(from June, 2011- my first writing for Red Cedar Project
By: Sheila Sims Iding
Homecoming. I love homecomings. Not the kind they celebrate with floats at a high school football game in the fall. Not the kind that crown a king and queen. I love the kind of homecoming that brings family back together. One of my favorite homecomings gave me an opportunity to explore the home I come from.
It was the summer of 2007…or 2000-something. The year isn’t really that important. What is important is that it was the summer that brought my middle son, Timothy, home from a long year…a LONG, WHOLE year of missionary work in China. It wasn’t long for him. He loved every minute of it…every day of it…every month of it…he loved the very year of it. As happy as I was for him and the peace and purpose he found in his work there, China is a long way away in a mother’s mind and a year is a long time if measured by a mother’s heart. So Tim came home and brought those hugs that I missed so much. He is known for his hugs and his kind greetings. His hugs envelop you and you can imagine them but you can’t really feel them…until there is a homecoming.
When Tim came home it had been a long time since he had seen his older brother, Joey, who lived in New York City. Joey worked for adidas and summer is a busy time for events and programs so he couldn’t come home to see Timothy so I took Tim to him. I loved our New York visits now because they weren’t about tourist-ing anymore. Joey had lived there so many years that we could go and just “visit” and not be tourists. We could sit in Central Park and read books and walk to Bryant Park and watch other tourists do tourist-ing. The best part about New York visits now was just sitting in the sweltering heat of the city and visiting. So we stayed up late at night talking about life and we “visited”.
Joey and Tim both have cystic fibrosis. They both were given the life expectancy of only 15 years. Those are tough words for a parent to hear one time…even tougher the second time. They both have worked hard...damn hard...to beat those odds and be “healthy” CF people…to this day. They say the letters CF stand for Cystic Fibrosis but my boys have shown me that they really stand for “continuous fighter”. By the grace of God, and their own brave fight, they are the greatest enemy CF has ever known.
While visiting we were recalling all the days when they were young and so sick. There were a ba-zillion doctors appointments, tests and retests. I held their hand so many times for so many tests it created it’s own bond. There was more medicine than a little body should have to take and medical words they shouldn’t have to know. No five year old should have to ask if he had his “Pulmozyme” yet and no six year old should be so sick that as you hold him in his hospital bed, he looks at you and asks “Is this the time I am going to die?” For that matter, no youngest brother, Adam, should have to watch his two older brothers be sick all time and share his mom with two brothers, breathing treatments, hospitalizations and this damn disease.
So as we sat there and talked that night in Joey’s NYC apartment, we recalled all the challenges we went through and all the obstacles they have overcome (too numerous and too painful to remember at this writing), they asked me “Mom, how did you do it?” Well… for once, the answer was easy. My dad taught me how. Without even knowing it at the time, he was the perfect mentor for caring for someone who was chronically ill. My mom had multiple sclerosis and was bed ridden from the time I was in first grade. I watched my dad lovingly care for her in so many ways (again too numerous and too painful for this writing) but he taught me the honor of this special job and the medicine of positive thinking…with a bit of humor and couple of beers thrown in.
So…the answer was easy. I told them straight up…it was papa. It was papa who taught me and it was his strong Canadian blood. He was determined to make the best of any situation…ANY situation, even life and death situations, and he taught me how to do just that. If he couldn’t find a silver lining, he pretended he could. He was the champion of smothering a negative with a positive. My dad’s heavenly homecoming was right before Tim was born. It’s been 29 years but I’m still wishing he hadn’t left me but I am forever grateful my boys got his green eyes and his strong Canadian blood.
So…that night as we were talking about my dad who was born in Canada and tough as the tundra there…Joey said “You know, I’ve always wanted to get a maple leaf tattoo in honor of papa.” Tim quickly concurred that he had too. So they decided to celebrate their roots and our strong Canadian blood and in NYC get their maple leaf tattoos together.
Since we had been thrrough so much…and he was MY dad…I decided to get a maple leaf tattoo with them. So off we trekked to celebrate our family bond, our Canadian roots and our “strengthening” coach. It even happened to be on July 4th, 2000-something…all three of us went together to get our tattoos.
They let me go first and being I was a little nervous, Joey held my hand like I held his for all those tests and medical procedures. I realized then we had come full circle. But that day we were more than connected by hand holding. The three of us were connected by a special homecoming, strong continuous fighters, green eyes and our tough Canadian blood And now we are connected by three inspired maple leafs tattooed on our skin…and in our hearts.