Tag Archives: grief

Purple

The unexpected death of the incomparable Prince knocked me a little off balance, and I spent a day and a night reflecting on why that is. It is true that Prince’s music painted a colorful and inspirational canvas that embellished my formative years in a small, bland Illinois town. It is true that Purple Rain—the song, the album, and the movie—was an anthem for me and for my high school classmates in the 1980s as we embraced a more open and inclusive world and separated ourselves from our more traditional parents. And it is also very true that as we all cling to the pop culture of our youth, the loss of a childhood idol exposes our psyches to our own inevitable mortality. Yet why should the death of a person I never even met cause such sadness in my heart when I have suffered the tragic and personally devastating death of my own daughter?

That uncomfortable question floated around inside of my brain all day yesterday as I mourned the passing of my favorite pop star and as I shed my tears for a loss that is so much bigger than my own connection to his music. The world is far less colorful today than it was yesterday, before we all learned the sad truth of what it really sounds like when doves cry. But that question, it haunted me. It stayed wedged there between the dozens of articles and tributes I read about Prince. It lurked in the shadows of the music videos I watched. It breathed within the melodies of Prince’s beautiful, exhilarating, and provocative music that I listened to a long, long way past midnight. I felt guilty for owning such sorrow for Prince during those weepy and nostalgic hours, but I was compelled to pay some small tribute of the importance of Prince to the teenager I was. To give up one good night’s sleep seemed a small sacrifice to honor a man whose musical brilliance and irreverence for stark categories made me love him, and whose bold androgyny, unabashed support of female artists, and unapologetic commitment to being who he was opened my eyes up to a world far beyond the confines of my provincial, white, and conservative childhood.

But still. That question. How can the death of a pop star matter to me now? As I spent the night with that question, communing with Prince, enjoying the music of my youth, and lamenting the loss of so many years between the fourteen-year-old me and the forty-nine-year-old me, I cried for Mack. I cried for me. I cried for that fabulous, diminutive Prince, who could flat-out slay a guitar solo like a king, while rocking a pair of heels, a ruffled shirt, and a purple brocade jacket like a queen. Mack was there in all those tears, but her presence was not for the purpose of eliciting regret for my emotional reaction to the death of a pop star. Rather, she was there to give license to the depth of my sorrow at the end of a life of one of the most unique artists I have ever had the great pleasure to appreciate. Since losing Mack, I am more generous with my tears, I have more empathy, and I feel the sorrows in the world more keenly. But, of course, once again, I needed my girl to show me the way. Sometime, long after midnight, in a glassy-eyed, purple fog of exhaustion, Mack whispered in my head. She said, “I know why you’re so sad. Prince got a little bit in your teenager soul, and that’s a good thing, Momma Bear. And don’t worry, because surely you remember that purple is my favorite color, too.”

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Mackenzie Kathleen is (Still) Here

I woke up early on St. Patrick’s Day in 1994. Oh, about 5 a.m., I believe. Kevin was still asleep. Savannah was still asleep, no doubt cuddled under her covers with her teddy bear Pickles. Whiskers, our striped orange cat, was still curled up next to my head on the pillow. But my big belly was wide awake, and as I drew a deep breath through that first contraction, I smiled. My second baby girl was on her way, and she was going to be a little Irish lass. I positioned myself comfortably upon all of my extra pillows and stayed quiet and still for the next hour, resting my eyes, breathing deeply, and remaining calm. Second babies were easier, and this one was going to arrive with a minimum of fuss, I just knew it. I spent that precious time alone thinking of this new little girl that I would soon meet. There was such love and joy in my heart for her already and there were so many beautiful mysteries in front of me about how she would look, what would be the character of her heart and the quality of her mind, and how her life would unfold.

When the alarm clock signaled the real beginning of the day, I set in motion my plan for a normal weekday morning, at least until Savannah was delivered to her kindergarten classroom and I was on my way to the hospital. Still calm, but increasingly excited, I showered and dressed, helped Savannah prepare for her school day, alerted my obstetrician, and called my mother to begin her journey to Springfield. When we deposited a nervous little Savannah at Dubois Elementary, ensuring her we that would call the school just as soon as her sister arrived, I viewed within the sparkle of my firstborn’s hazel eyes the love already overflowing for her long-awaited little sister. By ten that morning, I was settled in at St. John’s Hospital, and after a visit from the most popular anesthesiologist in the maternity ward (epidurals are the way to go, my friends) and a relatively easy delivery, we announced to the world: Mackenzie Kathleen is here!

brand new Macko

On that first day of my new baby’s life, I knew nothing of who she was in her heart, what talents she might possess, or how special her spirit was to be. I could not then divine that she was charming, funny, and athletic. I did not then know that her palate was awaiting sour candies and spicy Thai food. I had no inkling that she would have a passion for popular culture, for lazy afternoons, and for writing. I was, as yet, unaware that her heart was bursting to make its mark on a bevy of best friends. I did not even yet know that she was Mack. On that first day of her life, she was Mackenzie Kathleen, our lucky little leprechaun, the final piece of our McDermott family puzzle. On that first day, she was just a sweet and perfect baby daughter and an eagerly awaited and immediately beloved little sister; and our hearts were full of unconditional love no matter what the future would hold for her or for us.

Now, of course, twenty-two years later, I know exactly the heart, mind, and character of Mackenzie Kathleen, our Irish girl who jigged and giggled her way through our twenty years together. I am so thankful for those years, immeasurably grateful for my time with her. It was an honor to call her my daughter, and it was the greatest of joys to be her Momma Bear. I am proud of the kid she was and of the young woman she became. She enriched my life in so many ways, some of which I have been able to articulate within the essays of this blog and others for which there is no earthy way to adequately measure or to appropriately define.

Now, on this day, twenty-two years later, I am bitter in the loss of Mack’s beautiful life. I understand all too well that melancholy milestones like a birthday have the power to subdue all of the strength within me. I have sadly accepted the eternal existence of a mother’s grief. But I have also learned that there is help for me through the hours of these cruel landmarks of life without Mack. Help grown from a tiny baby girl born on March 17, 1994. Help in the form of a tall and leggy, freckled, Irish lass with the light of a million stars around her and the laughter of an angel within her. Because Mack is with me in my heart. She occupies my memories. Her spirit and good cheer is ever in the air that I breathe. Because Mackenzie Kathleen is still here. Mack is still here. And I am all the better for it.

Lá breithe shona duit, Mackenzie Kathleen. Happy Birthday, Mack. You continue to be an exquisite force of nature in the lives of us all.

Bug and Us

A tiny Chihuahua came to live with us back in August, and since then she has romped, cuddled, and squeaked her way into our hearts. We are beyond charmed by her awkward eagerness to be a special buddy to me, to Kevin, and to Pepper, our reluctant Pomeranian. We call her Bug, although her growing importance in our lives suggests a more respectful moniker…perhaps Miss Bug? Everyone who meets her is immediately enchanted by her quirky personality, her sweet spirit, and her gentle nature. One minute she is a bouncing little goofball, acting wild, and the next minute she is power napping atop the back of the old leather chair in my office. She is a whole lot of funny and a little bit of weird and oh so very delightful…just like Mack; and sometimes I wonder if Mack handpicked Bug herself and sent her to us.IMG_5288

Adopting Bug turned our house a little upside down at first with house training, fur-sibling rivalries, and life adjustments by and to our new little family member. But upside down was a good thing. It was exactly what we needed. We had become too sheltered. Too comfortable with our seclusion. Too exhausted by grief to seek out new happiness in the world. Kevin needed a project; I had become too reliant on Pepper to calm my anxieties; and Pepper needed a furry companion, even though she is still not convinced that Bug should stay. Bug arrived at our house with the energy and intensity of a puppy, her need for training dramatically altered our only-dog complacency and pushed us into the previously avoided neighborhood dog park where we have met new people and new dogs. Bug arrived at our house, claiming her spot as the baby in the family and demanding the constant attention of all three of us. Yet most importantly, I think, Bug arrived at our house to save us.

Grief is a lonely and bitter journey, but at times external forces make you stop to share the road; and when you do, little comforts are frequently your reward. I have learned that those comforts that come along the way are frequently unexpected and often arrive in small packages. In August, one of those unexpected and small comforts had arrived in the form of a tiny Chihuahua. But as my difficult 2015 is drawing to a close, I now realize that Bug is so much more than just an unexpected comfort. In recent days, I have realized that this silly, six-pound doggie has become my special friend; but she has become a sort of spirit animal to me as well. Bug’s dorky lovability, her goofy personality, and her kind spirit daily remind me of the qualities in Mack I always admired and promised to emulate a year ago as I faced my first New Year without her. The year 2015 has been a struggle, and it is a constant battle to survive my loss with grace. Bug reveals to me that I still have the capacity to love, to find new joys in unexpected places, and to embrace the future with a little hope. She can provide some grace with me on this journey.

Bug’s cute little face both connects me to Mack and gives me some strength to face 2016 without Mack. I know in my bones and in my soul that Mack would be so pleased that her dad and I have let this sweet little animal into our hearts. She believed that animals held the power to lighten many sorrows, and it would be no surprise to her that Bug could melt her Momma Bear’s heart. Of course, Mack would remain skeptical about the impact that Bug might have on our reluctant Pomeranian, but she would wholeheartedly approve of our new little friend and the magic of her little heart full of love for us all.

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And because I cannot pass a blog without an image of my Macko, here she is loving up on Pepper…

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Remembering Mack: Great Deeds and Simple Gestures

One year ago today, we lost our incomparable Mack.Mack

For all of us who loved her, the sky is cloudier, the sun is less bright, and the world is far too quiet. With tears we have paved the winding road of this grueling, twelve-month journey without her. Along the path, we have tripped over anger, stumbled on sorrow, and struggled for air to breathe. Yet between stretches of hard travel through grief, we have taken respite from it by finding ways to keep Mack with us. Some great deeds as well as simple gestures have offered us rest for our weary and broken hearts, have given us strength to make it around each uncertain bend in the road, paid tribute to Mack’s beautiful spirit, and honored Mack’s significance in our lives.

During my journey of grief over these last 365 days, I have been buoyed by the abiding love of family, by the patience and kindness of friends, and by the constructive therapy of writing. I found solace in the beautiful and fitting memorial service for Mack, I drew strength from heartfelt tributes from her family members and friends, and I continue to take comfort in the photos and stories about Mack posted on social media. The tattoo on my wrist honors Mack’s name and will endure until my own death, an endowed scholarship will give meaning to Mack’s life in perpetuity, and an elegant brass plaque on granite in a peaceful spot near the Lincoln Tomb will mark the place where Mack will rest easy for all eternity. These great deeds and simple gestures have not lessened the reality of my terrible loss, but they have eased my journey. They have not kept all of the bitter tears and deep sorrow at bay, but they have provided me the strength I need to survive my terrible loss. Most importantly, they have shown me that despite Mack’s short time in the world, she made an inspirational and everlasting impression on the lives of the people who loved her.

Memorial Service in Springfield:

Nearly 600 people gathered in the gymnasium at Springfield High School on Sunday, October 12, for our public goodbye to Mack. It was a dreadful day for all of us, but it was also a respite from our private sorrow. The purple balloons, the giant picture boards, Mack’s high school softball teammates presenting her jersey, and eulogies by her second father, her favorite teacher, and her best friends broke our hearts but also lifted our spirits. There was great comfort in being there with so many other people who loved Mack. The dear friends who made this beautiful memorial service possible gave us all an amazing gift: the public time we needed to cry together, to acknowledge our terrible loss together, and to celebrate Mack’s life together.

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Social Media:

Social media has offered all of us a forum to share our personal stories about Mack, to post our favorite pictures with her, and to draw strength from knowing we were not alone in our grief. In the first terrible weeks without Mack, there were hundreds of tributes on Facebook and Twitter, and there was a deluge of photos, short notes, and longer homages. The daily posts have now ceased, but there is still a regular hum of activity on Mack’s page, as people add reminiscences, express loneliness caused by Mack’s absence from their lives, and, even sometimes, continue to talk to her. Say what you will of the vagaries of Facebook, but for me it is a positive presence, a helpful friend, and a portal to Mack’s beautiful collection of people.

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Writing:

Just hours after losing Mack, I was compelled to write about my loss. This memorial blog has given voice to the emotions that A True Senatorthreatened to drown me. Writing shined a light on the path of my journey through the dark days, and I have been lucky and thankful to find some grace along the way. The blog captures my sorrow, but it also seeks to capture my girl; and in capturing my girl, it has led me to smiles and laughter I desperately need. The writing helps me and, it turns out, the writing helps others (especially Mack’s grandparents); and this is a most wonderful and unexpected gift that I am happy to bestow upon the people who feel Mack’s absence as keenly as I do.

Writing is a powerful remedy for grief, and I am grateful that others have picked up their pens to honor our incomparable Mack. Kevin edited a beautiful volume of Mack’s writing and has given us all a sweet and personal keepsake. But this fall, Truman State University will accession a copy of Mack: Her Life and Words (http://mackmcd.yolasite.com/) into the collections of the Pickler Memorial Library, which will preserve Mack’s words at the campus she loved. And as the following elegantly penned eulogies attest, writing can, indeed, set us free.

Truman State Tribute: http://tmn.truman.edu/blog/editorial/editor-remembers-mackenzie-mcdermott/

Kailey’s beautiful blog post: http://kaileytrieger.weebly.com/blog/in-loving-memory-of-mackenzie-mcdermott

Justice’s heartwarming eulogy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9e2NIGnbww

Personal Gestures:

Sometimes, it is a simple gesture that warms our hearts and keeps Mack close. In November, just weeks after Mack’s death, some of her golfing buddies (who played for a rival high school) wore Mack ribbons in Mack’s high school colors during their appearance in the state tournament. A favorite Mack mom made memorial t-shirts, and a younger softball teammate wrote her nickname for Mack on the catcher’s mitt that Mack had bequeathed to her. A lifelong friend and golf teammate adorned her golf bag with ribbons honoring Mack, and I and at least two other people who loved Mack, got tattoos to commemorate the imprint Mack made upon our hearts. (https://macksmommabear.com/2015/04/22/permanent-mack/).

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Interment at Oak Ridge Cemetery:marker

Mack was cremated in Spain, but even upon the return of her remains to the United States, we made no plans for interment. As some time passed, however, and some of the shock wore off, we decided that interment and a permanent marker were important to us. Oak Ridge Cemetery, the beautiful and tranquil home of the Lincoln Tomb, was our immediate and contented choice. Springfield is Mack’s hometown, and the historical significance of Oak Ridge strikes a peaceful chord in my historical sensibilities. We have chosen a grassy spot under a gigantic and gnarled old tree that keeps watch over a quiet grassy area with old and new headstones. A marker in bronze with a lovely shamrock will note Mack’s existence in the world, all of us who need it will have a physical place to commune with Mack’s spirit, and the historian in me is grateful that Mack will belong to the ages near Mr. Lincoln.

The Mackenzie Kathleen Memorial Scholarship at Truman State University:

Most of my attempts to survive this unbearable loss have been small gestures that bring me welcome, albeit limited, peace. But the endowment of a scholarship in Mack’s honor is the best great deed we have accomplished since Mack’s passing. I take credit for the idea, and Mack’s father did all of the initial work with Truman State to make it happen. But it took a Mack-sized community of people to make an endowed memorial scholarship a reality. In just two short months, the annual scholarship for creative writers was fully endowed, and in August we honored our first scholarship recipient (https://macksmommabear.com/2014/12/09/honoring-mack/; https://macksmommabear.com/2015/08/15/magical-medicine/). The generosity and love of more than one hundred donors made this great deed possible. I am so grateful for the power of that generosity and love to bring us all some peace. And I stand in awe of the beautiful girl whose life inspired it all.

One year ago today, we lost our incomparable Mack.

Here we now stand with one year of life without Mack behind us. Every holiday. Every month. Every season. We have survived the lonely and sorrowful road through them all. Now we have some experience—however bitter, however hard—to understand something of the grief we have endured in losing Mack and to recognize the difficulties we yet face in our efforts to adjust to a world without her. And through all of our great deeds and simple gestures, we will continue to appreciate the time we spent with Mack, to cherish the memories we made with her, and to draw strength from the love she gave us and the love we have for her…always.

Mack is Everywhere

Early last Saturday morning on my weekly trip to Trader Joe’s, I paused a moment in the floral department, and my eyes settled in on a lovely pot of fall chrysanthemums. The small plant I noticed first was just one of dozens of potted flowers and fresh-cut arrangements, many of which commanded far more attention than the demure and jewel-toned flowers on which I had fixed my gaze. The deep maroon petals and contrasting yellow centers were smiling brightly at me; and there in the floral department, I smiled back at them. mums

I had awaken that morning feeling a little more sad and a lot more empty than usual, and the short drive on a deserted I-64 stretch of highway to the suburban shopping center had made me weepy. But there I was, standing among those flowers, smiling, my spirit lifted in one beat of my heart. Mack was in that little pot of flowers that were, like her, reserved on the outside and vibrant in the middle. Mack was there in the store, daring me to smile away my gloomy demeanor and begging me to welcome the simple joys of a Saturday.

Because my Mack is everywhere.

Mack’s freckled face is in the clouds. Mack’s impish giggle floats upon the wind. And Mack’s happy, carefree spirit is an essential element of the air I breathe. She wanders around in my mind, always in t-shirts and over-sized basketball shorts. She sits upon my shoulder when I prepare her favorite foods or as I cheer for our Cardinals to beat the Cubs. And she sings those infectious yet saccharin Taylor Swift songs in my ear whenever a dreadful silence threatens to overcome me. Mack was on Cherokee Street when an empty Funyuns bag blew across my path as I walked between antique shops one Sunday afternoon. funyunsShe was at the intersection of Gravois and MacKenzie roads as I waited for that interminable traffic light to turn green just a couple of weeks ago. And she was in those chrysanthemums last Saturday, one of my bad days, when the simple task of grocery shopping challenged my shaky resolve.

I am not a religious person, nor am I spiritual in any way. Wish that I did, but I do not believe that Mack is watching over me from some heavenly plane. Yet I have come to consider my Mack “sightings” as real and essential and true. Real because they happen daily. Essential because they have strength to catch me when I falter. And true because they perfectly reflect what Mack was to me in life and must continue to be for all of the days I must live without her.

Mack is alive in my memories. Mack is ever in my mind’s eye. Mack is in my heart, in my soul, and in the world around me. Mack is everywhere.

Macko in hato

And who wouldn’t want to see that face in the clouds?

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Talking to Mack

On most days, I talk to Mack. I whisper her a good morning, I share with her my plans for the day, I talk to her about the food I am cooking, or I read the news to her. Yet I still yearn to hear her voice in conversation, to debate an issue with her, or to ask her a question. But since real conversations are no longer possible, I quietly commune with Mack’s spirit, and it brings me a little peace. But today was one of those days when my desire to speak with Mack was particularly powerful, whispering to her spirit did not suffice, and the peace stepped aside for my tears. Because today is a good day. It is a historic day. It is a day that my justice-loving, fair-minded, and passionately good-hearted Mack should be here to see for herself.

When I first heard the news today that the U.S. Supreme Court had ruled in favor of marriage equality for every American in every state, my thoughts immediately went to Mack. I actually reached for my cell phone to call her. I paused with my hand on the phone, put my head down on my desk, and cried in happiness and in sorrow. I cried in my elation over this historic news that will have such a positive impact on the lives of many friends, and I wept because Mack would never know it had happened.

Oh, Mack, how I longed to hear the excitement that would have filled your lungs and danced off of your tongue as you discussed this news. No doubt, you would have provided a clever quip about how long overdue the decision or how pathetic and desperate the dissenting opinion of Justice Scalia. I know that you would be celebrating tonight with all of your friends at Truman State. You would be exuberant about the broader historical meaning of this ruling, and you would be thrilled to your bones for the personal significance it will have in the lives of a couple of your dearest of friends.MACK AND ME

Oh, Mack, what a week it has been; a week that may have the power to restore your skeptical Momma Bear’s faith in a country for which I have struggled to find hope. The governor of South Carolina has called for the removal of the Confederate flag from the state capitol building. The U.S. Supreme Court has smacked down the evil assault on the Affordable Care Act and decried racial discrimination in housing by saving the Fair Housing Act. And then, today, the improbable news about marriage equality, topped off by a rousing and historic speech by President Obama about racism, gun culture, hatred, and finding the grace of a better America. I wish you were here, baby girl, to see with your eyes what you always knew in your heart was fair and just and human.

Oh, and Mack, I wish you could have heard Obama sing Amazing Grace. I wish you could have read the spoof by Andy Borowitz in the New Yorker entitled “Scalia Arrested Trying to Burn Down the Supreme Court.” And I wish you could see this perfect cartoon that the Southern Poverty Law Center posted on Facebook. I bet you would have made it the background of your own Facebook account, right? This is for reals, Macko; and I feel pretty certain that your spirit has been smiling all day.

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Mack’s Best Friends

Mack always had a diverse and interesting array of friends. Due to her involvement in several competitive sports over the years and her participation on so many teams, she met a lot of different people, and she developed friendships within each of her different peer groups. She had her growing-up friends, her school chums, her basketball pals, her fellow golfers, and her softball girls, among others. She always opened her heart and her arms (for her famous hugs) to people with whom she interacted. Mack truly enjoyed popping in and out of her seasonal teams, and she did it with such ease and with a beautiful grace; but she also collected a very special group of remarkable people on whom she relied for deep and lasting friendship and true love and acceptance. And now I find that Mack’s amazing collection of best friends have become a crucial element of my own survival.

When Mack was growing up, she was so busy all of the time with her sports that her small amount of private time at home became very precious to her. As she got older, she guarded that time pretty fiercely, so I understood that the friends who spent time at our house were the people she held most dear. Mack always was a great judge of character, and the friends who spent family time with us were unique and extraordinary people. I enjoyed talking with them, getting to know them, laughing with them, and teasing them. When Mack had these friends at the house, I would occasionally plop down on the couch with them while they were watching their TV shows, sit on the kitchen counter for a spell when they were making cookies and an epic mess, or plop on the end of Mack’s bed while they were playing a video game. Right now, I could ramble on for days about how fun it was for me to play chauffeur for them before they could drive themselves. I loved listening to Mack and her friends laugh and sing together, and I never tired of hearing their chatter late into the night (even though I sometimes yelled at them to quiet it down). Mack never complained about my active interest in her friends; and, in fact, I believe she appreciated my wholehearted approval of the ones she chose to hold so close. She loved them, and she was glad that her Momma Bear loved them, too.

Every day I grieve the loss of my daughter, but my heart also breaks for those who called Mack “best friend.” In losing her, these remarkable young people she loved so well have lost not only a cherished friend, but a beloved sister. They have lost a non-judgmental confidant, a fierce and funny champion, and a bridesmaid. I have an overwhelming need to know that Mack’s best friends are safe and well, to keep in touch with them, to hear their memories and their stories about our lost girl, and to comfort them if I can. Facebook and email and text messages offer periodic and important connections that I cherish, but I have also found strength in seeing Mack’s best friends in person. Giving them one of Mack’s famous hugs brings me some solace. Over the past months, I have cherished a brief conversation with Justice after her college basketball game at Eastern Illinois University; I have had the pleasure of catching up with Maggie over drinks in Springfield and sharing a meal with Meagan before she left for Scotland; and I was the very grateful beneficiary of Ali and Jackie’s trip to St. Louis to see me.

Recently, I traveled to Chapel Hill for some research, and I shared some quality time with Kailey on the campus of the University of North Carolina, where she is a student. Kailey was studying abroad in France the same semester that Mack was in Spain; and these close childhood friends, softball buddies, and Glee aficionados had big plans for some European sightseeing together. But making new life memories abroad with a cherished hometown friend was not to be. Instead, Kailey had to grieve for Mack in France, without her family and Springfield friends around her; and missing Mack’s memorial service was heartbreaking for her. I hope that spending a little time with me helped her at least half as much as it helped me, because seeing her face and sharing a long walk, a hearty meal, and some sweet memories of Mack did me a whole hell of a lot of good.

There is something comforting, I suppose, in being in the presence of people who loved and respected Mack so very completely. But it is also true, I believe, that Mack would want me to keep her special and very best of friends close. They were inestimably important to her. They had her heart. She would want me to give them my heart as well. I can say with complete sincerity that holding them snug in my heart is going to be one of the easiest things I do as I move forward without Mack. Keeping them close will bring me much solace. And I hope that in knowing I hold them so dear, Mack’s best friends will have a little solace as well.

Here are some of my favorite photos of Mack and Kailey…

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and a Facebook exchange from 2010…

homecoming with Kailey

Kailey’s beautiful tribute to her lost friend: http://kaileytrieger.weebly.com/blog/in-loving-memory-of-mackenzie-mcdermott

And, of couse, stay tuned for future blogs about Mack’s amazing best friends.

Honoring Mack

I have learned two truths over the past two, terrible months.

One: There is no magic elixir for the pain of losing a child, and not even time can offer a cure. There is no silver lining in the dark and gloomy storm cloud under which grieving parents must live the remainder of their lives. There is no solace from the heartache of a mother who loses a cherished daughter.

Two: Realization of permanent sorrow sinks into the frail, human psyche fast and hard, and finding constructive outlets for such unbearable grief is imperative. Savannah, my older daughter, is my primary motive for looking forward into the future. She provides me with an obvious and joyful purpose. But I have also found that setting my sights on a present and a future life that might include—in some small way, at least—my lost younger daughter is as necessary as is pushing air in and out of my lungs. To that end, I have undertaken two very different, but equally important steps.

One: I am writing about my Macko. I am sharing stories about her humor, describing her amazing character, and illustrating the myriad ways in which her generous spirit and sweet heart enhanced my life and touched the lives of the people who knew her. I am keeping her alive in my heart, in my mind, and in my memories, but I have an overwhelming need to put pen to paper. My blog is an important part of my personal journey down this lonely and bumpy road, but it is also one of the ways for me to keep her alive for all of us.

Two: Within hours of getting the terrible news of Mackenzie’s passing, I was determined to establish a scholarship in her honor. She had chosen Truman State University, a little-known liberal arts gem in northern Missouri, as the setting for her growth into a young woman; and it was there that she was blossoming as a writer, as well. Truman was the place where she was preparing for the pursuit of her personal dream to write television shows; and it was immediately obvious to me that establishing a scholarship at Truman to support other aspiring young writers had the power to provide me and her father with some measure of comfort.

With the initial help of the incredible staff of the Truman State University Foundation, the Mackenzie Kathleen McDermott Memorial Scholarship was in place by the time of Mack’s memorial service. We created a $1,000 scholarship for a student majoring or minoring in creative writing in the 2015-16 academic year, and we also created an endowment fund. A $15,000 endowment would ensure an annual scholarship of about $700 and would exist in perpetuity. I was confident that the annual scholarship would quickly be funded, but I thought that funding the endowment might take us many years.

I could not have been more wrong. Due to a tremendous, remarkable, and awe-inspiring outpouring of love and the amazing generosity of family, friends, colleagues, teachers, and even the kindness of a few strangers, a deserving student will receive that $1,000 scholarship in 2015. But more incredibly, however, the Mackenzie Kathleen McDermott Memorial Scholarship is fully endowed as well. Just two months after losing our little girl, the people who loved her and the people who care about us have given us the best gift that is possible in the wake of our terrible loss. I have no words to properly express my gratitude. Knowing that the Truman State University Foundation will award a scholarship in Mackenzie’s honor in perpetuity is a comfort. I know that Mack would be happy and proud, because this scholarship is, indeed, a constructive outlet for all of us who loved her so well.

Nearly 100 personal donations came in from California, Colorado, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Kentucky, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Ohio, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, and Wisconsin. The St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the Illinois Legislative Correspondents Association, the Papers of Abraham Lincoln, and my mother’s small Indiana church all made generous donations. Ruby Tuesdays, Mackenzie’s former employer, donated a percentage of their profits for a special day in Mack’s honor. The Sunrise Rotary Club in Springfield, Illinois—the organization that sponsored the “This I Believe” essay contest for which Mack contributed her winning “Anything Boys Can Do” essay (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Afpjdwf-994&feature=youtu.be) also made a generous donation. I am simply overwhelmed by the contributions of so many people, and I love you all.

I want to extend a special thank you to Christopher Ave, Kevin’s editor at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Not only did he take up a collection of personal donations at the paper, but he also organized a “Music for Mack” fundraiser on November 6. The event was an amazing night of live music (including a very moving performance by cellist James Czyzewski of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra), good food, great St. Louis beer, and a silent auction. The event raised almost $2,500. I will be eternally grateful to Christopher’s generosity and support. I also want to thank the dear, sweet parents of Mack’s college roommate Meagan Banta-Lewis. Tony Schmitt and Mary Banta-Schmitt made their own generous personal donation to the scholarship fund, but they also spent the evening with us at “Music for Mack.” They provided emotional support and friendship, and then they also purchased many of the best items from the silent auction, including the highest priced item of the evening, a hockey stick signed by the St. Louis Blues players. Tony and Mary have found a special place in my heart now and forever.

So thank you, people. Thank you. And thank you again. This scholarship has brought us some peace. It has been a constructive outlet for my grief. It honors my sweet girl, and it provides a way for her to be with us all forever. But for years and years to come, it will also help students who dream of being writers. And what could be better than helping students achieve their dreams? Mack would love that, and she would give you all one of her famous Big Mack hugs.

Weatherbird     Music for Mack        

The above left image is original art depicting the famous St. Louis Post-Dispatch Weatherbird, drawn especially for the “Music for Mack” event. He’s wearing Truman State purple and cheering for the Bulldogs (for which Mack played golf her freshman year). Tony and Mary went home with this item, too! The flyer at right was used to publicize the event.

We will continue to build the endowment fund to support a self-sustaining annual scholarship of $1,000.(http://www.truman.edu/giving/ways-of-giving/) But no matter what happens going forward, we’ve accomplished something constructive faster than I ever dreamed possible. I would like to give you all one of those famous Big Mack hugs, too.

My Big Pink Bunny

The past fifty-four days of my life have been emotionally, psychologically and physically challenging. My sorrow has frequently consumed me. Each and every day has been a struggle, exhausting every ounce of my emotional, mental and bodily strength. By the time my head hits the pillow each night, I am weary and hollow. My eyes are swollen and empty of tears. My exhaustion brings an easy and mostly peaceful sleep, which is often my only solace. As if the first fifty days without Mack were not difficult enough, the past four days have been devastating. Enduring my first holiday in twenty years without Mack has exacted a particularly damaging toll on my already delicate psyche. My tears have been more numerous and more bitter. I have experienced my first, dreaded angry moments in this terrible grieving process. And in my head I have done battle with some terrifying demons who threaten to steal me away entirely.

mack and me       mack and me 4       Mack and Me 2

Because this holiday weekend was so damned hard for me, I thought I should make an attempt to record it. Since I started this blog, I have spent most of my words sharing stories about Mack’s life and celebrating her incomparable personality and charms. But today I wanted to focus on my pain. On my suffering. On my ruined life. But all afternoon and this evening I just stared at a blinking cursor as it mocked my intentions, questioned my courage, and dared me to expose my heartbroken soul. As I struggled to write a second paragraph about my feelings, no more words were forthcoming. Instead, my mind kept drifting to a ridiculous photograph that Mack texted me a year or two ago. She and her roommates had made a run to the Kirksville Walmart to purchase survival items like Ramen noodles, Gatorade and candy and found themselves in the clothing department trying on adult-sized footie pajamas. In the photo, Mack looks like a deranged pink bunny. When I originally received that photo, I laughed so hard that I cried.

Tonight, thinking about that stupid photo was keeping me from crying. Each time my mind drifted to that image, the corner of my mouth ticked upward in defiance of my purpose to pour out my emotions onto the page. On nearly every day that I ever spent with Mack, she made me laugh. And here she was again trying to make me laugh when I was trying to be serious. Here she was again reminding me that laughing was a whole hell of a lot better than crying. I could hear her imploring me to finish up this hard stuff so that something silly or fun could take its place.

I finally decided that perhaps the one paragraph was all I needed to write. Perhaps those words were the only words necessary. But mostly, I think, Mack’s humor rescued me at the very moment I needed to be rescued. I am still battered and bruised from my first holiday without her, and I will be weary and hollow when my head hits the pillow tonight. But thanks to Mack, I found a way to smile today. And she would be amused to know that help arrived in the form of a big pink bunny.

bunny suit

I Miss My Macko

I weep for you every day;

My eyes with grief are swollen.

I yearn to change the heavy truth upon me that has fallen.

Some say time can ease my pain;

Some say time will bring me peace.

My heartbreak belies the promise, though, of any such release.

Your joyful soul to me endeared you;

Much good humor and laughter you shared.

And I am a better person, because for you I cared.

Cherished memories of your good life;

Keep pace with my sense of loss so deep.

Our time in life may be past, but your spirit forever I keep.