours and denies.
And, while that is so true, on this day I saw my mother transcend the pain and absolutely glow as she held this beautiful baby boy in her arms. Most will agree that, rarely, do pictures fully capture the beauty of these moments. But as I look back on this picture it’s about as close to a true reflection as I’ve ever seen. The way she held him. My arm around her. My baby brother, Michael, just over her right shoulder with a bright smile. One would never guess that poison was running through her body. The immense pride in her smile still speaks to me. She was glowing.
Cherish the Day
I remember never wanting that moment to end. I sat by her side the whole time. Although weak from treatment, she did not want to let Jordan go. She held him. And held him. And sang to him. And played the piano for him. And sang to him some more. Soon, it was time to gather in my grandmother’s kitchen for them to sing “Happy Birthday” to me. Time stood still. It seemed like those candles were lit forever. I didn’t want to blow them out. Not for any dramatic symbolism or anything like that. I just didn’t want that moment to end. Eventually, I blew them out. My family did that ceremonial applause. And then we enjoyed the chocolate cake my grandmother had baked and enjoyed the rest of our visit. I’m so very grateful God gave us that day.
A Painful Farewell
Over the next 5 months my mother’s condition would worsen. We spent Christmas down in Houston at my grandmother’s apartment, as she’d refinanced her house to relocate to be with my mother throughout this time. This visit would not be as joyous. My dad, brother, put on our hospital gowns and face coverings and entered my mother’s room. She lay there, resting, her eyes closed, as they’d given her medication to ease the pain. As we approached, her eyes slowly began to open. While I fully knew the pain she was in, I still felt as though she was going to jump out of the bed.
But this is not the movies – that didn’t happen. Instead, she slowly began to try to nudge her way up in her bed to sit up. She was alert and coherent, and that made me smile. I grabbed her frail hand and just sat by her side. We talked and tried to sing a few Christmas carols, as Christmas was my mother’s favorite time of the year. Through the pain, she smiled and even cracked a few jokes. The prognosis was looking worse than it had before, but I didn’t want to believe it.
Heartbroken
I can’t describe the feeling that came over me when I left that hospital room that December evening. My mom, Beverly Jan Whitfield, turned 40 on December 30, 1996. Then on January 17, 1997, she passed from this earth. To this day, I remember, vividly, each detail of that day. My whole world flipped upside down. I lost my best friend, my everything, on that day. And it would take me years to see past the anger and pain and towards the possibility of brighter days.
Over time it started to hit me, just how lucky I was to have her as an example of how a parent should love their kids. As I sit here at 45 years old – a whole 5 years older than my mother was when she passed away – I’m reminded of just how strong my mother was in those final years and in that final Christmas with my brother and I. To look out into your children’s eyes and love them so deeply, yet know that you will likely miss all the key moments of their lives. While I know my mother knew she’d be with her Heavenly Father when she left this earth, I also know that she was a human and that must have caused such pain deep in her soul. But she never let it show. I cannot begin to imagine such pain.
An Enduring Legacy
The journey from then to now has been quite an adventure. And that adventure has included the three amazing young people I’m so proud to call my own. It’s hard to imagine what life would be like without each of their unique presence in my life. I praise God for each day I get to be with them. I know, all too well, that every single day is a special gift and I do my best to cherish it. Not a day passes that I don’t think about my mother and what life would be like with her physical presence.
But her powerful presence lives within me. She nudges me in moments of uncertainty or fear. I can feel her pride when I accomplish something I set out to do. Her strength props me up when I’m faced with things that seem impossible. I feel her in moments of joy. She is my ultimate guide along this journey of parenthood, as she left such an amazing blueprint. Throughout the days of my life I commit to building upon the legacy my beloved mother left us.
