Tag Archives: small town life

the ripple effect of small moments shared…

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I recently traveled to South Dakota for my niece’s wedding. When I got home and reflected on the whole experience I realize that it was a bunch of small moments of connection or awe that stayed with me most.

With the constant thrum of big events invading our lives constantly through media and our handheld devices, how much attention are we devoting to collecting slivers of life that delight us?

What is the ripple effect on our human experience when small moments are shared with others?

I helped a farmer get a cow wrangled and held my grandnephew Louis.

I played piano in a quiet chapel, and had coffee on the deck of the cabin I rented at sunrise. Since I began playing piano I’ve only played on an electronic keyboard.

I helped my nieces with the table arrangements for the reception, and noted the lovely harvest message at the church during the wedding rehearsal.

We danced late into the night (or morning). I was dipped so far by a fabulous unknown fella that the back of my head touched the floor. Damn, I’d forgotten how those South Dakota guys know how to dance.

I delighted in the South Dakota sunset at the Choteau Creek Brewing Co. in Wagner, SD. Then on my way home I got stuck in Chicago and landed at the Gaslight near the Hilton in O’Hare. What could’ve been a bummer of an evening after my flight was cancelled turned into an amazing meal, live music, and dinner with a philosophy major farm kid from Michigan who now works as a Federal Border Agent in El Paso. We talked for three hours, what a gift to get perspective from someone with direct knowledge about issues I have little context or understanding about. And he got to hear all about Chloe and David’s wedding. Congratulations!

Other small & lovely unphotographed moments…

My two-year-old grandnephew when asked if I could help him down the steps shot me a look I’ll never forget. He did not need my help in any way.

Kip, the owner of Grind House coffee shop saw me helping with the reception and stopped to ask me if I liked my coffee.

My niece flew into the church parking lot with her van when we were about to go in for the rehearsal. She traveled from western Colorado without phone and we didn’t know where she was—old school, I truly admired her moxie.

I met a South African man who was spearfishing in the Missouri for walleye. He said the water was a little muddy and conditions were difficult.

My exhausted sister fell asleep on my shoulder the evening after her daughter’s wedding.

Two of my nieces, and my six-year-old grand nephew got to take a late Sunday afternoon swim in the river. The water was healing to our tired souls.

“Look back on your life and find something small that made a big difference.” ―Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

grief is messy & highly caloric.

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I lost my Dad in the early morning hours of August 30th.  He was a generous, loving, humorous and complex man.  He also was in a great deal of pain. Thankfully he no longer is.  But, damnit, he isn’t here anymore either.  Now, I’m in pain and I would like to talk with him about what bullshit it is to lose someone I love.  He knew this pain, he lost his baby brother, my Uncle Tom, almost exactly one year ago.  

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I flew home to South Dakota from Vermont the morning Dad died.  I wept through both airports—Burlington, Vermont and Chicago’s O’Hare. I had a light blanket wrapped around my shoulders that dried my tears as needed.  I walked to my gate in Chicago, blanket draped and carrying a garment bag.  I caught the eye of a few people who offered nods of acknowledgement and held my gaze, maybe understanding that grief is messy.

Oddly, I kept hoping I could tell someone, anyone that I just lost my Dad.  I now understand what to do if I see someone else in the shape I was in.  To hell with privacy.  I will offer a hug.  Or I will buy them a coffee.  Or I will ask them why they are crying and listen, even if I only have a minute before my flight.

I arrived mid-afternoon.  Flowers, casseroles, baked goods, fruit baskets, cheese and meat trays had already begun arriving at the house.  The doorbell was ringing.  The landline was ringing.  Our cell phones were ringing and pinging.  Hugs and tears filled Mom’s back entryway and helped eased the weight of it all.

I knew the process of the “business” of death wasn’t going to be easy.  However, writing the obituary, picking out Dad’s casket and clothes, making phone calls and so on—these things kept us busy.  Busy is needed those first few days.  Making arrangements gave us something to focus on with a deadline, providing a little scaffolding to a messy emotional process.

There were times before the prayer service and funeral, I wanted the whole world to just leave me alone in my sorrow, because I just lost my Dad.

Thankfully the world didn’t.

I’m now keenly aware of how I didn’t give nearly enough attention to the loss of other people’s parents.  I’m sorry if I seemed cavalier.  I just didn’t know how much even a small gesture could mean.  I always thought of grief as a private process.  I understand better now what’s necessary to get through it all.

I’m so sorry for your loss, no matter how many years it’s been for you.

The outpouring of love, time and culinary talents from the good folks in Burke, South Dakota made it the whole process a lot more bearable.  No one would’ve loved having all of those goodies around more than John.  Right, Dad?  Although I think he would’ve hidden the bag of Dorothy’s famous peanut butter cookies in the freezer and pretended they were already gone.

I’m grateful to you all.  Thank you so much.

PLEASE NOTE:  Is there a metabolic trick that helps burn the calories (mostly from homemade baked goods) that are delivered to the family during a time of loss?

grief + baked goods + casseroles + visiting + crying + fatigue = COMFORT

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John Lowell Lillibridge lived 79 years, 3 months & 21 days.

Rest, in peace, Big Guy.

You will be greatly missed.