Another Dozen Years

 Dearest Ollie Bear,

I wonder how long it will be before you ask me to stop calling you “Ollie Bear.”  I hope that you never do, but I understand that as you get older, things like that may be less acceptable, so I’m holding on to that nickname as long as I can.

As you lay in bed tonight, wrapped up in your blanket, with Mr. Cuddles and books strewn about your bed, you look so young, but so much bigger than I remember you being not all that long ago.  In the last year, you’ve not only grown taller, but more patient, focused, and mature.  I’ve watched you deal with complicated situations and heated emotions with more grace than ever before.  I’ve seen you kneel down to the eye level of younger kids and help direct them in clear, loving, rational ways.  I’ve seen the amount of impulses you act upon decrease in number as the days wind onward. You’ve walked long, difficult roads, for many years, and come so very far.

Mister Collin, you bring such depth and variety to my life, but also the lives of countless others around you.  This year, you’ve started middle school, which was an emotional transition for both of us.  You’ve left such a lasting mark on the hearts and minds of so many in your days, however, that there were emotions and questions and anecdotes and memories shared with me by so many of the elementary teachers  and staff that you left behind as you go forward on the new journey.  Watching them all hug you on the first day of school this year, as we took your sister to her final elementary year, brought tears to my eyes.  They trickled down my cheeks after I watched you step out of the car and walk bravely to the new school where you will meet an entirely new set of people to leave a mark upon.  I pray that it’s a positive, beautiful mark, and that you can touch their lives as you have so many teachers and staff before them.  I get such joy hearing all sorts of Collin stories.  You really liven up this life.

You are such a smart dude.  The amount of information you are able to bring to us is incredible, and listening to you and your older brother discuss more complicated topics than you have in the past makes me grin in the other room as I listen in quietly.

I’ve enjoyed learning new things about you over the course of this last year.  Just recently, I found out your favorite song is “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” by Tears for Fears, which intrigues me greatly.  It sure does bring a smile to my face to see you run to the room the song is playing from and do your little bee-bop dancing as you sing along.  I really have no attachment to the song and could go my life without hearing it again, but then I wouldn’t have those moments of watching the joy it brings to you. I love that you found an interest in playing the trombone in the school band last year, and that you’ve become quite a talented artist, bringing your unconditional love for dinosaurs to drawings I find throughout the apartment and car. 

You still have such a quick sense of humor, but also a clever set of problem solving skills that have become quicker as days go by.  It’s been another fun thing to watch you really tap into. 

You’ve become braver over the last year and really been more open to trying new things.  It’s been a joy to watch you realize new loves, likes, and even dislikes.  The world is such an expansive place and with so many experiences to immerse yourself in, and I love that you’re willing to approach it in ways you haven’t in the past. I love that you realized you love steak… and bacon- lots of bacon.

I love that you’re almost always up for some kind of adventure (even if it takes a little coaxing) and that you still let me take your picture even if you don’t really want me to.

I love that you still love to hug with full force and wreckless, loving, abandon.  I love that you still like to snuggle me.  I love that you still rest your head on my shoulder as we sit on the couch.  I love that you remind me you love me.  I love reminding you the same.

Collin, I can’t wait to see what your next year brings.  The first dozen have shown developed a love in me like no other and helped me see the world through so many different lenses and filters.  You’ve taught me deeper patience and understanding.  I have seen you bring those same gifts to others in all areas of your life. 

I pray that your next year is filled with life-altering and personality-solidifying experiences, but I mean that in the best ways.  I know you’ve had enough heartbreak and trauma in your first twelve years.  I (perhaps unrealistically, because we know how the world can be) hope that only great and beautiful things fill this next year of your life.  If, by chance, some less than wonderful things happen, I hope you can find the beauty in them, at least looking back at them, if it is hard to as you go through.

I pray that you make life-long friends and supportive, positive relationships in middle school. I hope you find your niche and your people and that you sense safety in those spaces and communities.  I pray that your mind is enriched greatly by all the new things you will learn and do. I hope you love your middle school years.  I hope your year twelve is the best one yet.

Thank you for being a beacon of unconditional love, not only for me and your family and friends, but even for many who have “wronged” you or caused heartache in the past.  Recently, we were discussing a person that, at the time, was incredibly difficult to continue interacting with, and you remarked how they were a good person.  It stopped me in my tracks and I tasted the bitterness in my spirit and realized that you were right, they are likely a good person, even if our experience with them was pretty wretched overall.  

I hope you can continue to easily forgive others and to not hold grudges that weigh on your heart.

I love you, my Ollie Bear- more than you’ll ever know.

Happy Birthday, Buddy.

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m so glad you’re mine.

-Mom

Someday, You Can’t

 This summer has started out so very similar to the many summer “vacations” we have had before in our little family.  School is out, leisure time abounds (for the children anyway) and we set off to intentionally spend time together doing, generally, simple activities to create memories together.   This past year, the kiddos finished 7th, 5th, and 4th grades.  They’re getting older, and each year, that fact weighs silently on my mind a little heavier.

Over the last handful of years (it feels like very few, but it has been 7 or so), I have lost two aunts and two uncles, each of my parents having said their earthly farewells to at least one sibling.  I have had the sorrow of saying these goodbyes to many people over the years, and the finality of death has not escaped me since I was a child.  

My own children are coming to grips with these circumstances in ways they’re understanding much more deeply as they’re growing up. This past winter, we learned the devastating news that a deeply loved uncle passed away.  This death rocked my children’s hearts a little harder, because he was an uncle they spent a considerable amount of time with when we would go back to my hometown area in MN.  He would randomly show up and spend wonderful hours playing alongside my children, loving on all of us.  My kids refer to him as “the best kind of uncle” and their hearts have taken many months to speak his name without their voices cracking or tears filling their eyes.  I think more than any so far, this was the death that really left a life altering impact.

Since his funeral, we have had many conversations about spending time with those you love.  There’s a song that we all love, “Til You Can’t,” and the lyrics are simple and powerful and remind us that someday, those people you love won’t be there anymore, so stop putting off until another day the time you could share right now.

This lesson has applied to multiple circumstances since my uncle’s passing, but today, sitting beside an algae-tinted lake under cloudy grey skies, I watched two of my children float around on inner tubes, while my oldest sat beside me, digging in the sand, unwilling to participate in the activity.  He insisted it was good enough that he came along and that having fun was not a necessary part of the endeavor.  On one hand, I understood where he was a coming from, and almost agreed to an extent, but my momma heart turned on the waterworks and silent tears fell down my cheeks. I did not look his way.  I stifled any sniffle I felt coming, and I tried to swallow my emotions down so that I would not guilt trip or embarrass him making an emotional scene.

I was not upset that he was resisting the fun, I realized as I dug to the root of my flood, but rather, I was wading through a conversational path we had taken earlier this summer- the “18 summers” talk.  We had heard on the radio that children basically have eighteen summers  and then they’re adults.  Sometimes, it’s less, whether it’s death, taking on summer jobs, or other reasons.  We discussed how he’s already 13, his brother almost 12, and his sister is 10.  Most of those 18 summers have passed us by, and a few of them felt cheated due to being quite sick with covid and then another recovering from a spinal injury. This summer will feel shorter as of month from now I will have a surgery to repair my foot and will be unable to drive or do much for the rest of the summer.   “The days feel long but the years rush by,” I told him. He agreed.  That morning we drove in silence for a while until the next song came on the radio.

Tonight, sitting on the beach, I realized my heart was aching for my children and the realization that these days are also going by really quickly, and soon, they’ll be gone.  Much like the song I referenced above, we can’t guarantee there will ever be another peaceful day on the lake where all three children could float on the waves, splashing, laughing, and forming those memories that will carry them through their lifetimes. 

I finally decided to speak.

“I’m not mad, buddy.  I’m not disappointed.  I’m just realizing how short these days really are.” I said.  

I reminded him of the 18 summers.

“Why do they want to hang out with me? I’m a boring moody teenager. They think I’m annoying.”

“Siblings say that.  But they don’t always mean it in their soul.  They mean it in the minute, but when that minute is gone, they’re going to realize they were wrong.”

He gave me an argumentative look, but held his words before replying.

I went on to explain to him that now, as a 40 year-old, seeing half a lifetime go by, having spent so many summers orchestrating memories with my children, I see it from a fresh perspective.  It’s true that their summers are winding down.  Mine are long gone.

I told him about moving to college when my youngest sister was a toddler.  I had a two-hour commute to see any of my siblings at that point, when my summers had gone from being at home beside them, leaving to spend it with friends, to working at a camp and never living at home with any of them again. As the oldest of four, I understood how sometimes it feels like a burden to play with or entertain younger siblings.  I know how it sometimes feels like you’d rather be doing anything other than splashing in a lake.  I understand how you might not want to sit beside your parents for hours on end when you could be interacting with someone your own age who would undoubtedly be more fun and certainly more cool.

I get it.

Thankfully, I have loved my siblings fiercely all of their lives, and as an adult, although they were younger, I still made time and conscious effort to make memories and have adventures with them, often bringing them home with me for multiple days so we could explore, play, laugh, and grow together.  I am blessed beyond measure for years upon years of that.

But I get what it’s like on the other side of all of that, to see your grown-up siblings a fistful of times a year.  Often, those times are spend reminiscing, joking, and laughing about the years that have already passed by.

I understand wishing that we had even more hilarious inside jokes and fun memories than we do.  Yes, we have countless wonderful memories and photos of our adventures, and they are indescribably invaluable, but my heart aches knowing we could have had more. My sisters have become some of my dearest friends, and when push comes to shove, as annoying as we might have thought each other were growing up, any of us siblings would be there in an instant in the best ways we could if we were needed.  That love is rooted deeply despite differences and years apart. 

But we could have had more.

I am the one who left them behind, potentially like my oldest could to his siblings someday.  The effort to be with my siblings when my summers had faded and theirs were still in full bloom sometimes felt insurmountable and I know in retrospect that I took the days and hours we did have for granted more than I would have ever cared to admit at the time.

It’s that hindsight that has me looking straight ahead at the end of my own children’s summer roads.

He stood up and he hugged me, like he has so many times before.  I thanked him for coming along.  I realize, though I haven’t spoken the realization aloud to him, that at any time, I could tell him that he “has to” come along, and he could refuse, and that would be that. My days of carrying him to the car and buckling him into a seat have been long over.

“I think I’m gonna go get changed,” he told me.  Off he went to put on his swim trunks.  Together, we inflated his tube, and he hit floated out into the lake to laugh beside his siblings.

We all four talked on the way home about trying our best to pause and take in the moments, to take the chances, and to make the memories while we still can.

“Because someday, you can’t” my oldest said. “Like the song.”

I know we likely will not always been in the frame of mind to see adventures and outings that way.  I’m praying I will always have a grateful heart for the days when we do and the patient grace to remember that my children are growing older and more independent, and it will eventually change no matter how hard I try to keep the days from slipping through my fingers.

Ten Years of Sunshine

 Miss Norah,

You just hugged me goodnight, and I reminded you that you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.  You went to your bed, one last time as a nine-year-old, with a glimmer in your eye that sparkles the anticipation of tomorrow.

I don’t know if I’ve told you in person how I’ve always thought of you as my Sunshine baby.  Your oldest brother was my first miracle and the answer to a lifetime of prayers.  After he was born, I lost a baby while I was pregnant.  When a baby is born after a loss like that, the next child born is considered a rainbow baby.  Your second brother was the rainbow after the storm.

You, my girl, have always been the sunshine that followed. 

I know I have told you how you were a big surprise, from the moment I found out I was pregnant with you, to the ultrasound where I was told you were a girl (after I was so certain I was meant to be a “boy mom” and never have a daughter), to the day you were born where you proved to me you really are a girl.  You were unexpected to me, but God knew what He was doing, and you were the perfect completion to my set of answered prayers.  

You have always brought the sunshine.  You bring it to me, but also to others.  You sparkle and you shine from the inside outward.  You have the most brilliant heart of gold, seeing what others often miss or overlook, and make sure that people who might go unnoticed see that they are important.  So many times, you’ve asked to give money, food, a hug, a gift, a blanket, your time, and your love to those around you- whether you know them or not.  You make my own heart swell with pride.

You are not only my daughter, but in some ways, you’re my friend.  You are my sidekick for errands, snuggles, and creating.  You have an amazing sense of humor and joyous laughter.  You sing your heart out every single day.  You are ready for pranks and silliness but also for serious talks and matters of the heart.

You are a delight to your brothers, even when you may not be getting along.  They have always been fierce protectors and know that you are their own. You reciprocate the same for them, and it blesses me to know that you will always have each other’s backs even when I’m not around.  

You brighten the lives of your extended family and your friends.  Animals love you too!  It’s amazing to see how so many are drawn to you and appreciate what you bring to this world.

The last year has been wonderful, but also sometimes a struggle, for as you start to mature, I’m having to get to know new sides of you.  Your interests and style have begun to change, and I must admit, when it first started, it threw me for such a loop that I felt maybe I was living in a dream.  The predictability of your long-time childhood passions began to fade away to reveal what your young lady heart and mind find joy in now.  

Because you are my only daughter, its taken some getting used to new facets of your personality, some of the sass, and unpredictability of older-girl emotions.  I pray that as you continue to grow and some things continue to change, we will both be blessed with unlimited patience and compassion for one another as we figure it all out together.  Your brothers are included in that prayer too.  In some ways, now that you are all growing up to be big kids, preteens, and teenagers, we are all getting to know each other in news ways all over again.  Some days this home is definitely chaotic and we feel a little overwhelmed, but I’m so grateful we are all lead by love and Jesus and I know we can get through any tough times together.

I know from experience that being a ten-year-old girl is not always easy.  I know that being in fourth and fifth grade with other girls can be a challenge and like riding an emotional rollercoaster set up inside of an unpredictable wave pool. I pray that your heart doesn’t take anything thrown your way as an attack on your identity, and you’re always able to remember that the other girls your age are all going through similar things alongside you, and it can just be a stormy mess sometimes.  There will be rainbows and sunshine after the storms if you hold on tight- I promise.

I have loved watching you flourish academically, artistically, musically, socially, and in your faith.  You are a gem with so many beautiful facets.

As we close out your first decade of life, I hope that you know I am always on your side, even when you might not see or feel that is truth.  I pray you never let the world dull your sparkle and extinguish your light.  I pray the atmosphere changes when you walk into a room because you carry the love of Jesus within you.  I pray that you find your tribe and make lifelong memories that you can look back on when you’re an older woman, like the many I share with you about my years as a young girl. 

I love you, Miss Norah.  I’m so grateful for the ten years of Sunshine I’ve already been given. I cannot wait to see what’s in store.

I’m so glad you’re mine.

Love you most.

-Mom

Randall Lawrence Flesner - Obituary

 Randy Flesner - Obituary

Randall “Randy” Lawrence Flesner, age 54, of Walnut Grove, MN, passed away on December 12, 2023, in Redwood County, Minnesota.  

Randy was born on February 8, 1969, in Tracy, Minnesota, to Lawrence and Leora (Foster) Flesner. He was welcomed home by four older sisters, and a year and a half later, welcomed one more sister into the family.  He was confirmed at Our Savior’s Lutheran Church in Lamberton, MN, and attended Lamberton High School, where he graduated in 1987. He served his country in the National Guard and remained patriotic throughout his life.

Randy met and fell in love with his soulmate, Amy, on April 3, 1991.  They were married on April 3, 1993. Together, they raised beloved “fur babies,” beautiful Siberian Huskies and Malamutes, as well a blue and gold macaw “Joey Bird.”  Although they did not remain married, they continued to be the best of friends throughout the remainder of Randy’s life.

Randy’s family was of incredible importance to him and he made certain to let them know how much he valued them.  He was a wonderful husband, son, brother, uncle, and friend.  Randy loved to have fun with those in his life, from the youngest kiddos to those his senior.  He had a fun, playful nature, quick wit, and a memorable, contagious laugh.  He was quick to lend a helping hand, a listening ear, a huge hug, and so much more if someone he cared about had a need.  He was an absolute treasure to many.

A traveler by nature, Randy spent years as an industrial painter and a union member, where he worked all over the country painting things like bridges and water towers.  He loved his job, and often spoke of his coworkers and adventures.  His colleagues became a chosen family, and he cherished them dearly.  Randy also loved riding motorcycle and exploring the great outdoors.

Randall is survived by his best friend and soulmate, Amy (Christensen) Undine of Lincoln, NE, sisters Debra (Daniel) Turbes of Revere, Anita (Joel Byers) Weber of Milroy, Linda (Guy Vanderwerf) DeSmith of Walnut Grove, Sara (Randy) Panitzke of Mesa, AZ, Susan (Mark) Daniels of Morriston, FL, brothers-in-law Brian Vanderlinden of Sioux City, IA, and Richard Weber of Lamberton, as well as many nieces, nephews, great nieces and nephews, and countless other dear family and friends.  He was preceded in death by his parents, Leora and Lawrence Flesner, sister in infancy, Helen Flesner, sister Katherine Vanderlinden, brother-in-law Gregg DeSmith, niece Carissa DeSmith, grandparents, and numerous aunts, uncles, and friends.

————-

A Celebration of Life honoring Randy Flesner will be held at 2pm on Saturday, January 20, 2024, at Our Savior’s Lutheran Church, in Lamberton, MN.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests that you make a donation in Randy’s honor to your local organizations, such as the VFW, American Legion, pet shelters and rescues, and churches.  Randy held these close to his heart.

First-teen

 Dearest Spencer,

Here we are again, at the end of another era, the beginning of another milestone, an old familiar, but oh so different place than we were 365 days ago.

Tonight, you close off your first dozen years and you will wake up as an official teenager.

Not kid, not pre-teen, but a teenager.

Wow.

I know I’ve been calling you a “teen” for a few months now and joking about rounding up, but it hits so much harder tonight. 

We have talked many times about how we are both learning as we go, growing as we go, and figuring this journey out together, and it still rings true.  I finally feel like I have a decent grasp on having big kids instead of little kids, instead of toddlers, instead of babies, and here we are, a new juncture, and it’s off to the races as we veer into the years of having teenagers.  You’re the forerunner, obviously.  I hope that the years are good to us, the disagreements and stresses are few and are between, and the laughter and hugs are countless.

Realistically, I know it won’t likely be all wildflowers, sunshine and rainbows, but I pray that it’s more wildflowers, sunshine and rainbows that torrents, deluges, and gale forces. I pray that it’s more dancing than falling, that’s for sure.

It has been such a joy watching you grow and transform before my eyes.  I have been reliving old photos and videos at night lately, thinking about how you were the answer to my biggest prayer- that I could be a momma.  I think about how your blue eyes have sparkled looking back at mine for the past dozen years, and how familiar that is to me, and how it ignites sparks inside my heart.  

Watching your personality blossom has been another treasure to me.  I remember when you were so much younger, and it was harder to tap into “your brave” and there were many things you just wouldn’t do.  There were many things you wouldn’t do alone, but you were braver with me by your side.  I was your steady and your charge when you were hesitant or leery of whatever was going on around you or what was being asked of you.  Your meek, little voice still echoes in my head.

But now… I’ve recently come to the realization that you may be braver without me.  I think about the fact that you were ready and willing to attend three different camps or retreats this past summer, with three different groups of people, in three different states, all without me, all with very little contact to me, and how you flourished and thrived and each one chiseled you into the young man you are turning into, a little bit at a time.  I loved seeing you again for the first time, each time, and how you would come to me, arms wide open, with a huge grin, and tell me you missed me.  It was unexpected each time, but they were threes heaven-sent moments. 

Another thing that has been a delight in regard to those excursions, is hearing other people tell me how wonderful they think you are.  You were reported to be very kind, thoughtful, hilarious, and fun.  Many of us have enjoyed watching you come out of your shell more and more. (As a side note, have I told you that I am so proud of you for starting to let more people “in” on all areas of your life including your thoughts, emotions, fears, joys, and triumphs?  I am.  You have spent many years guarding these parts of yourself, for reasons I do understand, but you’ve been slowly breaking down your walls, and it’s a magnificent thing to experience.)

As I realized these things recently, you and I had a discussion about how you feel more relaxed and open going to youth group nights by yourself, instead of with me there.  Surprisingly enough, it didn’t hurt my feelings at all, but made me so proud of you for your honesty and bravery.  You’ve climbed quite the hill in your years, and it’s amazing to see you reaching the pinnacle and I cannot wait to see where you go when you get closer. I don’t know if one every really reaches the hypothetical summit, but if you do, I’ll be here cheering you on for that as well.

In another side of your personality, I love listening to you experiment with your instruments.  I cannot tell you how big I grinned when I heard you play a little diddy on guitar that sounded like the solo to my favorite song. Your teachers at school all tell me how great you are as well, and that they are proud of you.  I know, personally, music is one of my best friends, like a cozy blanket that understands me no matter what my mood or life circumstance is.  I feel that it may be similar for you as well.  One thing that you possess that I don’t though, is the ability to pull music out of thin air, play by ear, or goof around and have it still sound good. I might be a tiny bit jealous in that aspect. 

Lately, I’ve been trying to give you more independence and trust, inch by inch, because you are older and should be gaining more responsibility and independence as we go along, but sometimes, that’s hard for me, and I apologize if I come off as overprotective or untrusting.  The world we live in continues to change into one that seems crazier and more uncertain than the one I grew up in, and I’m always trying to navigate how that should look so far as parenting goes.  As you know, and have said in the past, I’m pretty much doing it myself, and often I second guess or doubt myself and whether I am doing it right, or good enough, and so forth.  Thank you for being patient with me.  (I will admit, however, that I love the moments where you’re not “too cool” or “too old” to do things that are still whimsical and fun.  Tonight, for example, we had the perfect balance of going trick-or-treating with family, but then the independence to go again on your own for a while.)

With that said, I promise to continue to try to extend my own patience with you. I know there are times when I am less than patient and certainly not perfect in how I approach things.  I joke occasionally about how I was once a middle school or teenage girl, but I was never a middle school or teenage boy, so I don’t always know how to decode what you’re hinting at and I don’t often quite understand what you’re feeling.  I will continue to try to learn the balance between giving you privacy, but also holding you accountable.  Clearly, this stage of our lives is going to be a work in progress, possibly the entire time.

Spencer, I think you’re truly amazing, and the world is so blessed to have you in it.  I have loved watching your faith start growing in different ways, trying new things, and enjoying new experiences.  I loved getting you a Bible this summer, and each time you tell me about a verse or story you’ve found interesting brings me even more joy.  Thank you for what you’re willing to share, and know I understand that a faith life is personal too, and I respect that I cannot and will not always get to know everything.  That’s new to me too.  I’m so used to the little kid information overload that the preteen and teenage withholding feels a bit foreign still.

Thank you for loving like you do.  Thank you for giving me hugs for no reason, out of nowhere, and when I’m sad.  Thank you for all the fun we have in the car going to or from school, and for obliging when I ask too many questions about your day.  Thank you for your wonderful sense of humor that feels so much like my own, and for the respect you show asking if you can tell jokes before just blurting them out.  That probably seems or sounds silly, but it just shows me that you respect boundaries of others.

Thank you for going out of your way to help others, whether it is you giving a little of your spending cash to another student on a trip, or respectfully assisting someone who may be less physically agile due to injury, age, illness, or other reasons.  I have heard accounts of both of these things, and many others, when they’ve happened and I’m not around.  There’s nothing quite like hearing something wonderful your child did when they didn’t need to impress or prove anything to others.  Thank you for holding doors and carrying in one more grocery bag yourself so I don’t have to- without being asked.  

As bittersweet as it is to see you continue to grow up, I am truly excited to see what the future holds.  I don’t want to say goodbye to the childhood years where you need more care than independence, more cuddles than thumbs up, but I know it’s going to be a beautiful thing as you continue to grow older and our relationship starts to take on more friendship qualities as well.  

Thanks for the abundance of random information that you spout out with no rhyme or reason.  Believe it or not, I do the same thing to others.  

I pray this year brings you boundless laughter, new favorite songs, interesting additional friends, and a real sense of who you are, as a child of God, a son of mine, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, and a friend.  You are a delight to me, even on our harder days.  

Love you more,

Mom (not Bruh)