Lisa Garlick is the mother of Jocelyn. Or Jocie. Or Jiggy.
I am the mother of Parker. Or Frenchie. Or Par Coeur. Or PFB.
Five years ago, we didn’t know each other and couldn’t have ever found one another, I don’t think, on this big wobbly planet. But a kind and common friend, Diane, and our cruel and common tragedies, our children’s tragic deaths, brought us together. We bonded online. It was instantaneous for me, and I think it was pretty quick for Lisa, too, who is a woman of such honesty and such sheer heart-volume, it’s been a marvelous lesson just taking in all she has to give.
Since there are certain geographic constraints, we only see each other once a year. At the Parker Hike. Every year she brings her dear Dean. . .
. . .and their youngest son Chet. . .
. . .and every year they make homemade (scrumptious) flavored beeswax lip balm they call Jiggy Stix, which they hand out to all the hike participants. (Just to give you an idea of their capacity for giving. And to reveal to you that hunky, soulful Dean is a beekeeper on the side, as well as a bereaved father and splendid all around human being. And Chet, the sly genius, is a poet.)
And Lisa, besides all this, is a quilter. A master quilter. Twice already, Lisa has hand made our family the most impeccably designed quilts — major artistic renderings of carefully selected fabrics stitched thread-by-thread into visual harmony with our Parker’s clothing: his volleyball uniforms; his basketball uniforms; his drum-beater T-shirts; the light blue swim trunks he was wearing that July evening he lunged back into the whirlpool to try to grab his drowning classmate.
Yes. Those quilts are sacred to us. I only crawl under mine when the world feels wobblier than usual, which, you know this as well as I, can be just about any time.
The hike — The Wagon Train — has brought me face-to-face with Lisa, and all of us face-to-face with Michelle, who recently lost her beloved mother.
And with Sharlee, who, when she was a girl, lost both her father and oldest brother weeks apart to tragic accidents. She also lost her sweet mother to cancer.
And with Julie, who cared for her mighty and terminally ill son Brigham for 14 years, then held him in her arms as he expired into the next life.
And with Patsy. And Ellen. And Maja. And Cheri. And Bonnie Jean. And Jacque. And Angelique. And Renee. And Kathryn. And Glen. And Aaron. And . . . Such friends.
Such magnificent souls.
Such constant manifestation of God’s solid everpresence in an ever-wobbly world.
Lisa’s blog is a gust of clean, clear air to read, and treats beautifully this year’s Parker Hike. I haven’t even asked her yet, but I’m inviting you to drop in and visit her place. Here’s the address:
You’ll love her, as I do.
© Melissa Dalton-Bradford and melissadaltonbradford.wordpress.com, 2012. This work (text and images) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. . . which means, as long you’re not selling it, you’re welcome to share, but please remember to give me a link and mention my name.