Tag: magnolia

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A Special Tree in a Special Place

Delaware Art Museum was an integral part of my life with Mary. She introduced me to the Museum and I spent many hours there with my sons, with Mary, or all of us together. Since losing her I have often taken solace in the galleries, Labyrinth, Kids’ Corner, and Sculpture Garden. I’ve been there with my boys, with friends, and on my own.

The Museum has decided to dedicate one of their magnolias to Mary’s memory. This tree sits in the Copeland Sculpture Garden where we’ve danced to live music; watched movies; picnicked; played soccer, football, and Frisbee; enjoyed tacos, falafel, and tons of food truck fare; and strolled countless miles taking in sculptures new and familiar.

After a year of dramatic changes, we’re getting to remember Mary in a place that transcends the life that was and the life that is. Mary and I often walked the Labyrinth at the change of each season and there could be no more fitting time to dedicate her tree than on the day of the Vernal Equinox. In recent years, there has been snowfall in Delaware on the first day of spring. Mary always loved that. “Bring it on!” was her response to the winter weary.

I have welcomed many people into my life who didn’t know Mary. I’ve connected most deeply with people who have also experienced loss, but not exclusively. I’ve tried to share my memories of her here and in person. I look forward to introducing family and friends, old and new, to give them an opportunity to share more of what Mary has meant to us.

God bless,
Jason

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Growing Through the Damage

Mary’s favorite magnolia is planted too far north. In winter we would find ourselves with brooms in a snow storm knocking the snow and ice from the leaves and branches that carried too much weight. At times I thought it was folly. This tree seemed so strong that any damage would surely be minor. Indeed, after particularly hard winters, it would bloom longer and more beautifully.

In the wake of Mary’s death, God gave me a sense of strength to rival that tree. He also gave us a March storm. I waited too long to clear the accumulating snow. I heard the crack of a low branch and cursed my pride. I let Mary’s memory chide me and I felt stupid and small as I scrambled up and down the icy branches to prevent any more harm.

The break was significant and the branch needed to be removed properly. It was also in full view of the picture window, a reminder that I wasn’t taking care of everything. And yet, I didn’t get to it. I’ve got a lot of excuses, but maybe I liked that reminder to keep my pride in check.

Spring and summer continued on in a dreamlike road trip and the half-snapped branch awaited my return.

It’s late July before I inspect the break again and resolve to prune the unhealthy limb. But it doesn’t look unhealthy. All the leaves are green and there’s…a bloom? This is the shady side of the tree and I’ve never observed any blooms there before. In July? It’s usually done blooming in early June.

The limb is low, but not touching the ground; the break is splintered and bent, but not worsening; and the tree just looks happy.

I brought the fragrant, unlikely bloom inside and placed it a bowl with water and some of the rocks my sons had collected on our road trip. I’m a born romantic, new believer, and sucker for a good metaphor.

Maybe that broken feeling inside isn’t as bad as it seems. Maybe you can still bloom without much sunlight. Maybe at the unlikeliest time you can find hope.

God bless,
Jason

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The Wrong System Restore Date

During Mary’s final days, I was inspired to take my sons on a real adventure. Mary took every opportunity to spend time with her family. Not one vacation hour was ever held over year to year. She was present as often as possible and we are (literally) eternally grateful for the time we all had together. She would amass her paid time off and start rigging the calendar in January to prepare for her favorite two weeks of the year, and by December we would have her all to ourselves to close out each year. But we never took time for a proper road trip adventure.

It took me three months after Mary’s passing to pull out of the driveway in a borrowed 19-foot RoadTrek 190 with little idea of how long we would be gone or how far we would go. After nearly seven weeks and 3,000 miles of visiting with friends and family, wandering, and exploring, we rolled back into that driveway and we had gone far.

But I messed up.

In the three months between Mary’s death and the trip I had started to develop our new life. Laundry, dishes, meals, bedtime, church, play, rest, blogging, personal business sorting, soccer, jiu-jitsu, Facebook engagement…everything was different in small and large ways. I was watching the changes, analyzing them, and through trial-and-error and important prioritizing, I was internalizing and owning those changes.

I thought the road trip would be an extension of that process. A way to prove to myself that the Zerbey Three could love each other, adventure, and still get the basic practicals done. It felt that way for six weeks and three days. Then I got sick with a nasty stomach bug and was blessed to be staying with Mary’s parents. I know I’m not going to do this alone, but I was almost incapable of providing for my sons and lying in bed thinking about what was next. Going home. It was one of those changes I hadn’t faced. Mary wasn’t there to build the ready-for-the-car pile in the hall. Mary wasn’t there to negotiate our departure time. Mary wasn’t there to wrangle with her mom about how much food we’d take with us. All of a sudden, she was gone again. Driving home, I had that empty passenger seat and no one to figure out what “had to” come in the house tonight and what could wait. I lost all the rhythms I composed in those first three months. I didn’t have enough food in the fridge and the washing machine wouldn’t accept any quarters.

I’ve got to look at this reset as an opportunity to do things better. I made a ton of mistakes in those first months. I hadn’t elaborated a perfect system that’s now lost. I had a survival system that would not last and now needs a full rebuild. So, I’ve got my first pot of coffee and blog post going. I think that’s something.

God bless,
Jason