I’m starting this column the weekend before Thanksgiving. I may end up finishing it the weekend after. Who knows?
These days, I write in fits and starts – squeezing it in whenever I can. Since the sudden death of my husband in September, my non-writerly duties and responsibilities have exploded, leaving me little time for anything else.
The more I learn about those duties and responsibilities, the clearer it becomes just how hard Jeff worked to create an extraordinary life for me. A life of privilege, really.
And when I say “privilege” I don’t mean “wealth.” We never had much money. But Jeff handled the bulk of the mundane things – both in our household and our business – so that I could spend a lot of time reading and thinking . . . and writing about what I was reading and thinking. He never complained about it, either; he seemed happy to do this for me. And boy, did I take it for granted.
This morning, as I sit at my desk in the breakfast nook, where I’ve been writing this column for over 25 years, I’m contemplating how a split second on the last day of August – a freak fall in the hallway – radically changed my family’s story forever. I’m thinking about fate, coincidence, synchronicity and the like. I’m wondering what to make of those concepts.
Consider my daughter’s recent trajectory. When Amelia graduated from Clemson in May of 2024, she had the next couple of years all laid out – the culmination of hard work and the fulfillment of a long-held dream. She’d been accepted at George Washington University into the Elliot School of International Affairs, where she planned to earn a Master’s degree in International Relations. We had paid the acceptance fee, she had hooked up with a roommate, and all we had left to do was find her a place to live.
But two weeks after graduation – following a wonderful family trip to Paris, London, and Edinburgh – Amelia came to us in tears, confessing she’d had a major change of heart. She didn’t want to go.
She said she’d known it since the minute she received her acceptance letter, but couldn’t admit it, even to herself. If I’m being honest, I think I knew it, too. Through our entire graduation trip, every time I brought up her move to DC, she’d put me off. “Let’s talk about it when we get home,” she’d say. She just didn’t seem excited.
I told myself I was imagining things. I wasn’t.
At the time, Amelia had lots of reasons for her change of heart. The political scene in Washington was so fraught and volatile, she was unsure she wanted to live or work there… ever. As the only child of “older parents,” she didn’t want live so far from home. (What if we needed her?) And last, but certainly not least, she’d been in a serious long-distance relationship for five years. Commuting from Clemson to Columbia wasn’t so bad, but Columbia to DC? She worried that could be a deal breaker.
All these reasons were perfectly rational, but beneath them all I sensed something stronger and deeper – less practical or tangible – pushing Amelia away from DC, grad school, and a life in international politics. That something was her gut.
She came with a plan. If we’d let her live at home with us for a year, she would wait tables, save money, and earn her paralegal certificate online through USC. (She had always been interested in the law, and perhaps this would be a precursor to law school.) Her boyfriend would spend the year with his parents – also saving money – while studying for the GRE and applying to Physical Therapy schools. Where ever he ended up, they would go there together and Amelia would (hopefully) work as a paralegal while he attended grad school.
Her dad and I thought the plan was solid – she suddenly seemed wise beyond her years – so we ate the acceptance fee to GW and happily signed on.
And thus began the delightful interlude all three of us would come to refer to as our “Bonus Year.” Amelia moved back into her childhood bedroom – after first painting and redecorating, all by herself – and Jeff and I got reacquainted with our little girl, who had magically become a terrific young woman.
It was so much fun having her home! She and Jeff, in particular, had a blast together. Both night owls to my early bird, they’d stay up late talking after Amelia came home from working the night shift at Hearth. I could often hear them laughing together from my bedroom, while I was reading myself to sleep. On her nights off, Amelia would sometimes help Jeff make dinner – she loves to cook as much as he did – and occasionally they’d even bake a cake together. Or scour baking recipes together. Or watch The Great British Baking Show together. (My only part in these baking adventures was as a grateful taste-tester.)
Our little house felt a bit crowded from time to time, but it was full of life and laughter and love.
In early August, Jeff and I helped Amelia move to Columbia and set up house with her boyfriend, who’d been accepted into Physical Therapy school at USC. We were sad to see her go – it was Empty Nesting all over again – but the kids were so excited, and we were excited for them.
A month later, Jeff was gone. I thought I knew from Empty Nesting. I had no idea.
Looking back, Amelia and I now see her intuitive, last-minute decision to ditch her plans for grad school as somehow… providential? A God thing? I’m not sure what, exactly, but we are both immensely grateful that she and her dad had that “bonus year” together. We feel like someone – some higher intelligence – was preparing us for what was to come.
And it’s not the only God thing we’ve experienced. For instance, Amelia just happened to be in Charleston for a wedding the weekend Jeff fell, so she was able to be with us at MUSC much more quickly than she otherwise would have. And while Jeff lay dying that week, she received word that the job she’d been interviewing for – and really wanted – was hers for the taking. She was able to share that news with her dad, who spelled “so proud” with his eyes, which were streaming tears.
Instead of a high-pressure law firm – or God forbid, a political campaign – our daughter is now working as a paralegal for the SC Department of Vocational Rehabilitation, under the direction of a caring boss who gave her a month to grieve before starting, surrounded by wonderful coworkers who help people for a living. It occurred to us both that, given a slightly different scenario – one in which Jeff’s spinal cord injury hadn’t been quite so severe – she might have been helping her own father find a new path in life.
My girl has had to grow up way too fast in a few short months, and she has done it with strength and grace that, to me, seem almost supernatural.
To borrow words from her dad, who could only say them at the end by blinking his eyes… I am so proud.
