48 Acts of Kindness (2)

Kathleen in Raleigh, N.C.:

Devin and I brought cookies to the awesome firefighters at Raleigh Fire Station 9 and enough carrots to share with Cekacia and all of the horses at Apex Equestrian Center

***

Tamarah in Frisco:

Sweets for my coworkers at Baylor Aubrey.

***

Shannon in Rockwall:

Purchased dog beds for our local shelter..... 🐶❤️

***

Suzanne in Garland:

Both Lowell & I gave a large tip to our Sonic peeps at 2 different Sonics.

***

Sauyee in Frisco:

Delivered to families in need

***

Deborah in Frisco:

The person behind me in the drive thru is enjoying their free lunch.... loving this!!!

***

Janet (and Marina) in Plano:

I got a fun text today from a friend who I met YEARS ago pre-Greta. I don't remember the last time I saw her or even talked to her. But...please look at the text I got earlier. ❤️

***

Renee:

In Steve's memory, I am taking cupcakes to several people/organizations who serve our community everyday...often receiving only grumbling and complaints in return. Doing this reminds me of how grateful I am for each and every one of them!

***

Cindy in Boston:

This morning I brought a bouquet of beautiful sunflowers to a couple not suspecting it. What a wonderful experience and honor to do in Steve's name.

***

Uncle Jim in D.C.:

Treats for the office.

***

Joe (University of Michigan Marching Band alum):

I bought a kid I mentor a book on beginning programming.

***

Holly in McKinney:

Sent an email out to our company inviting them to enjoy 2 dozen kolaches this morning in honor of Steve's bday & shared a little about him & 48 Acts of Kindness. 💜 

***

Kanya in Frisco:

Dropped off some treats for the sweet volunteers working the polling booths in honor of Steve! 

***

Aunt Cheryl in Pflugerville:

A donation to the Austin Food Bank in Steve's name

***

Alyssa in Plano/Frisco:

Tiffs Treats for the fabulous office staff, counselors and admin at Cobb Middle School!

Sonic drinks for the ILA department! 

***

Janet in Frisco:

Paid for the two cars behind us in the drive-thru line in honor of Steve <3 span="">

48 Acts of Kindness (1)

Shari in Lucas:

Happy birthday, Steve! Thinking of y'all today! Ryder and I delivered Max's Donuts to Allen's Finest! This is my favorite day! Hugs! I know each act brings a smile to your beautiful face!

***

Usha in Frisco:

Dropped off Sonic drinks to some of the admin staff at Pearson this morn!

***

Jennifer in Frisco:

I made gift bags for my three friends and colleagues with whom I work. I also left Starbucks gift cards on 2 random cars in the Bledsoe teachers' parking lot.

***

Karen in Carrollton:

Delivered cat food to the Carrollton Adoption Center. 

***

Deborah in Frisco:

These two men fixed my son's dented trombone on the spot, no rental or loaner needed, so they get a bit of kindness too.

***

Jasmine in Frisco:

Delivered donuts to the Book Fair volunteers and books to teachers☺

***

Rae in Carrollton:

I bought this lady her groceries at Aldi! She was thrilled and going to pay it forward!

***

Cyndi in Carrollton:

A treat left on a random desk at work.

Bought breakfast for random person/patient family at Children's.

***

Kathy in Carrollton:

The two women that work in the front office at Furneaux Elementary were each given a Sprouts gift card along with the 48 Acts of Kindness note. They were very surprised, as this was their second gift of the day in honor of Steve.  They wanted to learn more, which was a chance for me to tell them about your family and your kind hearts.  J They were touched by your story.  

Coming next Friday: 48 Acts of Kindness

My favorite day is a week away!

A quick reminder:
1. Perform an act of kindness in memory of Steve on Nov. 4.
2. Leave the note, explaining the special day. (Click here for the note.) (Click here for a page with four copies.)
3. Take a photo if you can/like and send me your story. (Email me at tyradamm@gmail.com. Text me at 972-489-4344. Or post on the Facebook page.)
4. I'll share your story and photo (with your permission) on the blog.

Need some inspiration? Read about previous years:

Buy subway cards for tourists
Donate to the Red Cross
Make soup for a neighbor
Give food to a family in need
Say thank you to your garbage collectors
Help a colleague
Take breakfast to the office
Say thank you to a nurse
Leave a generous tip

Getting ready for 48 Acts of Kindness

In 15 days, we'll celebrate Steve's birthday with 48 Acts of Kindness! I can't wait!

You can a leave a note behind. Click here for a copy of the note to print. Click here for a page with four notes (in case you're feeling extra generous and mischevious on Nov. 4!)

Need some inspiration? Look no farther than ideas from the past five years:

Leave breakfast for co-workers

Leave gift cards at a register for the next shopper (or two or three)

Donate to one of your favorite nonprofits (Hello, Birthday Party Project!)

Send flowers to a friend

Deliver treats to a fire station

Surprise a hard-working stranger with a gift

Organize the lost-and-found at your neighborhood school

Pay for a stranger's gas

Clean trash in your neighborhood

Pay for the person behind you

Deliver cookies to nurses

Leave a surprise for your mail deliverer

Help someone pack their car with groceries

Treat your crossing guards

48 Acts of Kindness

On Nov. 4 this year, we will celebrate 48 Act of Kindness -- our family's way to honor Steve's birthday. Cooper, Katie and I look forward to sharing Steve's joyful, slightly mischievous spirit with friends and strangers, and we hope you will join us!

One list can't possibly do justice to the thousands of acts of kindness performed each year in Steve's memory. A small sampling:

Leave treats/drinks for lifeguards at your pool
Pay for coffee for the person behind you
Make a donation to your favorite nonprofit
Deliver breakfast to coworkers
Surprise your local firehouse or police station with treats
Make care packages for the homeless
Yield to drivers on a busy street
Open doors for dozens of strangers
Buy groceries for a stranger
Leave a generous tip

Check back each week until Nov. 4 for more ideas and a card you can leave behind when you perform your act of kindness!

A whole lot of a prayer and a big change

Steve and I started attending Holy Covenant United Methodist Church in Carrollton in early 2000.

It was about two miles from our first home. The people were incredibly friendly. We loved the messages and the music and programs.

It was the perfect fit for us.

When we moved to Frisco in 2002, we briefly -- and I mean for about 30 seconds -- considered finding a church home closer to home. But we were at home at Holy Covenant. Our roots were already deep.

Holy Covenant is where both children were baptized. Where they attended preschool. Where I taught Sunday school to third-graders and middle-school kids and teenagers and adults. Where Steve sang in the choir and played trumpet. Where he was chair of trustees. Where I served for more committees and VBS summers than I can count. Where I served as preschool board chair and lay leader. Where Cooper performed in musicals and piano recitals and was confirmed.

It's the home where almost every single adult knows Cooper and Katie -- not just their names but their life story. Holy Covenant is filled with people who knew and loved Steve and who loved on us while he was ill and took care of us when he died and who hugged me when I needed it most.

It's a family that doesn't just talk about social justice -- they live it. It's the family that encourages Katie each year to share her talents and raise money for the causes she believes in.

It's where Steve's memorial bench sits, engraved with his name and birth year and death year and Micah 6:8, our family verse.

I've never "lived" in one place so long in my whole life. Never.

Yet ...

I've been a single mom for seven years now. I work full time, I freelance write and edit, and I tutor students on the side. I drive Cooper and Katie all over town. I volunteer when I can (which isn't much).

All this time, we've been able to faithfully attend Sunday morning worship services and Sunday school. I've been able to attend some evening meetings. But I simply couldn't fit in roundtrip drives for choir practices and youth group activities.

Cooper and Katie desperately wanted to participate, and I desperately wanted to make it happen, but there's only one of me and 24 hours in a day. And they already have their own full schedules.

They also wanted to have friends at church who they might see during the week at school. That wasn't happening with our Carrollton church friends.

After months and months of prayer and many tears, we decided as a family in May to start visiting the Methodist church that's about two miles from our Frisco home.

We've tried almost every worship service (except Saturday nights -- just haven't embraced that yet). We each have a favorite. Cooper and Katie are attending youth on Sunday afternoons and sometimes during the week. Katie has started confirmation classes. I'm attending the parent confirmation class. (As a bonus, Grandma and Papa are visiting and singing in the choir, too!)

The mission and message of Grace Avenue fit our family.

We know a few members already because they've been our neighbors and friends for years. We're slowly meeting new people.

Not a single person there knows us like our Holy Covenant family. They don't remember toddler Katie yelling, "Hi, Daddy!" from the pews as he stood in the choir loft. They don't know to ask Cooper about his path to Eagle Scout. They don't know why certain hymns make me tear up or smile.

There's not a Steve bench on which the children sit every Sunday morning for a photo.

Change is tough. But we are tough, too.

Youth choir of Grace Avenue United Methodist Church

This morning, on World Communion Sunday, Cooper and I sat near our dear friends Katrina and Jay while Katie stood in the choir loft for the first time. She lifted her voice with the youth choir to sing "In Remembrance of Me."

I like to think of Steve saying, "Hi, KT!" as he spots her in the choir loft. I know that he'd totally support the choice we've made to change our church home. I know that we can always visit Holy Covenant. I know that Holy Covenant will always live in our hearts, even as we build new relationships.

Katie, first row, second from right

Continuing the narrative

I'm a storyteller. It's one of the reasons I became a writer and editor. It's one of the reasons I'm passionate about reading. It's one of the reasons I love teaching.

The stories we read or watch usually have a beginning, middle and end. And then we move on.

Our life story -- that's a whole different story. There are multiple plot lines developing at once. Some end, never to be visited again. Others pick back up days, weeks, years later. Some are a continuous thread with unpredictable peaks, plateaus and valleys.

Our family's story drastically changed in the early morning of Labor Day seven years ago. Steve, who had exceeded expectations his whole life, survived brain cancer longer than expected. He took his final breath on Sept. 7, 2009.

I know myself. I could have let Labor Day become a burden. I could have been stuck playing that Labor Day narrative in my head my whole life.

And, to be honest, every year about this time, the whole story comes back to me. I think of how much pain he was in at the end, how gentle Cooper and Katie were with him, how we had adapted to people in and out of our home. Still, today, it takes my breath away to recall our story and think of how much we all miss him.

I didn't want our family to be burdened forever by Labor Day weekend, so we've continued the narrative.

Since 2010, we have on Labor Day weekend ...

visited friends in Michigan and attended a game at the Big House,

visited friends in Southern California,

attended the 2012 Michigan-Alabama game in Arlington,

toured Washington, D.C., with Uncle Jim,

relaxed in Oklahoma,

explored Harpers Ferry, W.V., and 

cheered for the Baltimore Orioles (they beat the Yankees on Saturday night).

We have surrounded ourselves with love, and we have enjoyed some of Steve's favorite pastimes and places. We have forged our own new adventures -- ones that Steve, too, would have loved.

I am praying for peace for our little family this week, especially on Wednesday, the seven-year anniversary, and I am thankful for those who continue to love and support us. Our story continues.

From Katie's 2nd-grade journal (rediscovered today)

Translated: I had a problem about my Dad. He had a tumor. When he went to the hospital, the doctors tried to take it out. They could not. So he got special care. One day my cousins and my aunt were at my house and my Dad died. 

***

Though the topic is tragic, I am so thankful for this record of what Katie remembers about Steve, three years after his death. Her abbreviated version reveals what mattered most to her at he time: her dad, the people who cared for him and the love that surrounded him and all of us when he died. 

This is always a rough season for me. August 2009 was when Steve felt the very worst. He was in pain, he had lost all mobility, his independence was gone.

But he was loved beyond measure. And he was approaching peace about his waning days. 

The rest of Katie's second-grade journal offers joyful memories -- parasailing in Florida, seeing The Lion King on Broadway, riding a train on the Sharkarosa field trip, reading at the library. Steve didn't get to experience these moments with his KT, but it's the life he wanted for her and for Coop and for me. 

1993

Something I miss about Steve right now: 1993.

Well, I miss talking to him about 1993.

I graduated from the University of North Texas in May that year. I was barely 21, barely 100 pounds. I somehow graduated in four years, while working two or three jobs each semester. I had no debt (save a balance on the Discover Card that I signed up for freshman year and used to help pay for books and gas and food when I came up short some weeks). Life at home for me was strained at best.

I was a very tired 21-year-old.

My first "real" job was at the Bryan-College Station Eagle. I was first a copy editor and then the food editor on the lifestyles desk. I started at $7.25 an hour and eventually moved up to $7.50 an hour.

I lived with Steve, who was renting a duplex in Brenham, where he worked as an assistant practice manager at a medical office.

He worked days, and I worked nights on the copy desk. I worked weekends. He worked Monday through Friday. 

On the weekends, he would often drive to Bryan to have dinner with me. During the week, he would often come home for lunch.

He tried to teach me how to drive a standard transmission on his little blue Pontiac Sunbird. (I never could get the hang of it.) 

We learned to grocery shop together. (I remember Karo syrup was difficult to find, and a sweet older woman helped us locate the aisle.) We learned to cook together. (We burned a chocolate pecan pie, for which we had procured that elusive Karo.)

During the day, after Steve had gone to work and before I left for the 45-minute drive to Bryan, I would read (memorably my first reading of East of Eden), listen to music (Joe Jackson, 10,000 Maniacs, Elvis Costello), write long letters to friends. And I would nap. I had four years of sleep to catch up on.

I don't know what I would have done without Steve in the last half of 1993 -- and all the years following. 

It's been almost seven years without him. Cooper, Katie and I find joy every day. We've adapted. We've learned how to operate as a family with only one adult at home. All three of us make sacrifices for one another. It's been a long, long time since all three of us were feeling lowly at the same time.

I don't dwell on our loss.

But there are moments -- when I see that copy of East of Eden on my desk, when I hear "These Are Days," when I notice bottles of Karo on a grocery shelf -- when I think of 1993. And I wish that the two of us could reminisce and that I could thank him one more time for his strength, stability and generosity.

"We carry you in our hearts."

We took dinner to friends today who recently suffered the devastating loss of their patriarch.

I asked Katie to make a sympathy card to leave with the soup and salad (and Klondike bars, because after salad you need some ice cream). I gave her no other direction. Making cards is kind of her thing.

Inside the card she wrote, "We carry you in our hearts."

I blinked back tears as I asked her how she decided on those words.

"I thought and thought about it for a long time," she answered quietly.

This is one of the many legacies of living in crisis while surrounded by love. Katie's memories of Steve's illness and the weeks after his death are fuzzy at best, but she holds tight to the comfort she felt while being loved on and doted on by our friends and family members.

She knows what it feels like to be carried in someone's heart -- a hundred times over.

Cooper, Katie and I know well the comfort of a meal delivered just in time for dinner, of a warm hug, of a note that includes a funny story or inspiring Scripture. Food, an embrace, a few words -- they certainly don't fix anything or take away the pain. But those gestures of compassion ease the burden a tiny bit and make the heartache a little more bearable.

We can't defeat death here on earth, but we can sit with those who are suffering. We can hold hands with those who are grieving. We can carry people in our hearts and make the dark days a tiny bit lighter.

The journey is different than expected, but I'm thankful

From my Briefing column last Saturday:

I am mom to two children, but I claim an additional 146. Those extra represent three years’ worth of teaching, which isn’t exactly the same as parenting but includes similar guiding and worrying, nurturing and redirecting.

I can’t imagine my life without those 146 and the families, stories, challenges and success stories they represent.

It’s the same with a group of volunteers I’ve become attached to over the years. They coordinate the North Texas Head for the Cure 5K, an annual event that raises money for brain cancer research.

I teach because I am passionate about literacy and quality education, because my heart swells every time I read a story aloud or conference with a young writer. I also teach because I need a job that affords a schedule that allows me to care for my own two children as a single mom.

I participate in Head for the Cure because I look forward to a day when a brain cancer diagnosis doesn’t include the words “inoperable” or “incurable.” It’s too late to save my Steve — and a whole host of angels, like Melinda and Maureen and Madison. But there’s a whole army of folks out there — my volunteer-turned-friends included — who haven’t given up hope for future patients and their families.

Early in the grieving process for Steve, while he was still alive and undergoing brutal treatment, I learned to let go of “what if” scenarios, the fantasy world in which cancer hadn’t invaded our lives. No amount of hoping, crying or pleading would change his diagnosis.

Instead, he and I learned to celebrate silver linings. We would have traded almost anything to get rid of that tumor, but that wasn’t an option. So we relished easier- than-expected appointments. We embraced new relationships. We marveled at help received from friends and strangers.

All that was good training for life without a husband and dad at home — a life I never wanted but happened anyway. I’m constantly reminded that our reactions and attitudes define us more than our circumstances.

Last weekend, more than 2,000 people gathered at a park in Plano to walk or run for Head for the Cure. My family has participated the past six years, and it’s a privilege to stand beside volunteers like Shari and Leslie and Gerryl. They are women who make my life richer by modeling selflessness and purpose, and our paths may have not crossed without a shared, albeit tragic, connection.

I prefer to focus on the blessings of our friendships.

It’s the same with those 146 children.

The path that led me to the classroom was bumpy. It’s not the route I asked for or would wish on anyone else, but I’m thankful for the destination.

I have stories about each of those 146 — sometimes dozens of stories about just one child. I’ve listened to tales from the football field and volleyball court. I’ve entertained memories from the Galapagos, from Hawaii, from multiple Disney getaways.

I’ve watched some children endure separation or divorce and others welcome new siblings or kittens.

These children have taught me how to be more patient, how to listen better, how to pay closer attention to details. They have gathered on the carpet to listen to some of my favorite stories, and together we have discovered new favorites.

The past three years have been layered with hugs and high-fives, tearful confessions and jubilant celebrations. I never expected to be here, to be counting 146 kids and looking forward to a few dozen more come August.

This isn’t exactly the journey I anticipated, but I am thankful for every gift — and every single relationship — along the way.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com

Taking flight

Our Easter celebration started early today.

Cooper, Katie and Tyra on Steve's bench at Holy Covenant UMC, after the sunrise service

Cooper played the part of Jesus in our youth-led sunrise service in Carrollton. We shared a potluck breakfast at church. We rested at home for about an hour. Then we drove to North Dallas to celebrate with Jim and Betty.

It was a bittersweet Easter service at Schreiber Memorial United Methodist Church. Easter is the most joyous of Sundays for Christians. The very day and the belief in the Resurrection define our faith. And yet this Sunday was the final worship service for the Schreiber congregation. After years of declining membership, the church was forced to make the difficult decision to close.

Highland Park UMC is taking over the campus and will eventually reopen the church as a satellite ministry.

Schreiber Memorial is the church that Jim, Betty, Jimmy and Steve attended during the 1980s. When Jim and Betty returned to the Dallas area in the early '90s (after a few years in Miami), they rejoined the church.

Steve and I were married in the sanctuary there in July 1994.

It was tough to say goodbye today.

At the end of the service, congregants were invited to join the choir to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. Cooper left the pew and sang next to Grandma -- a bass and soprano, side by side.

Cooper is the tall guy in the front.

As we left the sanctuary, we were given the opportunity to take a small paper package. Inside each package was a monarch butterfly. When we stepped into the sunshine, we were asked to gently open the package and to allow the butterfly to acclimate to the outdoors. Each beautiful insect would spread its wings and take flight.

Katie and her monarch 

Cooper and Betty (in her choir robe) coax their butterflies to freedom.

We all gingerly opened our packages and peeked inside, hoping that our butterflies would still be alive and eager to fly.

My package contained not one but two butterflies.

They each warmed in the sunlight. They each began to flutter their wings. One took flight about two minutes before the other. And I thanked God for transformation and comfort in times of distress and tiny miracles.

Tyra and two butterflies

Later we enjoyed an egg hunt at Jim and Betty's house. We ate a delicious lunch. And Jim allowed Katie to dress him up in her handmade rabbit ears.

Katie and her patient Papa

Happy Easter!

13.1

Cooper in Corral 1 at the Rock n Roll Half Marathon in Dallas this morning

Cooper completed his first half-marathon today. He ran 13.1 miles in 1:50:47, placing ninth in his age group (out of 36 runners).

Watching him cross the finish line this morning was one of the most joyful moments in my 14-plus years as his momma.

It was also bittersweet, as is every milestone around here. What if Steve could have been racing with him? (Though, to be honest, Steve never ran races as fast as his long-legged son.) What if Steve could have been standing on tiptoe on the grassy hill next to me, craning his neck to spy Cooper turning the corner and sprinting toward the end?

The first 5K that Cooper ever ran was the Resolution Run in Addison in January 2009. He was part of a group of friends running in support of Steve, who was there at the finish line despite a host of cancer-related struggles.

Steve, Sharon, Allison, Katie, Holly, Kris, Liz, me and Cooper in January 2009

Stuart welcomes Cooper across the finish line at his first-ever race.

Cooper today, moments after finishing 13.1 miles

I've lost track of the races in the seven years since. 5Ks. Triathlons. Cross country meets. Track meets. He gets a little better each time. He never gives up. He's always smiling when he's done.

This 6-foot-3, 14-year-old son of mine is determined and hard-working, kind and funny. I am incredibly proud of his character and heart and the joy he finds in all circumstances. He, no doubt, has a whole lot of his daddy in him.

Uncle Jim, Katie, me and Cooper, in the very cold hour before the race began

You can always count on Katie to (1) make a sign and (2) shout the loudest of any fan if her brother's competing. 

Uncle Jim came in from D.C. to cheer for his nephew.

I love this gentle giant.

God is here

Katie was reading a novel (Under Wildwood) upstairs yesterday. 

She was sitting next to Steve's trumpet case. She decided to open the case and have a peek. As she was looking, she realized that something smelled good. She investigated a little more.

She discovered an old Tic Tac case, mostly full.

"They're cinnamon!" she exclaimed. "I've never had cinnamon!"

Katie loves Tic Tacs. Her favorite is orange. She discovered her fondness for the tiny mint sometime in elementary school.

Steve loved Tic Tacs. He would carry them in his suit pockets. They were often in his car. And, appearantly, in his trumpet case.

Until yesterday, Steve never shared a Tic Tac with his daughter. He died when she was 4 -- too young for such a treat. 

I like to think of how tickled Steve would be to know that more than six years after his death, he did get to share Tic Tacs with his Katie.

Also in his trumpet case? Sheet music for a song he must have played with our church choir: "God is Here."

Amen.

Katie, Steve's trumpet, cinnamon Tic Tacs and "God is Here"

"Why us?"

One of the challenges of grief in children is that, as they mature, they understand loss in new ways.

During church today, Katie experienced a new grief moment.

She began to cry during a prayer. She didn't tell me what was wrong at the time, and she eventually composed herself.

As we walked to the car, she spit out her sadness and frustration.

"You shouldn't be sitting there without Daddy!" she said. "He should be here with you. Why did this happen to us? Why did God let this happen? Why us?"

Oh, sweet child.

It was the first time she's ever asked aloud the "Why us?" question.

I struggled with the same question often, in the early days of Steve's diagnosis. Eventually, though, you realize that there's no answer and that asking the question offers no solutions.

God didn't choose Steve to get cancer. God doesn't hand-select anyone to get cancer or any other disease. God does offer comfort in the midst of crisis -- and angels on earth who make life a little easier.

That's the simplest answer I could offer Katie in the middle of her 10-year-old wonderings. Truly, I don't think she really wanted an answer at all. She just wanted to ask the question.

Cooper and Katie, before church this morning