Corey, The Amazing Super-Hero of Our Family (Part I)

While it often makes me sad to think of my son and how much I miss him, in honor of his birthday next week, I want to tell you a few stories about him so you can see what made him so special to us.

It all began with an unplanned pregnancy the summer before my senior year of high school. It was 1977, and people had mixed opinions on single mothers back then. Where I lived in rural Minnesota, however, people were mostly conservative and there were those who felt it their duty to enforce a moral code over everyone else. One woman even called my mother to tell her not to allow me out in public for fear of my influencing other young women to follow suit. Even though I'm sure it pained her to have people talking about her and her family, needless to say, my mother told her to mind her own business. I attended classes my senior year with everyone else only because there was no way they could stop me. The high school principal had strongly suggested I seek home schooling or simply drop out as so many had done before me. I refused. I was actually going to attend classes in my "condition" and it caused more than a small amount of commotion. I remember one day in December of that year when sitting in history class, there were more classmates chuckling at the movements of my belly than actually paying attention to the teacher. My friends stuck by me and we all learned from the experience together.

Single-Parent Guilt

Having great kids was something I never felt I could truly take credit for. I was always so proud of them and bragged about how wonderful they were, yet I knew that it wasn't me that made them that way.

When I was 23, I had just gotten a divorce and moved from North Dakota to Minnesota to Arizona to Idaho in a span of just three months, dragging along my 3-year-old daughter and 5-year-old son. In the process, I had changed jobs twice and couldn't afford to move my belongings that were in storage yet in North Dakota. We found an apartment with a fabulous view of Pocatello and were within driving distance of the best of everything: the Grand Tetons, Salt Lake City, the Snake River, and so much more. All I had to do was to get back on my feet.

Neighbors Make the World Go 'Round!

Recently, my daughter's next door neighbors, really the best neighbors ever, moved half-way across the country. They hadn't known them all that long, they actually just met a couple of years ago when she moved to Boston, and each day they learned more and more about each other and found they had so very many things in common. It wasn't long before they were the best of friends, hanging out together, looking out for each others pets, and were eventually in each others weddings. They couldn't have asked for better neighbors, and they'll be awfully hard to replace.

I must admit that I don't know too many people who know their neighbors very well. Oh, sure, we know some of their names; we wave and even invite each other to our parties, yet a little small talk here and there just doesn't make for a really good neighbor. Not, at least, compared to the way we knew our neighbors when I was a kid.

Reminiscing

This is a note I wrote back in May of 2009. I had taken several photographs of the farm where I grew up after learning it was destined to become a public access to the lake and many of the remaining buildings would soon be demolished. I hope you don't mind that I share it again.

"I'm back in Minnesota for a visit so, on a whim, I stopped by the farm where I grew up near Underwood. It was cool & windy with clouds threatening rain but I needed to "go home." The fields are all plowed but the buildings have been deserted for quite some time. The dirt driveway is mostly overgrown with grass now, the water in the lake is high yet from the spring thaw, many of the big old trees my brother & I used to build forts in are gone now, and of course the barn had been struck by lightening & burned to the ground almost 20 yrs ago.

Growing old? Me? You've got to be kidding, right?

Back in 1996, my son joined the U.S. Coast Guard. It wasn't until I received my first letter from him while he was out at sea that I realized I was anything but just "mom" to him. No, now I was "The Old Lady of the Abode," as the envelope was addressed rather than in my name. I found it humorous, as he was quite the comedian sometimes. In fact, after receiving several letters addressed in this manner, I began to use the title on the return address of my packages to him as well. Obviously, it was just a joke between us, or was it?