The Camper

 

22 years ago, as two young kids, we embarked on an adventure that would give us memories to last a lifetime. With our first child, only 3 years old, in tow, we wandered an asphalt parking lot, oohing and aahing over the incredible campers. We had tent camped our entire life and now with a little one, tent camping was a little more difficult. We talked about the possibilities, especially knowing we were growing our family. We loved the outdoors and loved to be in the trees camping, the camper would provide a few more conveniences that would make camping easier.   

Between quiet conversations about feasibility of owning a camper, and the fun of watching Tyler chatter about the bunks, the space to play and the fun, we made a decision. A little crazy and a little extravagant for our time in life, we buckled down and bought a travel trailer. Aside from our house, it was our first major purchase. Tyler was over the moon, and we were a little giddy. We knew nothing about towing a camper, setting one up, how to maintain it, but we were young and knew we would figure it out.

The camper glistened as James drove it home. Parked in front of the house, we marveled at the bed with bunk space above, a dinette and couch that transformed into a bed and another drop down bed above the dinette. It would be perfect. Moments of our first trip will be etched forever in our memories; Tyler snuggled into his bed at the front amid character encased pillows, his favorite Blues Clues pillow and a couple favorite stuffed animals. The bed seemed huge, and he loved it. We stocked the camper with color books, action figures, games, shovels, and camp chairs. From that moment the adventures began for our sweet family. Hot chocolate or “coffee” in our camp cups, walks in the woods, naps, hanging on camp chairs staring at the fire.

Within the year we added to our family and enjoyed the convenience of a camper with a newborn. We hiked, experienced nature, played in the dirt, roasted marshmallows, and played games. We didn’t camp in traditional campgrounds but found places in the trees where we could back in and have the run of the woods. It was our little slice of heaven.   

As our boys grew the implements inside the camper changed. Coloring books and crafts made way for different games, wiffle balls and footballs. Bb guns, bows and .22 were added. Bottles and sippy cups transitioned to water, soda, and tea. Our sweet little camper welcomed it all. The sleeping arrangements changed as the boys got older. They slept in the back the camper for a while with my oldest on the top bunk and my youngest in the space below, allowing Mom and Dad to stay up and visit or play games. The beds were filled with favorite books, toys and sweet snuggly boys.

They played outside in the dirt and when it rained, we sat inside and played games in the dim light. I remember dirty faces, covered in sticky marshmallow or hot chocolate. Hot dogs on the fire and knees and legs so covered in dirt, the sheets got filthy. I remember the rainbow sleeping bags, covering them up in the middle of the night, worried they were too cold, and I watched as each year those beds got smaller.

We celebrated countless Father’s Days in the woods along with Tyler’s birthday. Cakes I made were jostled as we rambled over rock strewn roads and up crazy hills. Each cake, a piece of a core memory; power rangers, camo, a beer cake. We laughed, we hiked, we ate, we rested and played games. We had friends join us, watched wildlife including deer and moose walk right by the camper.

When we bought the camper, we couldn’t afford a generator. The battery worked well, but James still had to get up every so often to start the vehicle and recharge the battery during the night. After a few years we borrowed a friend’s HUGE gas generator. It took up a huge part of the trailer and we had to maneuver to get it inside. Once we arrived at our site, we both had to carry it as far into the woods as the extension cord would allow because the noise was deafening. We just updated to a small quiet generator when things changed this year.

Our camper has been camping, hunting, golfing, to the grandparents’ house and parked in front of our house. During the summer, even when we weren’t camping, the boys would eat every meal possible inside. The table became the favorite spot for figure wars, army men, Batman, the Power Rangers, Transformers and Scooby and the gang. We created years of memories in that sweet little camper.

The last two years our camper sat and waited. We had every intention to get into the trees, but, well life. With life calmer I looked out the window at her and knew we needed to be back up in the trees, away from the people and chaos. I wanted the breezes in the tops of the trees, to watch the eagles above white rock, to hike and listen to the stream, to feel the heat as we sat outside and listened to nature sing around us. The problem is our sweet little trailer had gotten smaller or maybe our family had gotten bigger.

Our last camping trip the boys wedged themselves and twisted up to fit on the couch and dinette sleeper.  What used to seem huge for them, now left them with legs hanging over, shoulders slightly off the edge. The little dinette used to sit all 4 of us and now we spread out on beds and couches to eat. Our sweet boys are now men, and we add our new daughter-in-law. As I looked at our camper, I realized she was too small for us to be comfortable. The bed James and I shared included not being able to roll over, knocking the metal blinds 100s of times at night and having to crawl in awkwardly. It was time to do something different.

I spent time cleaning the dust that settled over the last couple years, moving out items that were stored and washing the bedding. Each moment cleaning reminded me of the camping eggs, the meals, the games, the puzzles, the crafts, the memories. As I cleaned and remembered each moment of the hikes, shooting the guns, practicing with bows, I remembered the love and memories we created as a family. How our trailer changed with us as our family grew. Our memories from camping are forever within her walls.

I think about the future of our sweet little camper and our ability to pass her to our oldest and our future daughter. I smiled as I remade the beds and listened to their ideas about how the camper will work for them. My heart grew knowing my granddog, who is terrified of tents, will now get to climb up and snuggle on a bed.

Our camper has some age to her, you can see it in the fade of her colors, in the little creaks and groans as she rumbles along, but she is still good.  As Tyler and Ashlyn adopt her and make her theirs, I think of the memories she will get to share with them. The dinners they will cook, the games they will play. We will continue to have family camping trips and as our family grows our campsite will grow and now our sweet little camper that was an extravagant purchase over 22 years ago will now add more memories with one of the little people that grew within her walls.

Dad

 

I have sat down thousands of times over the last year to write this. Each time, though, my heart, soul and mind weren’t able. Moments over the last few days of your life will forever be emblazoned on my memory. Moments I can’t unsee, pain I can’t let go of. Life, after you left, threw curveballs. My heart was broken, and my soul was wrecked. I existed and tried to do the best I could. Today, though, as tears well up, one year after I lost you, I can write.

You were an amazing teacher and coach. It was evident in how former students and athletes spoke about you. You were a gifted teacher, able to help anyone understand even the most complex math functions. As an administrator you had a way of making even the most lost kids feel seen and valued. I heard hundreds of stories from former students who were headed down the wrong path, pushing every button who ended up in your office. You were able to challenge them, hear them and give them value. As a coach, you were able to breathe belief into athletes that didn’t believe in themselves. They could lean on you, and they knew you had their back. Your impact in education continues to ripple far and wide. That was the public Dad. I was so proud of you. 

As your daughter I experienced the public side and saw a different side. Now, I am able to think of the many unique things that were us, so many little things I miss. I had your darker skin, your dark eyes, and your dark hair. As I have grown older, I have added a similar “highlight” streak in front of my hair.

Your sweet tooth was another thing I inherited. In a family of salt lovers, you and I craved our sweets. I remember, as a little girl, trips to the grocery store with Mom. The first time I caught you slipping a candy bar into the basket, I capitalized and snuck one in also. I wouldn’t tell if you wouldn’t tell. We giggled and always acted surprised when we got home, and Mom found them. After a while she refused to let us go along because we were “in cahoots with each other.”

I fed your sweet tooth whenever I could; at Halloween filling up a McDonalds Boo Bucket with treats, especially Reeses Peanut Butter cups. I would bake cookies and drop them by school or even send treats with balloons to the classroom. The last treats I brought were Sugar Mouse cupcakes on your birthday.

Sunday morning conversations drove Mom crazy. You would give me the side eye and then say, “Women don’t deserve the same pay because their income is secondary.” You never really believed that, but it started so good arguments. It taught me to have a strong basis for my beliefs and to be able to back them up with knowledge and facts. 

Christmas was an easy holiday for you because you had me 😊 You did shop for mom, but there were many Christmases that you sent me out with an idea and cash. For years I was sweet and shopped, showing you what I got for you and then wrapped it beautifully. As I got older, I developed a little sass and shopped and wrapped without telling you what I bought for her from you. You were as surprised as Mom on Christmas morning. We laughed and after a few years you decided to do more of your own shopping.

I was the daughter that pushed the envelope. I remember we got into pranking each other by scaring each other and cold water. I would wake up earlier than you and hide down at the bottom of the stairs, knowing you would come down to make coffee. There were countless times I growled or snorted in the dark that scared the crud out of you. We were able to laugh about it, especially when you would do the same to me. I’m not even sure how the cold-water prank started, but all I remember is for months we had to be on guard during showers or a pan of cold water would make its way over the shower curtain. You had a great, dry sense of humor.

As I grew there were different moments we shared. You taught me how to change the brakes and change the oil on my Mazda GLC. I loved the times of just you and I in the garage getting greasy and laughing. 

We were a pair at the high school. A policy was implemented that teachers couldn’t write their own kids passes for being late.  I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have had anything to do with that. Gina and I could never make it back in time after lunch to Spanish and we would miraculously have passes from Mr. Schreckengost excusing our tardiness. I loved being your TA, leaving to fill the truck up with gas and get us snacks. Helping decorate your room with new posters each year. When I graduated and was in college I would still stop in and just sit with you before and after school to talk.

I was always your bookworm, studious, nose in a book, reading almost before I could walk. When I started junior high school sports, you were so surprised. I found my niche in running. The junior high coaches would tell you how fast I and you would just smile, because I was a bookworm, not an athlete. I remember vividly my first high school track practice with you as my coach. We started sprints and you couldn’t believe it. You looked at me and said, “You’re fast.” I laughed and said “Well, I’ve been trying to tell you for years.” That started our journey as coach and an athlete. You pushed me hard, but I pushed myself harder. I loved those moments of having you there and showing you I could run. I will never forget my sophomore year at state and “initiation” I think the entire hotel heard your frustration! Nonetheless I came and placed in finals. My senior year my body was tired. I had been running 100, 200, 400, 4x100, 4x400 and doing long and triple for a few years. I had been racing hard and was running every event I could. The speed was there, but I wasn’t strong enough to do them all at the top. Just before state, you pulled me aside and told me you knew I could be a state champion in the 100 if I pulled out of the relays and other events. You gave me time to think it over, leaving the decision completely up to me. I remember telling you I couldn’t pull out of the other events. Laramie only had 7 girls at state including me. I felt I would let them down if I pulled out of the other events. I could rack up more points by placing in multiple events rather than winning one event. We ended up third in team points only seven girls, Katrina, Trishell, Kim, Stephanie, Tammy, Emily and me.

After college I loved our email strings. I would be at work early, just as you were and we would email silly sayings, jokes, good mornings. I loved that connection that was uniquely ours. As time passed and siblings moved away our connection grew.

It didn’t matter if you and mom were mad at me, you knew you could call, and I would drop everything to help out. You would call me and knew I would take care of calling everyone else and letting them know what was going on. It was one less thing for you to worry about.

We spent thousands of hours together, walking the halls of hospitals, eating hospital food with Mom’s appointments, procedures, and surgeries. It eased both of our worry to lean on each other, poke each other while we sat and waited and look for ways to make each other laugh. We put on so many miles racing back and forth to Colorado, each in our own vehicle. We spent time in the ER at IMH, sitting in waiting rooms and finding ways to smile.  You knew you could always call. The moments you confided, the fear, the worry. You knew I would be there to help, no matter what.

Taking you to appointments was a different story. We would chat and laugh as I drove you and Mom down. On the way back you would crack me up, usually under the effects of anesthesia. Everything became, “Groovy.” After one procedure in Colorado, we stopped at Little America for a break. After Mom and I directed you to the bathroom, we waited. We were a little concerned because you were still loopy, but you said you were good. After a little while you came out happy as a lark. “How you feeling, Dad?” Response was, “Groovy.”

I remember your call right after the accident in October, just before you passed. You were panicked. You hit a deer and the airbags deployed. When you stopped Shaggy took off. Mom was taken to the ER and you were torn. You called and I immediately dropped everything and headed to the hospital. I told you I would take care of Mom until you found Shaggy. We called and texted until everything was hammered out and Mom was release. We took care of the groceries you were worried about and made sure you had supper that night.   

Our last picture together, was when I drove you to Denver to get your new truck. You were so excited you found what you wanted. We chatted and laughed most of the way down. When we got there, you insisted on introducing me to everyone who came by. “This is my daughter she drove us down.” When we were getting ready to leave Stephanie wanted to take the picture and I stepped back, but you insisted she take another one with me in it. I am so glad you insisted. My last picture with you Dad.

The last time I saw you, I knew you were going to leave us that night. I didn’t want Mom there when it happened, and I don’t think you did either. I spent a few extra minutes with you after everyone else left the room. I leaned down and whispered to you exactly what you whispered to me when you gave me away at my wedding. You grabbed my hand and held so tight. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

There were thousands of little moments we shared as I grew up. Things that were just you and me. I pushed you and you pushed me. I frustrated you and Mom often, but I could always make you smile. The last year was a challenge and I hope you know how I tried. I miss you every single day. May your heart be healed, and may you be able to lift your face to the sun and experience a fullness in heaven you didn’t have here. I love you, Dad! Pooh

Blank pages

 

The house is quiet and seems to sigh, content with memories and echoes of laughter from the last several days. Darkness peeks in through the windows, a contrast to the bright Christmas lights and decorations that still fill my home. The week between Christmas and the new year is a golden week for me, a time to be still, close my eyes, reflect on the past and dream of the future.

The beginning of a year can be just another day, an opportunity to start fresh, or the chance to regroup and find more direction. Although, we don’t need to be held to the first day of the year, we can choose a fresh start every minute, every hour, every day. For me, though, there is something soothing and hopeful about January 1.

Each year is a book with the year stamped in gold on the spine. On January first I open the new book, fluff the empty pages and the distinct smell fills my senses. 365 white sheets wait quietly to be filled. My heart yearns for the first page with pen poised but as with each year, I look at the pages from the previous year, the now full book.

For me, 2022 looked at the COVID years and said, “Hold my beer.” 

                As I began to thumb through, I saw that loss filled pages and pages of 2022. In February I suddenly lost my dad, and the ensuing family chaos was brutal. My heart was broken as I spent months and months and months trying to stave off grief to do my best for my mom and her unhealthy, poor, living situation. I was in survival mode and became the target of attacks accusing me of being an egomaniac, jealous, narcissistic, and many other things. Quietly placed lies accusing me of unbelievable things were selectively shared. Those who chose to believe or perpetuate those lies added loss and heartbreak to my pages. Words splayed in harsh ink, painted a picture, some were neat and coherent, others in caps, red and scribbled with a fierceness betraying the inner sorrow and turmoil that dictated a large portion of my year. Dried tears bubbled the pages in places, causing the ink to bleed and run together.  

As I read, I find other things peppered throughout the chaos. Small, organized quiet words that make my heart smile. Beautifully scrolled words of encouragement, memories and hugs from friends and words filled with light. In those quiet words of last year’s stories, I treasure the moments full of color, clarity, and hope.

A long-awaited trip with our little family to our favorite place, finally celebrating a graduation. Eight days of food, laughter, and memories. The joy of following our oldest as he competed for his final seasons as a D1 track athlete. The miles driven, the flights taken to cheer, hug, love and enjoy watching him do what he loved. We made time, despite negative forces, to attend indoor and outdoor championships.

My heart calms over memories of Wednesday night family dinners, favorite shows, movie nights and quiet conversations. It heals over Sundays with my youngest, chatting over laundry. Joy filled simple moments grace latter pages; dropping off groceries, helping move my oldest into a new place, conversations, and laughter on quick weekend trips. Tyler’s graduation with honors fills a page along with the wonderful things the college and his professors said about him. Austin’s successful first year of college paired with incredible words of praise from his professors. Pages where both boys stepped up in challenging moments to help ease a difficult situation.  

The story of injuries and races slipped into the pages. Moments in the car, beautiful locations, amazing sunrises, and sunsets paint memories. Traditions stayed alive from Easter to Halloween to Christmas. Tyler’s engagement fills pages with our excitement over adding a daughter to the fold and sharing memories with our new expanded family.

It was a “hold my beer” year. So many words, visions, memories forever written into the 2022 novel. Reflecting, I realize breaks in my heart will take years to heal as will the damage from the personal attacks, but I will remember the moments that fed my soul during the chaos and darkness. The moments that reminded me to stay true to myself.

Watching the snow drift through the air, I am thankful for what I learned in 2022, the memories created, and the stories written. 2022 slides onto my shelf, the story finished. My pen is now poised, and a quiet hope is bubbling for the start of a new story, a story with more of the quiet, reflective and thankful moments. Happy New Year. Begin your story!