Another Cold Snowy Day: What to Do?

Each day I find myself feeling more focused, calmer and while not quite accepting what is, at least being able to get through the day with some level of enjoyment. Happy? Sometimes, but more often meditative. There is still a hard pain in my chest that does not go away, tears always seem at the ready (who knew we could have so many?) and stress over little things is not far away, but I am finding a footing again. Day-to-day routine, conversations with family and friends, and memories get me through.

Today is another snowy, cold, windy day, perfect for being indoors. Larry, of course, had to go to town--he can't stand but so many days at home while I can't stand the idea of going out. So go he did, the usual rounds of feed store, library, grocery store and post office. A few minutes ago he called--he's stuck! In his 4-wheel drive, of all things, on the bad hill that we never drive in this kind of weather. We have two ways to get home; the bad hill is shorter and my favorite route, but in the snow we just don't do it, because we could so easily get stuck. What was he thinking? Only a man would know--there is something about a challenge, I suppose, that drives them to do so many of the things they do. He's on his own--I can't help him. So it looks like he'll have a cold 2-mile hike home and the lovely prospect of trying to get the truck out at some point.

As for me, I am cozy at the house, feeling sorry for him but also, I have to admit, amused in that what-the-heck-was-he-thinking kind of way. I just hope that 1, no one else tries to go up the hill and get stuck because of his truck being in the way, and 2, that he doesn't tear something up getting it out.

I've been busy, too, continuing my pattern of doing small routine tasks that keep my mind occupied. I baked the last of our butternut squash, a big one that was full of seeds. The seeds are now drying out in hopes of planting in the warm weather.

Tipper's blog the other day reminded me that I had not yet tried cooking our leather britches beans, so I have some soaking and intend to give them a try. I'm following her instructions; so far they just look--dry.

We're still not using the dryer, but on a day like this I'm not hanging anything outside. Instead I've put up the drying rack behind the woodstove and have a load of clothes hung up to dry.

Thank you notes are another task for today, a bittersweet one that reminds me that in my sorrow I have many companions and comforters. The log room is a good place for writing, with the fire burning brightly and music playing while the snow blows past the windows.

I've also been cleaning lampshades. Years ago someone told me that snow is great for cleaning rugs because it's actually grainy and acts as a scrubbing agent. I tried it and it worked and I've been doing it when it snows ever since. Today I noticed that my lampshades were really dusty (courtesy of that dryer probably) and I thought I'd try cleaning them in the snow. It works! I just rolled them around in clean snow, used a stiff brush to scrub them, knocked off any excess snow, and put them back on the lamps to dry.

The lamps look brighter, and this was exactly what I needed for those twig shades that are so difficult to clean. Add another good use for snow besides cleaning rugs, snow ice cream, melting for water when the electric is off...what else do you use it for? With so much of it around this winter, there must be other things we can do with it.

So that's my day. I expect it will be a while before I see Larry, poor man, and even longer before I see the milk, seed potatoes (I'm an optimist, aren't I?) and other things he was bringing home. In the meantime, it's back to writing thank-you notes for me, with music, fire, hazelnut coffee, and my cat for company.

Conversation with a Soldier's Sister

Yesterday I went out for the first time, to a doctor's appointment in Spencer. After the doctor we went to Wal-Mart to pick up some things. Spencer is not my usual shopping town and I felt safe knowing I would not be likely to meet anyone I know face to face. I am just not ready for that yet.

We stopped at the photo center to see about scanning some photos sent to Larry by a friend he served with in Vietnam who recently got in touch after 40 years. The photos were in an album, stuck to the plastic cover and to the backing. The girl at the photo center advised us not to attempt to remove the pictures from the album because they would be damaged, and we reluctantly had to agree. So we'll scan them at home, knowing the quality will be poor because the plastic covering can't be removed.

As we discussed the photos the photo center girl commented that these were military pictures. Larry told her where he had gotten them.

She said, "My brother was in Afghanistan. He was killed there."

I stopped in my tracks. Had I heard correctly? Yes, I had. She told us her brother's name and I remembered reading about him: Jamie Nicholas, serving with the Special Forces. And not just Jamie: his brothers and a sister-in-law have also served. Clay County, his home, mourned his loss and honored him well. I followed the news about him closely, because Clay is not so far away; all solder's mothers share the grief of those who lose their children to war.

Our conversation was not tearful but on the edge of tears--pain mixed with pride as she talked about her brother, his commitment to his military career and his family, and about her parents and other siblings. My heart went out to this mother and father who not only lost their son, but did so in a land far away--and saw another son off to the same war just a few months later.

I went to Spencer to avoid meeting others who would offer condolences that I could not handle; instead I found myself sharing memories with a stranger so many years younger than me, but no stranger to sorrow. We are never alone on this journey, are we?

Computer Crash Blues

Sounds like a song but it sure isn't sweet music.

More correctly, I suppose I should say Windows Vista crash blues. Yesterday for no reason I can figure my computer went to sleep and didn't wake up. Many efforts and scary screens with uncomfortable messages later, I gave up and called Tech Support. And yes, for the fee of $100 plus tax, the young man would be glad to assist me. I am now the proud owner of the questionably valuable HP tech support for one year.

I will say that this tech seemed to care about not losing my files. We weren't successful in that goal, and I thank my stars that I had most photos and important documents on an external hard drive as backup. At work, I save everything to a thumb drive so I can take it with me as needed. At home, I'm not so careful but do try to back up to the external drive every month and more often if I remember. So I lost a few things but it was not the disaster it could have been. The biggest loss was Microsoft Word, and I ordered the new Word 7 anyway so that's not a big problem either.

The worst headache was this: since my computer was restored to its new-out-of-the-box state, there were many updates that needed to be installed. The HP tech promised to call me this morning so we could install only the necessary updates. He didn't call and I had a doctor's appointment in the afternoon, so I called Tech Support again. Got a different guy and we had a serious language-understanding-compatibility issue. I don't speak his language and he sure didn't speak West Virginian.

After a frustrating hour, he said I did not have to install ANY of the updates. Now every one was listed as a "security update" to prevent someone from doing something bad to my computer. I didn't need them? I was pretty sure I did! I figured some newer ones pre-empted earlier updates and that was what I needed to know. I got nowhere with the tech, so tonight on my own I uploaded the damn things. Enough to make a granny cuss, but it's done and I hope I didn't mess anything up.

Oddly, even with the crash, my internet still works. I'm not sure why that is so, and will call my satellite company tomorrow to be sure everything is okay--I mean, the guy told me I would lose all software installed after I bought the computer, so I'm not sure just how this satellite thingie works. I have a CD so I assume it operates by software?

Then there's the printer to re-install. And when the Word CDs arrive, I'll have to get that installed. After that, I should be back to somewhere near normal.

You know, never in my life did I want to learn computer stuff. But if I don't do it I'm stuck, so learn and fumble I do. I tell myself this will prevent me from getting Alzheimer's. Reckon it's true? There has to be some reward for such aggravation!

It's Wonderful to Live

I breathe the air in deep content

My brown eyes raised my body bent

As I carry water to my cow

I look at the field I have to plow

I stop to rest my aching back

As I hear my Dad’s ax hit with a whack

As I stop to open the gate

I see the hay fall flake after flake

My brown eyes raised my body bent

I breathe the air in deep content.

By Jonathan Ford at 11 years old

“Ford-itude” : Jon's take on life.

Jon's daughters and I found this poem as we were searching through one of my "memory boxes" to make Jon a book for his birthday. I had forgotten the poem until then, but we included it in our book.

The result of our labors that week was The Book of Dad, a compilation of photos and documents that included the card put on his bassinet at the hospital when he was born (Ford, Male, 7 lb 10oz, 9:31 pm 9/04/1970), a letter he wrote to me from Korea and this poem. The photos followed the timeline of his life from a little boy to adult. We scanned things into the computer, printed them out, made a cover and spiralbound the whole thing. Jon loved it.

Now the book is a treasure for his daughters. I've tried to open the files on my computer but for some reason can't open files with the .albm extension. So next trip to Virginia, I'll be making a copy of the Book of Dad for my own.

Small Things

The days blur one into another and I'm not sure of today's date. I find myself doing the oddest things with no real plan or purpose. I suppose it's good because small tasks that have been put off are now getting done. I keep trying to focus on my taxes because I know they need to be finished soon, but my mind cannot wrap around the numbers and rules. So I do a little piece each day and hope in the end they make sense.

Perhaps this focus on the mundane is good. It's restful for my mind and keeps my hands busy. What are the little things I've been doing?

-cleaning out the junk drawer (shock and awe result--what we do accumulate in there!)

-sorting through winter clothes and packing ones I don't wear for Goodwill

-ordering garden seeds for the coming year (guaranteed smile producer)

-filing papers and paying bills, sending cards and generally catching up on mail

-sending thank-you notes (guaranteed tears producer)

-hanging laundry outside whenever the weather allows, and inside on the drying rack when it doesn't (smiles and good, deep breaths)

-sorting out the linen closet, resulting in another bag or two for Goodwill

-dusting and cleaning odd corners that often get missed

-making a folder of all the digital pictures I have of Jon (tears again)

-talking on the phone with friends and family (smiles and sometimes tears, depending)

It's a weird list, isn't it? Not things I would have thought someone would do when grieving, but there it is. Then again, I have no idea of what people are supposed to do during grief.

I have not yet gone anywhere, preferring to stay home and not have to meet people who want to tell me how sorry they are. It is a threshold I have to cross yet I know at some point it has to be done. What I don't know is how to do it without either tears or anger. I need thicker armor before facing that challenge.

Extension 18

His voice, clear and happy, answers:
Hello, this is Jonathan…
Please leave a message.
I hold the phone, listening to the whisper
of electronic connection
to a voice now silent.


Hello, my heart cries. Can you hear me?
Do you know how hard it is
to hear your voice and not
to see your face, to hold you,
to have you hold me in your cuddling bear hug
with my head against your beating heart?

Listening, I will his voice to answer.
Hello, I cry, hello.
I will not say goodbye.

Lessons in Kindness

I've learned some lessons this month that were never on my to-do list, but valuable all the same. Over the years I've attended funerals and wakes (or visitations, whatever you call them in your area), sent a few sympathy cards, and so on. Now, being on the receiving end, I've learned some things.

Five years ago both of my parents passed away within 10 months of each other. Those were hard days; even though both were elderly, I was not ready yet to lose them. After each death, there was an outpouring of sympathy and caring by family, friends and neighbors. It was comforting, but we were in such shock that I am not sure I fully appreciated the notes, cards, food, and flowers. I helped write thank-you notes and did what I could to help my siblings as we closed out Mom's and later Dad's life, came back to my home and mourned pretty much alone.

This time it's been different. Although again the services were in Virginia, a long way from my home, I saw just what the outpouring of help and sympathy meant. Flowers were everywhere; food came in huge amounts, cards arrived with each mail delivery. The phones rang constantly. At times it was overwhelming; we'd let the phone ring, let others answer the door because there is only so much a person can handle emotionally. But we appreciated each person's efforts.

Some things really stood out to me, and are the lessons I will take to heart:

-the top of my list is the man whose name I do not know who came on the day of the funeral in the blizzard conditions and cleaned our cars and the sidewalks before we left for the church. He followed us to the church and kept the vehicles cleared during the service. Then he again followed us to the graveyard, where he continued his duties. When we returned to the church for dinner, he went to the house and had the walks and drive cleared by the time we returned. What a guy. He did all that, and then just disappeared.

-second is the hardy, determined people who braved the terrible weather to come to the visitation and funeral; about 300-400 of them, we believe, drove through slippery snow and cold to be with us for the visitation. Some of Jon's workers came in their work clothes, straight from the job. I know he would have loved that. There were many more people at the service the next day than I expected--the roads were about 8 inches deep in snow and it fell so heavily at times we could hardly see where we were going. It meant more to me than I can say to know that they cared so much for my son they were willing to take on that storm and be there.

-third is those thoughtful souls who provided all the makings for coffee down to disposable cups and Splenda for the sugar-intolerant, the ones who brought big bags of paper products including toilet paper, and those who brought food and drink of all kinds (even the vineyard owners who dropped off 3 cases of wine). Some simply used disposable containers; others labeled their dishes. One noted on her cookies that they contained peanuts as a warning for allergic folks, and one included the recipe for her dish. Others wrote out baking/preparation instructions. My sister Julie and her husband brought a huge, ready-to-eat breakfast, and Theresa brought home-made, warm cookies. Judy supplied dozens of eggs. I have probably missed some who did things just as caring. Thoughtful and appreciated.

When we returned home, it was quiet and my house was warm thanks to the efforts of our good neighbors who came twice a day to care for our animals and fill the woodstove, our main source of heat. Because they did such a good job, our water lines did not freeze and the house was a comfy 70 degrees when we got here.

There were no flowers or food here, but an arrangement arrived the following day. Cards came by piles each day, many with handwritten notes that brought more tears, but these were good tears, the kind you cry when someone has done something special for you. Emails and Facebook messages along with the many loving comments on this blog helped me get thought the days until I got home, reminding me that I have an extended family across the globe who care too.

Oddly, no neighbors from Joe's Run have called or sent cards since we've been home from Virginia. This surprises me because I would call my neighbors caring people. Perhaps they think we're still away? Or maybe it's because I've been lax in that department myself over the years. A lesson learned.

What I have also learned during this month is what not to do. Don't say "If you ever need anything just call." A grieving person will not call. Make the call. Decide what to do to help and do it without asking. Most people will say, "Oh no, don't worry about it." Why ask? Just do it.

All food, notes and flowers do not have to arrive in the first few days. My daughter-in-law's neighbors have worked out a schedule to provide dinners for a month. How incredible is that? It's one less thing she has to worry about.

Continue to call later, weeks or even months later. If the grieving person doesn't want to talk, it's okay. They will appreciate your call--just knowing others remember and care helps. Talk about small stuff--dogs, children, flowers, gardens, books, whatever. Normalcy is good and if your friend wants to talk about their grief, they will.

It's okay to laugh. Remembering funny stories about the person who died, or even just funny things that have happened to you and sharing those is all good. Laughter heals, even when it hurts.

Don't ask "How are you?" What possible answer can there be to that standard greeting? Ask "What are you doing?" Even inane weather questions are better.

Send a favorite book, CD, or poem. Several friends sent poems to me that I will treasure. My brother Stephen framed a poem he wrote about Jon years ago, with a photo of my ever-moving son when he was young; I will treasure that gift. When my mother passed away, a friend gave me a copy of the book The Beggar King and the Secret of Happiness. I read it in one sitting and have given to others in times of trouble and despair.

Don't stay away because you don't know what to say. Call or write and say "I don't know what to say." Listening is good and usually better than talking (I'm smiling as I write this--we all want to find words to express our sympathy, but every storyteller knows we receive more when we listen). Friends who have been through grief tell me they have lost good friends because those friends simply stayed away, afraid they would say the wrong thing or be speechless in the face of grief. Even those of us who grieve are speechless in the presence of this monster, but knowing our friends stand with us is immeasurable comfort.

Those are some of the lessons learned to date. I've shied away from funerals and even visitations in the past; I've been lax about sending cards or calling. I didn't think it mattered when the person was not a relative or someone I knew well. It does matter, and I will do things differently in the future.

One Week Ago

Since so many family and friends could not be there, I am sharing some pictures I took the day of Jon's funeral. It was also the day of the blizzard in Leesburg, VA, when visibility was often white-out conditions.

From the window in the morning. Snow continued to pelt down, and the wind created drifts and blinding sideways snow.

Downtown Leesburg, at 5 mph--the roads had not been cleared yet and driving was tricky.

Drift on drift, snow on snow

In the cemetery, the snow continued to fall like white rain.

Larry and I returned to the cemetery several days after Jon's funeral. This is a picture of the grave beside Jon's.

I looked up Jesse Jabez Stansbury online, and learned that he was married in Baltimore County Maryland in 1852, had a son (named Edwin) in Loudoun County, VA in 1853, was a jeweller and fought in the Civil War on the side of the Confederacy in the Virginia 17th Regiment Infantry.

The stone chapel in the cemetery is a peaceful place, and only a few feet from Jon.

A large sycamore hangs over Jon's grave, and in the far distance you can barely see a blue mountain, a reminder of the hills of home.

Jon's Eulogy

(I did not have this written out when I spoke at the funeral—I wrote only the to-do list and the last paragraph on a piece of paper, and spoke from that. It was all I needed since I knew the rest by heart.

I have tried to recall exactly what I said, and I believe I have captured most of it. Several people have asked for it because they were unable to be at the funeral.)

Eulogy for Jonathan Scott Ford
February 10, 2010

Jon’s To-Do List:

1. get born
2. learn to drive
3. work hard
4. go in the Army
5. get married and have a family
6. retire
7. go to college
8. play hard
9. become a business owner

10. become a grandfather

This is Jonathan’s to-do list, and I believe he was born with this list clutched in his hand. Number one on the list was to get born. He was in such a hurry to get started that he was born 3 weeks early after 4 hours of labor, and came out squalling so loud that the doctor said, “No need to smack this one on the behind. He’s breathing just fine!”

I think Jon was born knowing how to drive. We never taught him; he just got on or in anything that would move and started driving. At first it was toy cars and trucks, then a horse which he traded for a motorcycle as soon as he could, then the motorcycle for his first car. He loved to be behind the wheel and on the road, on the move.

Jon didn’t do so well in school, graduating near the bottom of his class because he was too busy following rule number three-work hard. He struggled with authority figures and that got him kicked out of school more than he was in class in his senior year, I believe, but that didn’t bother Jon at all—he used the time out of school to work at three part-time jobs at the same time. Nothing slowed him down.

At sixteen he enlisted in the Army because he believed it was both an honor and a duty to serve his country. Realizing what he had missed in school, he took classes in the Army to learn what he needed to know to get ahead. He married his high school sweetheart before leaving for basic training, and from that marriage came his beautiful daughter Jordan. He had to go to Korea to meet the love of his life, his Jennifer, and from this second marriage came three more lovely granddaughters, Kate, Cassidy and Allison. We are so blessed to have them and Jennifer as part of our family. You were the light of his life.

Jon was not content to be an average soldier—he strove to be the best, winning Soldier of the Quarter several times and selected to join the White House Communications Agency, where he traveled with the President, Vice-President and other dignitaries during his four years in the agency.

He even managed to retire before he was 30—he received a medical retirement from the Army, and looked around for his next adventure. He got into cell phones at a time when the industry was just taking off and became part of research and development, again traveling often to Europe and other locations as part of his job. While working full-time for Nextel he earned his Bachelor’s degree, and later his Master’s in Business Administration, actually starting on his Master’s degree before he had quite completed the Bachelor’s program. With the MBA under his belt, he looked for his next adventure, and found it with my brother’s company, Connelly & Associates.

Jon loved working at Connelly. He got up early every day, eager to go to work. He loved the challenge of the jobs, the possibilities and the people he worked with. He could not wait to see what they might get into next, what direction the company might take.

Jon also believed in playing hard. He ran a marathon just to be able to say he did it; he owned and drove a racing motorcycle, learned to ski, scuba dive, whitewater raft, kayak, and he loved the game of golf. He and his brothers hunted together, golfed together, and plain enjoyed just being together.

And even though he left us at 39 years old, Jon completed the last thing on his to-do list—he became a grandfather last year when his granddaughter Cadyn was born. What a life.

Right now, we’re struggling to get though this day and this sorrow. But all of you who knew Jon know that he would not want us to wallow in grief and sadness. He would expect us to pick up the pieces and go on with our lives, living as he lived his—full of energy and enthusiasm.

What will define Jon’s life is how we go on: not look back with regret, but with love and gratitude that we had this amazing person in our lives. If you would honor the life of my son Jonathan Scott Ford, you will go forward as he would have you do—with enthusiasm, hope, and passion. That is what Jonathan would want us to do.

Jon's Fund and Thinking about the Future and the Past

You may have noticed the new Donate button on my sidebar.

A fund for Jon's family has been set up to help them through the coming years--college looms, and unfortunately his life insurance was in transition and will not be as much as it might have been in two weeks. There are many efforts afoot to assure that life can go on as normally as possible for his family, and this fund is one of them. It has been established by Connelly and Associates, where Jon was part owner and the job he loved passionately. I've posted the Donate button on this blog to make it easier for family and friends to find.

Being home is better than I thought it would be. Here I have things to do. My cat, always on the affectionate side, did not leave me all yesterday evening or all night. While we were away she apparently even made friends with the dogs, something I'd given up on.

There were cards and letters here too--piles of them waiting for us, from friends and family all over the US, Canada and England. I cannot tell you how much your words meant to me. While only a few of you have experienced the death of your child, many of you offered comfort simply by saying, "I'm here. I care." Thank you all more than you know. I will send out thank you notes soon but wanted to say it now because I am overwhelmed by your kindness.

Other things are slowly coming together. I called to see what it would take to establish a family burial plot on our land. While Jon is buried in Virginia near his daughters and wife, I want to be sure we have the option open to any family members who want to be buried here on the homeplace. I learned that there is no real regulation of family cemeteries--only assure that access is easy to prevent future problems, and add a note to my deed at the County Clerk's office as to the location and size of the plot set aside for the cemetery. How simple, and how right that a family should be able to make a place to hold their loved ones.

More snow is forecast for tonight and tomorrow--for now it has stopped and the sun is shining brightly. I am inside by the fireplace, thinking about my son and his life here as a boy growing to manhood. I realized yesterday that Jon is the first person I have known for the whole of their life, from birth to the end. It does not cause me sadness, although there is certainly pain that the end came so soon and unexpectedly. But his was a life lived to the fullest, filled with love and laughter, adventure and action, reflection and purpose. When my time is over, I hope the same will be true of my life.

Leaving

Yesterday morning Larry and I visited Jon's grave. The snow here in Northern Virginia is still deep, at least 2 feet and drifted higher in many places, and his grave is in the center of the cemetery, a long, snowy walk. But I could not go home until I made a final, private good-bye.

We tried walking in from one end of the cemetery, but the deep snow was too difficult--well over my knees in many places. After about 50 feet of hard going, we turned back. At the other side of the cemetery we found that the road was plowed but chained off. We drove up to the chain, got out and walked in.

Snow-covered graves stretched on each side of the road, serene in the silence of deep winter. Jon's grave is close to a stone chapel, shaded by a large sycamore tree. Beside him in a grave over 100 years old lies a veteran of the Civil War. Other old graves surround his site; for me the old stones are a source of comfort, a reminder that people still care for those laid beneath them, even these many years later. While at one time I thought cremation was what I wanted, I have come to realize that a grave is a place to go to reflect and remember those who have left us, and a place that remains for many, many years, even when those of us with immediate memory of the person at rest are gone.

We stayed a short while, looking at the mountain in the distance with one small white cloud hovering near its top, at the snow-covered fields with their dark board fences beyond the cemetery, at the branches of the sycamore that stretched beseechingly to heaven. The sound from cars passing on Route 15 was muffled by the heavy quiet of this place.

Leaving was difficult. Each step felt like I was dragging lead weights on my legs. One foot in front of the other, blinded with tears and yet not unhappy--simply sorrowful, which is different from sadness or unhappiness. I am learning these definitions intimately and trying to get to a place where the hurt is not so great. I know it is there; I found it after the death of my parents 5 years ago. I think this time the search for it will take more time and the journey will be a difficult one.

Today we return to West Virginia, taking advantage of a break in the weather to make the trip over the mountains. There is little to do here but wait for documents and paperwork that finalize the ending of life and the arrangements for the future of his family. I will need to come back soon, but even knowing that leaving is not something I want to do. How to go back to the everyday of getting up and going to work and caring about my job? How to plan storytelling programs and present them? There are many hurdles ahead, and leaving this cocoon where I am surrounded by Jon's life and family is like tearing out my heart.

But leave we must. So in an hour or so we'll be in the car, and back to the other cocoon that has always brought me comfort.

The Next Step: An Adventure

Whoever would think that a funeral could be an adventure? But that is what it was. Snow poured like water from the sky, the winds whipping it into drifts. It was a scramble to find boots, gloves and hats for everyone because who would expect to be out in a blizzard to bury a loved one?

The snow blinded us on the short walk to the car. A neighbor had been outside for an hour or more, clearing all the sidewalks and vehicles for us. What a guy. We drove, sometimes in whiteout conditions, the 10 miles to the church. Afterwards, we sat waiting for the procession to the cemetery to start--only immediate family could go but still there were many cars because this is a huge family and many of them stayed overnight to be with us.

We wondered why we were waiting so long to leave for the cemetery. As it turned out the vault truck was stuck, blocking the way to the site. Would the pallbearers be willing to carry the casket from the highway to the grave? There was also a concern that the hearse might get stuck. The guys were willing; it would be about 1/4 mile to walk in stinging snow, stiff winds, and drifts to our knees. We could all hear Jon's laughter--he would have loved a challenge like this.

Somehow they got the truck unstuck so the men did not have to take on that strenuous hike. As we made our way back to the church for dinner, we knew that this funeral would be in our minds and stories for a long time to come. And Jon, if he could be here with us, would be laughing loudest. He made sure, I think, that there would be no chance of anyone forgetting this day (as if we could anyway).

The cemetery is a beautiful place with old stones and trees, a stone chapel and quiet views. It is truly a place of rest. I think I will be able to visit and feel peace. But I think I'd prefer that visit to be when there is no blizzard of the century raging.

To give birth is the first gift we give to our children. To offer the eulogy for your child is perhaps the final gift and the most difficult to give. I knew he would want me to do this, and it calmed my heart to be able to do this one thing for Jon and for his family.

I will tell you here, as I told those at the service, that the best way to honor my son is to not look back with regret, but to go forward with enthusiasm and hope. How we do this is what will define his life and his memory. Jonathan means "gift of God," and he truly, truly was a gift we were fortunate to have had.

It is a raging blizzard outside, but the funeral will go on. They say that if it rains on your funeral the gates of heaven are open wide to receive you. They opened the floodgates for Jon today.

Stormy Weather

Today is visitation, tomorrow the funeral. Two feet of snow remain on the ground, and another foot or more is on its way. What is a difficult situation is now also a challenging one, and many people who want to come cannot be here because it's just too risky. If you are one of them, we know your heart is with us. We can honor Jon's life later, in other ways.

For now, be safe. That means more to us than having you by our side today and tomorrow.

My love and sincere appreciation to all who have sent messages. Keep us in your prayers and thoughts.

One Step at a Time

Like many others I wondered how people moved forward after the loss of a child. I am learning a lesson I never wanted to learn. I will tell you that it is the hardest journey I have had to make, and we've only taken the first small steps.

There is still joy--we tell "Jon Ford" stories about the many memories we share. I have learned much about my son in the past few days that I did not know because he had many friends in different walks of life, and of course his time with his family here has created a pool of adventures and experiences I knew only in part, because I live six hours away. It's a journey of discovery, pain, laughter, and appreciation for the man he was, the husband he learned to be, and the father he became.

This beginning of the journey is longer than many have to endure because of the circumstances. An accident means that certain things must be done before interment. Being far from home complicates the process because of travel and weather difficulties. We are suspended in time, days pass and I'm not sure exactly what day it is. At the same time, I don't want the finality to come because then we will truly have to say good-bye.

So we wait. The 27" of snow kept everyone busy yesterday and will continue to do so today. The snow was a blessing in some ways because it allowed a break in the stream of visitors and we could relax and simply be. Having said that, I will also say that the support and comfort brought by the presence of family and friends has been valuable and appreciated. Today I think everyone here is ready to get out a little and I hope that we will see more loved faces now that the roads are somewhat clear.

I have wondered about this blog and how I will continue it. Can I write here as I have in the past about all the little things that make up our life? Or will it be too difficult when it seems pointless and...what? Insignificant? Trivial when the weight of loss will be a heavy load for many, many days to come?

My son would want us to continue our lives, to work and accomplish as he was so driven to do in his lifetime, to enjoy and relish the time we have to the fullest extent possible, as he did. Saying that is easier than doing it.

I will continue to write, and I think it will be much as before, with this change: there will be a dark patch in the quilt of my life, richly patterned and deep, the patch that will stand out from the others. As Jon, who in life stood out wherever he went.

The journey continues, one step at a time.

Jon

Jonathan Scott Ford, 39, of Leesburg, VA passed away on February 2, 2010 from injuries received in an auto accident in Grundy County, Iowa.

He is survived by his wife of 17 years, Jennifer Effland Ford, daughters Jordan Ford-Smith, her husband Ethan Smith and granddaughter Cadyn Smith of Ripley, WV; Kathleen, Cassidy and Allison Ford at home, brothers George L. Ford and wife Cassandra of Maysville, WV, 1st Sgt Derek R. Ford of Ripley, WV, Aaron Ford and wife Jaime of Fairmont, WV and Larry T. “Tommy” Holstein of Morgantown, WV; parents Susanna Holstein and Larry Holstein of Sandyville, WV and George L. Ford Sr. and wife Bonnie of Front Royal, VA, as well as numerous family and other relatives. He was a member of The Worship Center Assembly of God in Leesburg, VA.

Jonathan was Vice President of Administrative Operations at Connelly and Associates, Inc. of Frederick, MD, working with his uncle, Walter “Tom” Connelly and cousins Sam, Emily and Eamon Connelly. He received his MBA from Shenandoah University and was active in many sports and community activities. He was a disabled veteran of the US Army with 10 years of active duty service including four years with the White House Communications Agency. He was an avid golfer, kayaker, runner, and never met a challenge he would not meet with enthusiasm, energy and creativity. He was devoted to his family, a strong supporter of his daughters’ interests and always available to lend a hand to friends, family, and neighbors. He will be greatly missed by the many people whose lives he has touched.

Visitation is scheduled for Tuesday, February 9, 2010 at 6:00pm at Loudoun Funeral Chapels of Leesburg, VA. Funeral services will be held Wednesday, February 10, 2010 at 11:00 am at The Worship Center, Leesburg. Interment will be at Union Cemetery, Leesburg.

The Jonathan Ford Memorial Fund has been established by Connelly and Associates. Donations may be made to: Jonathan Ford Memorial Fund, c/o Connelly and Associates, 260 Interstate Court, Frederick, MD 21704, Please see www.connellydrilling.com or call 1-800-864-6895 for more information.

My Son Jonathan: Rest in Peace

My son Jonathan lost his life in a traffic accident in Iowa today. We will be leaving in the morning to go to his wife and children in Virginia. Please keep us all in your prayers. The photo is Jon at Thanksgiving with his granddaughter Cadyn.

The Mystery Hole Flash Fiction

Yesterday Susan posted this as the writing prompt photo on her blog:

It's West Virginia's very own Mystery Hole on Rte 60 near Hawk's Nest State Park!

Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to write for Susan's Microfiction Monday, but I did drop a little ditty on First 50, where Virginia also posted the Mystery Hole photo and prompt.

The stories people have come up with for this photo are fun reading. Go visit Susan and First 50 to read what creative ideas were inspired by the photo. Maybe you could write a story or poem yourself about it? Here's what I wrote on First 50:

He was an old-style hippie, she was a modern flower child.
They were drivin’ east on 60, across the Midland Trail.
She said, look what’s that? It’s just a quonset hut.
You wanna stop and see? She said I gotta pee.
He was just a little high, so he drove right inside.

Classic stuff! Right. While writing it, I could hear a John Prine-like tune in my head. Strange what a photo can do.

I have yet to visit the Mystery Hole. They are open in tourist season which is my busiest time of year. Maybe this year I'll be able to stop and meander through the wonders of this optical illusion paradise (or nightmare, depending on your point of view).

Moonset, Sunrise

I could do a whole blog on sun and moon photos, I think. This morning I left early because I knew the sky was going to be a glory to see.

I was right. At the top of the driveway, the moon hung silver in the fading night sky...

while behind me the sun was just beginning to color the horizon.

I turned around and headed out toward the sun (I can go either direction and still come out at the same place because our road makes a four-mile loop)...

but stopped on top of the hill above our driveway to catch one more of the moon, and the pink light of dawn just beginning to brush the snow...

then continued on my way toward the sun determinedly trying not to stop any more. (I didn't notice that my breath was fogging the lens, unfortunately, until I uploaded the photos.) Of course, I did stop again on the next little hill because the color was too intense to ignore.

Thank goodness I allowed the time. Think what I would have missed, and not had to share with you.