From This Day Forward

Oh, this day.

This glorious, blustery, feeling-rattling, perfect day.

Weddings, by definition and act, are triumphs of faith and hope, of love and family. And this one, this day, shone bright with all of that, and so much more.

Not so very long ago, our amazing daughter was forced to walk through a very dark and trying time. She lost someone she loved and it was heartbreaking for her and all of us who cherish her. But Cearra was brave and strong. She didn't grow bitter; she didn't shutter her heart, nor limit her dreams. She chose to believe. And when the time was right, the man who now makes her smile sparkle, who honors her and loves her without limits, walked into her life.  

Yes, weddings are expressions of faith and hope; of love and family. And on this day, Cearra and Tim shared all of that with all of us, in many ways.

It began at the rehearsal dinner, a rollicking event generously hosted by Tim’s dad and his new bride Vicki. Cearra and Tim showed their thoughtfulness in a playful way, serving four delicious cakes – one each to acknowledge and celebrate my dad’s birthday, Tim’s aunt’s birthday, Tim’s brother and wife’s anniversary (all that very day), and mine and Bob’s anniversary (the day before).   

The wedding party was joyfully chosen by the bride and groom and made up of brothers and sisters, plus nieces and nephews who added more than a touch of whimsy and wiggles. Add old pals and new friends also proud to stand and smile through the windy gusts and chilly weather as they will stand by Tim and Cearra in their married life.

Tim and his family recently suffered the all too soon passing of a beloved uncle. In his honor, Tim and Cearra invited his son to be an usher and his daughter to read "Desiderata" during the ceremony. Upholding a Nocera family tradition, they had an "apron" dance during the reception, and the new Mr. and Mrs. will be donating all the collected money to the Maryland Greenbaum Cancer Center in Jay’s honor.

Most of all, the moment we are all still talking about … as Bob walked Cearra down the aisle, they stopped beside her uncle Todd’s chair and Cearra reached out her hand. She took his arm and said “I love you”.

In Todd’s own words:

My heart is overflowing, my cup runneth over! Today I experienced the depth of sacrifice and the fullness of love. Knowing that because of Hannah's disabilities I would never get to walk her down the aisle, Cearra and Bob surprised me and allowed me to take Cearra's arm and accompany them the rest of the way to the altar. I'm overwhelmed that Cearra would love me enough to think to do that, and that Bob would allow me to have a part in a moment that was deservedly his and his alone. I feel like I could live a thousand years and never in that amount of time be blessed the way I was today.

If you can still see through the tears in your eyes, please enjoy the pictures I’ve gathered from both the professional photographer and those posted by friends and family.

Everything about the ceremony and reception was spectacular. The location, Wyndridge Farms, was stunning. The flowers and décor, all the little special touches created by Cearra and by Le Anne, the music and dancing and food and drinks – all were fantastic. The bridesmaids were beautiful and the groomsmen good-looking, and as I think you’ll agree, the bride was breathtakingly gorgeous, the groom so handsome.

But on this day, the most memorable, wonderful things of all were these: faith and hope; love and family.

  

      

Cruising with Cearra

What makes an event memorable?

For me, it's all in the details. It's not necessarily related to the amount of money spent or the "awe" factor of the location. No, I think it's the touches - large or small - that show the host knows and cares deeply about making the honoree feel special.

And perhaps there's no one better than Nanny and Maria (my mother/sister-in-law) at planning and creating those personalized details. The bridal shower they hosted for Cearra last weekend was a beautiful example of their creativity and talents, but even more so of their deep love and excitement for Cearra.

The theme was "Cruising" (C and Tim are taking a cruise for their honeymoon) and everything from the handmade invitations to the decor to the specialty cocktail reflected that. Maria made the delicious food, working from recipes she had secretly gathered from Cearra's Pinterest board. The table was set beautifully with soft blue organza, white flowers, and sparkling glassware passed down from Cearra's grandmother. We all received little messages in the bottle, with one telling the lucky recipient they'd be taking home a gorgeous anchor themed wreath; while three other guests won a set of hand painted beach scene cards from Nanny, Maria and Aunt Pam. Nanny's gift to Cearra was presented in a vintage looking suitcase, mimicking one of the stunning cakes. And everywhere Nanny (with Owen's help) had created montages and displays of photos of Cearra growing up, and through her relationship with Tim.

It was truly a special afternoon and one I know Cearra will long cherish and remember.

She Said Yes!

The heart is a wondrous muscle. Not only in it's ability to physically pump life through our body, but also in it's ability to heal when bruised, to carry on when hurting, to accept and try again after being broken. To be brave and open.

And because of this, we found ourselves gathering with friends and family, on the hottest day of the summer, atop Federal Hill Park last Saturday night. Gathered by a special young man, to help him show his heart completely to our Cearra.

He'd asked Bob and I for her hand in marriage several weeks prior, then created a Facebook event to share the word and invite others. Enlisting his best friend (and soon to be best man), to serve as his point person, Tim would bring Cearra to the park, sight of their first date, with the ruse of taking a stroll before meeting friends for dinner.

At the appointed time, we all spotted them coming up the hill; Tim purposely placing an arm around Cearra's shoulders to turn her focus towards Baltimore's Inner Harbor as his supporters in this romantic caper made their way across the park without being spotted by Cearra.

They embraced, sharing private words, then Tim dropped to his knee, and with words we couldn't hear but could somehow still "feel", asked Cearra to be his wife. And on his cue, we - friends and family and assorted park patrons - sang "I can't help falling in love with you"!

It was then, among the cheers and clapping, that Cearra finally turned, and seeing us all there, put her hands to her face and wept with joy and happiness. And so did we.

She looked, and she saw the faces of those who has always believed in her and supported her through dark days - me, Bob, Owen, her sister Kristine, Nana and Pop-Pop, Nanny, Todd and Maria, Missy, Dyron. She looked and saw her new family - Tim's mom and dad, brother and sister-in-law (and the best behaved baby ever, Maddie), aunts and uncles, and close friends - who stood ready to welcome her with open arms.

She looked back at Tim, and saw her dreams come true. Her bright future. And they - and we - could not be happier.

All gorgeous photos courtesy of Kristine Neeley Photography

Hail and Well Met!

This weekend Cearra got a tattoo and Owen added to his sword collection. Bob and I are so proud!

The Maryland Renaissance Fair was great fun - and even better people watching.

On the left, a perfect example as to why one
should not indulge in too much ale!

Joined by the Bealls, we wandered the beautiful grounds, took in a joust, marveled over all the food choices, and found entertainment for everyone.

Men in stupid hats throwing hatchets 

Amy's mom Nancy found a fellow

Our knight for the joust

My Prince and Princess

And of course, that tattoo? Henna. And the sword, wooden. Huzzah!

The most pain free way to get tattooed

Happy Birthday C!

She is brave, loyal, faithful, dedicated, fierce (in the best sense of the word), and beautiful. 

Happy birthday Cearra.

You make us so proud.

Love,

Dad, Mom and Owen

Gifts for This Mom

I waited a long time to be able to celebrate Mothers Day. To own it.

I didn't marry Bob until age 29 and when I became a step mother to Cearra I was very conscious of not trying to "take" her mother's place. And thanks to Disney, step moms don't really get to celebrate Mother's Day, although I've long felt, now more than ever, like C's mom too.

Baby fever first hit me in earnest in January of 1997. I remember coming home from driving a laboring friend to the hospital in the middle of the night and telling Bob, let's have a kid! Instead, two months later I was having surgery for breast cancer at age 31. We waited through treatments to finish, and waited to be given the OK from my doctors.

Next came the discovery I couldn't get pregnant "naturally" and the long, trying months of procedures and shots in my stomach before the day I finally sat on the couch crying and knowing I could not endure that particular form of hope wrapped in barbed wire one more time.

We turned to adoption. And more waiting. We officially started the process in October 2005, and brought Owen home in March of 2007, the day after I turned 40.

If you lost count, or, like me, aren't great at math, that's nine years of waiting from when I first imaged having a baby to becoming my baby's mom.

My point in recounting all that is to say again: I waited a long time to be able to celebrate Mother's Day.

Is it any surprise that I totally bought in to the consumer side of the holiday these past seven years? Yep, I wanted the cards and the flowers and bring on the jewelry. I wanted to go to Mother's Day brunches and dinners out. I wanted to celebrate in capital letters that I was finally, emotionally, officially a mom!

My family did a good job. Bob made me a card with picture of him, the kids, and the cats, and I teared up. One year not too long ago Cearra addressed her card to me "Dear Mom", and I cried. My parents sent me a card saying how proud they were of me as a mom, and I bawled. Last year Owen picked out a ceramic rose and lawn sculpture type rabbit for me, and I laughed so hard I cried. I gloried in all of it.

With Mother's Day just around the corner, I was thinking of what I'd like as a gift; in other words, what shiny object I could pick out and email to Bob that I'd like. And I realized that while I can always find things I want, the more important thing is what I need.

On Mother's Day and every day, I need my family to know I love them. I need to kiss Bob in the morning although I'm still half asleep when he heads off to work, and I need him to know how much I appreciate him supporting me being a stay at home mom. I need to get a text from Cearra when she leaves our place to return to her apartment saying that she's made it safe and sound. That I am so proud of her and that she is my daughter. I need to cuddle with Owen in the morning and hug him when he comes home from school and tell him that I missed him.

I need my mom to know that while I fail at calling or emailing often, she is always in my thoughts (and heart) and I am always thankful for the beautiful way she raised me. I need my mother-in-law to know I think she's amazing too, and that I know how lucky I am to have her.

I need them all to know that they make my life what it is and that I consider myself so very blessed. And yes, I need to know that they love me too and they appreciate me as I appreciate them (so thoughtfully chosen Hallmark cards are still expected).

There are things I wish too. That Owen's mom in Kazakhstan, while most likely feeling her loss especially strongly on Mother's Day, can find some peace in imagining him safe and sound and much loved. That sons and daughters who have watched their mother's pass on can find some joy remembering good times together. And that those women still wanting and waiting to be mothers find the strength to get through this day and keep hoping and believing.

So no, I don't really need any possessions on this Mother's Day; because I've already been given the greatest gift of all. I love you with everything I am Cearra and Owen, now and always.

One Year. We Persevere.

One year ago today Bob's cell phone ring pierced the early morning quiet. In the next few minutes we learned that life would be forever changed; for Dennis, Cearra, us.

***

I remember the first time they met as adults (having occasionally been at the same parties in Dennis' - and Bob's - hometown of Cumberland as kids). It was Nascar weekend in September 2011. I knew right away that Dennis, in his gentle, quiet way, was attracted to Cearra, and I thought, "oh, I wish you had a chance". Throughout the weekend they gradually started talking more, and I knew that Cearra was drawn to this handsome young man who helped in the kitchen, braved a cold rain to accompany the other guys during a round of golf although he didn't have clubs to play, and shyly blushed as the older woman - after a few glasses of wine - oohed and aahed over his biceps. As we all went our separate ways Monday morning, I saw a sparkle in Cearra's eyes that had once been dimmed, and I thought, "well, maybe".

A little over a month later, they met again at the company's 10th anniversary party. Dennis had gone shopping the day before, and arrived looking handsome in a new shirt and tie. They sat next to each other through dinner; easy, companionable. And when Bob and I accompanied a few folks to a local bar for after party drinks, Dennis and Cearra stayed behind to talk some more. When we swung back by the hotel to pick her up, I saw in them both the possibilities.

The next day Cearra approached me, chatting about how nice Dennis was, what a gentleman he was, how easily they had talked. How much he made her smile. He knew she was in a long term relationship, and he respected that, but added that he just wished he had the chance to date her. She wasn't ready yet, and headed back to school and the course she had long thought her life would take. I waited. Because I knew.

They continued to text as friends, getting to know each other. And eventually Cearra was brave enough to take the big and scary step of ending something that wasn't making her happy. When she did, her friend Dennis was there waiting.

From that point on they were best friends. They just fit, as I suspected they would during that weekend at the race. Dennis supported Cearra and made her feel safe, secure and respected. He knew how to calm her down and make her laugh at herself when needed. He didn't get angry with her or pick fights - he was her constant. Cearra took care of Dennis in a way I think he'd been searching for a long time. She was (still is) fiercely loyal and supportive of him. 

Cearra finished her last semester at school, and Dennis came to her graduation. He beamed with pride as her name was called and she walked to her diploma and then, to him. She moved back home, and he followed, and fit smoothly into our family. He was always game to help me in the kitchen, even though I usually gave him the job of chopping onions. Many weekends he helped Bob with jobs outside; power washing the siding or moving our annual delivery of the mulch mountain.

I've always suspected I overwhelmed him at first; intent on making him tell me about himself or join in a conversation. And while he was never rude, I quickly learned that Dennis preferred to take in what was said rather than babble on himself. 

That very quality is why Owen instantly took a shine to him. Dennis treated Owen with respect and interest. He'd listen to Owen tell him about Monster trucks and often came home after work and played Wii with him, or threw a baseball in the side yard. Owen liked his shiny, loud, black Mustang quite a bit too.

I watched some of Bob's stress melt away as Dennis took on more and more responsibility at work. Dennis was smart and conscientious; he wanted to learn about the business and was eager to listen as Bob talked of everything from interacting with the customer to contributing to a 401k. People often remarked on how much Bob and Dennis looked alike, but I think it was more that they just were alike.

Dennis was generous and kind (just like Bob). He gave me some of his frequent flyer miles so that I could go help out a friend in Atlanta; and he wordlessly put a check on my dresser to help her out monetarily. He was always good-natured and easy to be around; he even happily donned a Ravens jersey and accompanied us to New Orleans to cheer on our team, despite being a proud Dallas Cowboy fan. 

But more importantly to me, he made Cearra happier than I'd ever seen her. Soon, I began referring to him as my future son-in-law. We all believed that.

***

People ask me all the time how Cearra is doing now; and while I appreciate their ongoing concern, it is hard to answer that question. I tell them that she wakes up every morning and goes to work, then returns to the apartment she has slowly made into a home. That she has a new kitten that has brought a beautiful smile back to her face. That she joins us on the weekends and that her and I enjoy some time each Saturday to shop, or get manicures. I tell people that she is strong and brave, although her heart is still shattered. And that she loves Dennis, and she misses him every day.

They ask about Dennis, and sadly I can't tell them much of anything. We know he's progressed much father than his original neurologist predicted; that's he's in a nursing home; that he can walk with assistance and has recently passed a swallow test and may be able to start eating soft foods. But his guardian denied Cearra the privilege of visiting Dennis the day after Thanksgiving, and she hasn't been able to sit by his side since. This woman has also blocked us from being able to see her occasional updates on the facebook page set up to share information and prayers; both actions which have caused even greater pain and which I will never understand. No matter what, Dennis is always in all of our minds, hearts and prayers.

I notice new wrinkles around Bob's eyes as he makes his way through our new reality. I won't forget the night Bob called me from Chicago, and through tears choked out "I can't fix this for her." Any parent knows that your child's suffering is so much more piercing then your own. All you want is to kiss and hug and bandage as you could when they were small and wounds were only skin deep. On top of that pain, Bob was dealing with the loss of an outstanding employee, the threat of financial repercussions, and the emotions of each member of the AES family, including Dennis' best friend, who saw him fall. Is is a testament to Bob's strength and goodness that he pulled us all through those first few weeks.

At first I tried to hide my tears from Owen, but of course he saw my sadness, he wondered at the sudden disappearance of his dad, sister, and one of his favorite people. He struggled for months, developing stomachaches and headaches and anxiety, and often climbing into my lap to cry. In our efforts to help him we took him to a therapist and to visit Dennis once he finally returned to Baltimore; a visit that while stressful and scary for Owen was ultimately also a good thing. He's doing OK now, but I know he still misses his buddy Big D.

As for me, not a day goes by that I don't mourn this huge loss. But I've learned you can't live under the daily weight of grief; you have to look for the joy still around. It doesn't mean you forget, just that you chose to focus on happiness. As I reflect back on this year, I realize I've learned a few other lessons too.

I'm a first born, a Kaufmann, a slightly watered down version of my Dad. I'm accustomed to leading. In the months after the accident I spent a lot of time worrying and planning in my head what should happen next, how people should feel or act, what we should all do. Thankfully I have enough awareness of other people's feelings that the majority of my dictates (all driven by fear and pain and confusion) went unspoken.

Rather I had to learn to let others do what they thought best; what felt right to them. I had to lay down my inclination to look into a future I couldn't see anyway, and just let it be. Sounds so easy - live in the moment; let go, let God - but for me that was a challenge. Actually doing so has been freeing. I trust Bob will do what is best for the business and our livelihood will be OK. I trust Cearra to do what is right for her; to make the decisions that will eventually help her towards the happy life she chooses for herself - whatever that may look like. I've learned I don't need to plan or schedule or arrange for them. I just need to love them and be there when they want my help.

As much as it sounds rotten to admit now, at first I was very angry and often gripped by rage at Dennis. How could he do this to Cearra? He'd made her a promise, yet he chose to make a series of decisions that led to heartbreak for so many. How could he be so careless when his whole life was opening up in front of him? When he fell from that escalator, he changed all of our lives forever. And none of it had to happen.

I've learned that it's best to forgive. Not only does my faith expect it of me, "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us", but harboring negative feelings takes a toll on one's soul. I think most people, myself included, have made stupid, thoughtless choices and mistakes over the course of their lives. Not because they mean to, or because they want to hurt themselves or others, but just because it is the nature of human beings, and none of us are perfect. The tragedy is that Dennis got "caught" in his mistake.

I know that Dennis would never intentionally hurt Cearra, or his family and friends; and of course he'd never choose to be where he is now. Anger is part of the process of grief, and I had to let myself feel it; but once I was able to let go I could breath more deeply again, and focus my heart and energy where it was needed.

I am, by nature, logical and realistic. I value information, especially in situations that are scary and seemly uncontrollable. So as I did when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, after Dennis' accident I read books, traumatic brain injury web sites, scientific articles, and talked to doctor friends. I learned coma scales, recovery rates, and which parts of the brain control which functions. And in this way I quickly realized that the medical prognosis was grim. From there, my reaction was to frame any and all information relayed from Dennis' bedside within the parameters of science, and to try to plan for the future based on what I thought I knew.

Those close to me were operating differently; and their response helped them navigate the fog and pain. They were relentlessly upbeat, "knowing" Dennis would soon wake; believing he'd soon come home. They related stories of a second cousin's best friend who fully recovered after a car accident and saw signs in Scripture. This approach was right for them, and I often berated myself for not being able to share their sunny hope, but in the early days it also made me feel shut out and a little crazy. I thought I was being realistic; they thought I was being pessimistic. Sometimes I felt as if they were being willfully ignorant of the truth. But I also chided myself for not having their view.

Gradually, I realized I could share some of the optimism they professed; after all, no one truly knows when a miracle may occur. I came to admire their faith while gleaming some for myself. Yes, the statistics and current situation point to one outcome, but I've learned that sometimes it's better just to focus on the outcome you'd like to happen. You can understand "what is" in your head, but continue to hope for "what may be" with all your heart. 

***

So today, a year later, we keep going as best we can. Like Dennis, we are on a long, hard road to healing. I read recently that "hope is the backbone of perseverance", and I like that. As a family, for Cearra, we will keep our heads up, our hearts strong. This story is still being written.