Memorial

A week ago today my dad called my mom over to the computer to see a picture on Chris' blog. The kids had a lemonade stand and Dad thought she'd get a kick out of it. She would have. Something was wrong and he knew it and he called 9-1-1.

Thursday Kaitlyn and Colin received the news that Mimi had died. Chris told me they were whispering to each other through the day, going out back to the neighbor's house, coming back excited. They had been looking for a place to build a Mimi memorial and the neighbors said they could construct it next to their house. They even helped them nail the cross together.

The grief comes and goes in waves. It helped to talk with my dad yesterday. He was excited to have someone to share what he's been doing. The memorial service is Saturday, the 30th, my mom's birthday. She would have been 80. And she would have loved this memorial.

Read More...

Banyan Trees

My mom's sister Sue noticed a banyan tree as we were leaving the funeral home Thursday. Her observation sparked the memory of hurricane Wilma which swept through Naples in October of 2005. Kristen, Reagan, Kaitlyn, and I visited three days after the hurricane. My parents elected to stay despite newscasters' warnings, and my mom vowed she would never do that again.

The first thing we did was drive around the storm-ravaged streets of Collier County. We stood by fallen trees and took pictures. I marveled at the destructive power of a hurricane. And I noticed a pattern. The beautiful, elegant, towering palm trees were down. The banyan trees were still standing.

Banyan trees are indigenous to India. Their distinguishing feature is the trunk. As the tree ages, roots creep down over the trunk in search of the soil below. That's what sets banyan trees apart. They have lots of roots. Deep roots. Massive roots. Roots above the ground and below the ground. They're the ones that make it through the storm. Today I find that comforting.

John Milton describes the banyan tree in his poem "Paradise Lost."

"The fig-tree at this day to Indians known
In Malabar or Deccan, spreads her arms,
Branching so broad and long, that on the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About the mother tree, a pillar’d shade,
High over-arched and echoing walks between."

Read More...

Update from Andrea

My precious mother passed away peacefully shortly after midnight last night. Her greatest fear in life was to be disabled after a stroke. She told me that two weeks ago. She told me that two months ago. It was something that haunted her. My dad and brother and I have been united each step of the way and are grateful this morning that she is free from all pain. She was my biggest cheerleader these last two years. I will miss her terribly.

Read More...

Babs

From Andrea's husband Chris:

It’s raining in Tucson today, maybe the second time since January. It feels appropriate because Mimi/Babs (Andrea's mother) died last night.

Babs would laugh at the fact that you’re reading a blog about her. She had a great laugh that sent her head back and arm out to touch you. Her eyes twinkled. She was an elegant woman and beautiful, but her laugh was the best.

Several images come to mind but the one that sticks is her at the checker table across from one of our kids, playing with them for what seemed like hours. Just the two of them, hovered over this scratched-up table. Talking. Laughing. Sometimes just sitting. Always engaged with the kids and asking questions. Pippen and Frodo on the floor nearby listening. The dogs loved Babs.

She used the word “adorable” liberally. It was a favorite. “Isn’t that dog adorable? Aren’t those older people adorable? You have adorable children.” She saw the adorable in everyone. Even in me.

I know she thought her daughter could have done better, and to be honest I agree with her wholeheartedly. (She would laugh at that line.) She never said this to me, of course, but I could tell she was a bit skeptical of the young West Virginian who had captured her daughter’s heart. Those were the early days, before we were married. I think the moment she changed her mind about me was when we said our vows. I think she knew I really meant what I said. And that was enough for her.

She was one of the most inquisitive people on the planet. She read books I’ll never hope to read. She not only knew about the latest news, she had opinions and questions about why things were the way they were. She would come into my office in Colorado and look at the computers and the radio hookup and the books and marvel. She was interested in how the publishing process worked and how my voice got to her radio in Florida. She was proud of me, proud of any little accomplishment along the way, and she read my books. A writer can’t ask for much more than that.

It seems trite to try and sum up a life that meant so much. How do you tell of the struggle and the loss and triumph that was her life? I could write pages and pages and still only scratch the surface.

So I will focus on the small things. Her smile. Her laugh. The twinkle. Her sense of humor.

I still remember the round of golf we played together in Illinois. It was the late 80s, I think, and I had recently picked up the game. I was zealous to show her how well I could play and she had good things to say about my progress. Until, that is, I tried to reach the green in two on the fourth hole at Boughton Ridge Golf Course, a small 9-hole course. With a mighty swing I connected with the ball and watched it sail past her on the other side of the fairway and leave a rather large dent in the aluminum siding of a house nowhere near the direction of the flag.

She paused a moment as I caught up with her. She looked at the house, then back at me with a deadpan face. “Well, you certainly got all of that one,” she said. And then she laughed.

Her one fear as she grew older was that something would happen and she would become a burden to her family. But her family would have moved heaven and earth for her. I know that is true.

In the end, with her husband by her side, she left us peacefully. It was her way. And adorable. Always adorable.

Read More...

Andrea's Mom

Please keep Andrea's mother, Barbara Kessel in your prayers. She had a stroke this morning, Sunday, 5/17. Unless something miraculous happens, we fear the worst. Following is a blog that describes a little about the situation. Thanks for caring.
Chris Fabry

Andrea and I were planning the day Sunday morning, figuring out what to do with the kids. She’d been to a treatment for Reagan and Kaitlyn in Phoenix on Saturday so it was a rare Sunday together and I was hoping we’d get to the final service at church.

The phone rang.

Not unusual. Except she went outside and seemed to be talking with someone she knew well. “I didn’t recognize the number,” she said to the person on the other end.

The kids sat down on the couch with me and we were throwing the Nerf ball around. Since I had misplaced my copy of Microsoft Office, I was excited that Best Buy had a great sale. I could save $50!

“Mom’s crying,” one of the kids said.I stood and headed to the door, but she came in, her face contorted, tears flowing.

“Who was it?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s had a stroke. Mom had a stroke.”

My heart sank. Her mom and dad live in Naples, Florida, alone. The emotion was raw as Andrea recalled her last conversation, the plans she had for a trip there in the summer, and all of the things that flooded her memory.

We called other family and told them. The doctors didn’t hold out much hope. I called her brother who lives in Denver and caught him at the gate getting onto the plane. He’s a pilot for American Airlines and would get to Naples in the early afternoon our time.

"You prepare all your life for this and there's just no way to prepare," he said.

We searched flights from Tucson but came up empty. As the day wore on, the flight costs rose. Finally, I found one out of Phoenix that will get her there at about 9:30 local time in Fort Myers.

We drove to Phoenix late Sunday night with two of the kids and our thoughts. Barbara Kessel is a beautiful woman. She was about the same age as Andrea is now when I first met her. Tall and lean, always a good tan, dark, Italian features, and a killer smile. She was always so interested in me and anything I was doing. She had read my latest book, June Bug, and had called Andrea to tell her how much she liked it. I think she was my biggest fan.

We’ll know more from the tests run Sunday night and Monday, but things don’t look good for the long term.

When I left Andrea in Phoenix, she lingered at the side of the road there at the terminal, watching us pull away. Almost caught in two worlds. The one she knew she had to step into and the one she was leaving behind. I assured her we’d be all right until she returned. No one takes care of the children like she does. No one is quite the bulldog she is. She is so much like her mother.

And I think I'm her biggest fan.

Read More...