To be remembered simply as “someone who loved”
Original Medium Post HERE
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Love, service, and community joy
My parents, who don’t know this week’s blog post is about them.
After my father’s life is done, he wants to be remembered simply as “someone who loved.”
He and my mother are humbly, deeply loving and selfless. Their love is quiet, practical and applied — shown in constant giving.
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Two love stories
1) Two years ago, my mother had pneumonia-like symptoms that kept her up all night. We later learned the symptoms stemmed from heart failure and the need for a heart valve replacement.
It was Tuesday, when they usually came to watch our children. My father called and said, “I want to take your mother to urgent care, but we can come if you need us.” (Of course, we told them to go to urgent care.)
While she was at the hospital, waiting for the valve replacement, my mother kept telling the nurses, “I have to get out of here. I made my Skye {her granddaughter} soup. I didn’t have a chance to bring it to her because of this stupid thing.” She was pointing at her heart valve.
The day she got out of the hospital, my mother made sure we picked up Skye’s soup, and then headed straight to my aunt’s house to help sweep her garage.
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2) My parents have a house in Maine where my sister’s and my families go nearly every summer weekend.
My sister’s nine-year-old girl and six-year-old boy and my nine-year-old boy and six-year-old girl sleep in two sets of bunk beds in one room. No matter their bedtime, the children are up before 6.
My nearly 84-year-old mother wakes up first in the morning so she can feed them breakfast. We — the parents — sleep in (at least a little).
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The house is near the beach that all of us — except my parents — spend most days on. My parents walk down for a few minutes a few times a summer — and then return home.
Otherwise, they can be found at the supermarket, and often a fish store, then home, making us all a fresh meal every Sunday. They garden and keep up the home. They also love going to the town dump to deliver our trash.
Every Saturday night, they watch the kids or bring them to a neighborhood event so my generation can have a date night.
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My parents call this “vacation”.
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When we leave at the end of the weekend, my father always thanks my wife for coming with our kids. He says being together is his greatest joy.
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Love with humility
When I was in high school, my Adoption Worker, Kitty, asked if I would speak at a foster/adoptive parent training about my experience as a foster child and adoptee. I spoke on these training panels various times over the years that followed.
Kitty suggested asking my parents if they would join and present some time.
“What do we have to tell them?” my mother asked.
“We just did our thing. Nothing special,” my father said.
I thought they did a lot very well, but the attempt to recruit them was hopeless. I’ll tell more of our story one day. I don’t have quite the same humility they do.
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Giving and community joy
My parents derive — and generate — great joy and purpose from our community joy pillar of relationships.
Is it just me, or is a lot of our cultural conversation about relationships focused on what we should get? On what we deserve?
There is a lot of talk about getting out of “toxic relationships” — and that is important, when relationships are truly toxic. I am glad that conversation exists. I’m glad we’ve learned to stand up for ourselves when we need to.
But I think sometimes elements of modern culture encourage us to get down on our knees and look under the furniture in our relationships to find toxicity and reason for complaint. Staring down there can lead us to miss the magnificence of the relationship room.
Sometimes, elements of our culture can push us to focus too much on what we’re getting and not enough on what we’re giving. That weakens relationships for all of us.
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Although my parents didn’t grow up in the East Boston Social Centers, they certainly embody our motto: “when all give, all gain.”
I can never give back to them all they’ve given to me — and to us. That is true in so many of my relationships — both personally and with all the support people give for the work of the Social Centers, Silver Lining Mentoring and more.
I know I’m going through the world taking a lot. People like my parents, many of our blog readers, and many who don’t read it, inspire me to ask what more I can give.
Stay joyful, East Boston.
My parents, Vanessa and me in the Isle of Skye (the place that inspired our daughter’s name) 10 years ago.
Please share, subscribe, and join our movement by emailing me or supporting East Boston Social Centers. Look out each week for our posts about boosting joy the only way we can: in community.
