When we moved to Streamwood, my dad was not attending church. I never really asked him what was going on, I just know for a period of time he didn't attend with us. My mom, though, hunted out a church for us. We found a church named Our Redeemer Free Methodist in Elgin.
They were about ready to plant a church in Streamwood. Parkside Free Methodist church met for a while in an elementary school. Our pastor was Rick Alf and we were a small, tight-knit congregation.
I am a bit fuzzy on the timeline, but at some point after we began attending the Stones (not Rolling) also began attending. Jim, the patriarch, was a quiet man. He was a mechanic, adept with his hands but not one to be called chatty. His wife Liz and my mom became quick friends. She sewed and stayed home with the kids. Mary Beth was the oldest, about two years older than I. I have met many, many people over my life and I can say, without equivocation, that Mary Beth is one of the sweetest-tempered women in the world. She never had many cross words to share and loved everyone who came across her path.
There were two boys, Jimmy--my age--and John--my brother's age. Maybe Jimmy was a year older (again, fuzzy memory) and John a year younger. They were a handful from what I remember. John had an easy smile (still does). Jimmy always seemed to have a dark cloud following him around. It's possible I had a crush on him at some point (honestly, I had a crush on most of my male peers at one time or another). Josh came along several years later and I only really ever knew him in the context of being a kid.
It was pretty natural that I would hang with MaryBeth and her brothers. I was intimidated by how pretty she was. She was just so sweet and easygoing, neither of which came naturally to me. We would get together as a church and I would gravitate to her and her brothers.
Pastor Rick got called to a church in Texas and Mark Adams took his place. We decided to move into a storefront and out of the school. Over the next few years, our numbers declined. We had a small youth group (run by Donna Wagnaar and her husband Shane) and the Stones continued to be a fixture at the church. My dad started, at some point in the transition from the school to the storefront, to attend church again. He and Mark were close and I know he attended retreats with some of the men at Sky Lodge Christian Camp, the Free Methodist church in Wisconsin.
Then came a painful time. We decided as a congregation to close our doors. Most of the congregation decided to start attending Our Redeemer again. We went on a multi-year hunt for a new church (during which my dad again stopped attending).
It's at this point that I lost touch with the Stones. We had moved from Streamwood to Elgin and so I didn't end up going to high school with them. This was pre-Facebook and MySpace, email was limited and I didn't drive. I struggled to fit in with the youth group of the church where we finally landed. It was tough to squeeze into a group where bonds had been forged for years (much like mine had been at Parkside).
From time to time, the ladies of Parkside would get together for a reunion. My mom and her girlfriends would go to someone's house, have coffee and catch up on what was happening. I would get snippets of information about MaryBeth and her brothers.
It's through this information tree that I found out Mr Stone had passed away. My mom called me on Wednesday night to let me know about the wake. It hit close to home for me because he was 63. My dad is about to turn 60. My parents are young, really, but to hear about someone else's dad passing away and there only being a 3 1/2 year age difference is spooky.
Mr Stone was a diabetic and I found out from MaryBeth he knew and was on top of managing his diabetes. He was unaware, however, that he had severe blockages in his major arteries. I was happy to discover that he spent the day he had his heart attack with his family. They were celebrating Jimmy's birthday and had just recently vacationed in the Smoky Mountains together. We all knew he was in a much happier place, even though that doesn't erase the heartache of not having your loved one nearby.
True confession time for me. I am 35 but still a spoiled brat sometimes. I live about 5 minutes away from my parents and they are an immense support to me and my family, both emotionally and physically. We attend church with them, we see them twice a week, they take the kids on Tuesday night most weeks so that Brian and I can attend a meeting.
I therefore feel bad that I hate their hobby because it seems to take them away from us. They took ballroom dancing lessons several years ago and really loved it. Since then, they discovered that there are whole weekends revolving around ballroom dancing. (Please don't think my parents are like the competitors on DWTS. Picture seniors in semi-formal wear, like at a prom.)
My parents are not athletes but they get a good workout doing the dancing. I resent the dancing for stupid, selfish, self-centered reasons. They have always tried to impress on me the importance of building a relationship with my husband. I know that it is important and while Brian and I don't go out on dates a lot together, we do spend time cultivating our relationship.
The pressure of three young ones makes me want more help from my parents. I know I'm selfish to want more from them and I have worked to not ask for more from them. What I will say, after attending the wake last night is I am grateful my parents carve out time together to dance.
I am grateful because I would rather be away from them for a weekend than the rest of my life. I'm no fool, the odds are high that I will outlive them (not vice versa). I know they are young and the end is not nigh, but there's no guarantees in life. We are not given anything more than today.
Driving home with my dad, we talked about everything and nothing. I wanted to give him a hug or spend time telling him how much he means to me, but I also didn't want to burst into tears. I love my dad a lot, I always have. One of the benefits of having a small blog with squiggly focus (meaning it's not about a specific thing or business or whatever) is that I can, in a meandering way, sing the praises I have for my dad. He is the person who started me down the blogging path. He is my cheerleader, encourager, supporter and tireless advocate.
I didn't know Mr Stone well enough to speak to his relationship with his kids. But I saw him in pictures yesterday and I saw the love he had for his wife, his kids and his grand kids. He wasn't a ham or showy, but the twinkle in his eyes and the smile on his face spoke volumes. Everyone is going to miss him, that is for sure. I stood with MaryBeth as she studied him in the casket. She started crying and I teared up as well. We both knew that he was not there, that he left the moment he had the heart attack. I still could understand the heartache of being ripped away unexpectedly from someone you love, the person who gave you life. There are no words that can patch that wound.
I imagine the next few days will speed by because there are people all around. It seems like the family is tight-knit and I hope that as the months pass, they will continue to lean on each other. Oddly enough, John lives near where I live and our kids attend the same school! I hope to see more of him and also hear more about his brothers and sisters.
Meanwhile, I will continue to make sure my parents dance, dance, dance. I will make sure I give them plenty of hugs and kisses, tell them how much I love them and remember that I am not the center of their universe. And really, thank God for that.
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