2026 Column
Another year, another goodbye
August 2026 - Moultrie News
It has come to that time of year again where I will begin stalking empty nest boards online—in shock, yet again by how hard it is to say goodbye to my only child back as he heads back to college. It brings me comfort to read about others experiences—the grown men who admit to crying the entire drive home after drop off. The mothers expressing how lost they feel after returning to an empty home. It lets me know I am not alone—nor completely crazy. I still remember one post that made me laugh out loud. It read: I just dropped off my child at preschool and I’ve been crying for days. This thread does not bode well for me. Oh, how I understand her pain. Last year I was caught off guard when my son flung open the front door announcing his summer internship had ended a day early. Next, he went into his room and began tearing flags and posters off the wall, and going through bins of clothes. Buckle up, I thought as my heart braced for impact. Even though it was still one week before he went back to college, that hollow feeling—the one where you get a pit in the middle of your stomach—immediately began to descend on me. I was left to wonder: does this ever get easier? “You’re crying before he’s even left?” my husband asked, his eyes wide. “Is that even normal?!” According to the empty nest boards, it’s totally normal. I even have to go back and read over the previous Augusts in my journal—to remind myself that the lead up to departure is often harder than afterwards, and that the sense of disequilibrium and sadness does pass within a few days. In many ways, I am grateful. Decades ago, when I left for college, I never went back home for a summer. So I know any extra time I have with my son is a gift. People around me, at all different stages, are riding similar waves, experiencing both nostalgia for the past and excitement for the future. A friend once told me she thought she was ready for her child to go to middle school, and yet sobbed the entire drive home when her daughter looked back to wave goodbye. Even a grandmother shared with me that she, too, was experiencing the “empty nest feeling” when her granddaughter—who had always lived close by—left for college. Still, the depth of my grief always surprises me. Wasn’t I already past this since my son’s initial “launch” was three years ago? I ask myself. When he left for freshman year, I still remember walking through Publix with tears in my eyes at the thought of not buying all that snack food anymore, or having him barge through the door in the afternoon, announcing, “I’m home!” Sophomore year was easier knowing he was already acclimated and had made friends, but I still felt pings in my heart when I walked by his empty room at the top of the stairs. Ironically junior year may have been the hardest, knowing he would be away for the majority of the following summer, and the reality sinking in that there really was no going back. That this was the new normal. And now, after I was able to enjoy him being home for a few weeks, the time has come to say goodbye again. But this time it feels different. Like I am saying goodbye to a good friend whose company I have really enjoyed. I didn’t fully understand when people said the relationship between my son and I would change for the better over time, that things would become easier between us once he had been away at college. But for me, that has been true. So to that young mama online who cried for days after dropping off her little one at preschool, know that you are not alone. Saying goodbye is hard, no matter how you spin it, or how old you are. But to grieve deeply means you love deeply. And that deep, deep love is something—unlike their childhood—that will never go away.
The aftermath of losing a spouse
July 2026 - Moultrie News
“Only a few people called,” she said, speaking of the first few weeks following the loss of her husband. “My immediate family and my children were great, but I thought more people would reach out. However it was not an overwhelming response.” I was speaking with an acquaintance about her journey as a widow. The fact that she didn’t get many calls surprised me, too. She thinks maybe it was because people just didn’t know what to say. But sometimes something as simple as, “I just don’t have the words, but I want you to know I am thinking of you,” is all it takes. Her husband had been 77 when he was diagnosed with cancer. Given two years to live, he lived one year and ten months. “Even though I had time to prepare, you’re still never quite prepared,” she said. “Though I was grateful I didn’t have to deal with the shock of a sudden death.” She said one of the hardest parts of losing her husband of 53 years was not having someone else in the house. Not because she was scared, but because it can be lonely. “We weren’t always talking when we were together, but you knew someone was there.” She misses having someone to discuss the news, or watch college basketball with. She also misses having someone to share the daily work load. “He always put gas in my car, had it serviced, dealt with the taxes. And you miss the kisses and the cuddles, too.” When asked about how long the initial grief lasted, she said she probably cried and felt “heartbroken” for at least six months. “We knew each other since we were 19. When you lose a spouse you lose a part of yourself. We had been through so much together—the loss of our parents, a grandchild, siblings.” One thing that has helped immensely was being part of a support group. She meets with six or seven other women in their 70’s and 80’s who have also lost a spouse. She said they are an upbeat group that love to discuss what is going on in their lives. They were even planning to go out to lunch the following day to celebrate one of their birthdays. Another member of the group is currently in rehab after a fall, and they are making a date to go visit her. “We are there for each other. We help each other out.” Speaking of help, she once received some “help from above.” After a snowfall in Charleston, a couple was walking their dog when they noticed her trying to shovel a path from her driveway. “Let my husband do that for you,” the passerby suggested. It was then she learned that he had the same name as her husband, and that his father had died the same day her husband had. Her faith never wavered after she lost her husband. “Some people blame God,” she said. “I never did. Everyone has to die. I figured there was a reason he was departing at this time.” I asked her if, looking back, she would have done anything differently, she said: “I would have been more grateful for each day with him.” Though she never took her husband for granted, they had grown “comfortable” together. She also wishes she asked her husband more about his feelings during his time with cancer, how he was “coping.” She thinks maybe he was trying to protect her and simply carrying on as best he could. When asked if she had advice for how people could help others who have suffered a loss, she said, “Reach Out! Don’t ask what you can do because you probably won’t be told. But do something—invite them over for a cup of coffee, ask them to go on a walk, anything to get them out of the house, to get some diversion.” Since he passed, she has found herself doing a lot of spiritual reading. She especially loves to read books on near death experiences. “They really paint Heaven in such a gorgeous way.” As for feeling his presence, she and her children are often finding coins, which always remind them of him. Her daughter even once found a ten-dollar Euro when they were on a trip to Europe together. Another “gift” came a couple of weeks ago. Though she doesn’t often dream of him, she recently had one where he kissed her smack on the lips. “It was a good one,” she said with a smile.
Happy Campers
June 2026 - Moultrie News
Usually, if you’re lucky, there is at least one person in a marriage who likes to plan vacations. I am not that person. Neither is my husband. One of our friends is a wonderful vacation planner. He does tons of research, finds out just the right place to go and where to stay. His wife happily obliges, glad she is spared from doing all the legwork. One time my husband and I copied their entire vacation to the Bahamas. It was awesome, affordable, and fairly close by. After that breezy experience, I thought I just might be on to something. The next vacation idea I am thinking about copying is that of my husband’s friends from college, Gary and Teri. At first, I was having some reservations, because Gary and Teri are campers, and my first (and only) experience with camping was not quite what I was expecting. I had a very “idealized” image of what camping might look like by the way my husband spoke about it so fondly and nostalgically. I envisioned being in the woods with him and my son—with no one else close by but nature—and breathing in all the clean, fresh air. I would be reveling in the quiet, and feeling relaxed as my husband prepared all the food, which he bragged about doing. But my first camping experience did not go like that. Instead, it went more like this. We were at a campground where we were packed in like sardines. Once “settled,” my husband was having a very tricky time getting the food to cook. Oh, and did I mention it was biker weekend? So any nature sounds were drowned out by a steady stream of motorcycles as they passed by our tiny tent all night long. My husband could barely see from all the dust being kicked up. Or breathe. But the good news was I did finally manage to get our then two-year-old son to sleep—right around 9:30 p.m. Which ironically was the exact same time my husband called out, “Dinner’s ready!” But oh, Gary and Teri have changed all this for me. Because Gary and Teri have this big, beautiful camper. When I walked inside, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a couch, and a TV. It had a fully equipped kitchen, and their own private bathroom! I was imagining me and my husband’s future going forward and it looked pretty darn glorious. The only thing I am worried about is how my husband is going to maneuver a camper. Because I, for one, will not be getting behind the wheel. My son is always saying I never met a curb I didn’t like, and there is some truth to that. We have visited Gary and Terri twice now while they were camping in South Carolina—and have become more enamored with each visit. The first time, they were at James Island County Park. They took us on a walk and showed us all the different types of campers—and there are so many to choose from. Everyone was friendly, and open to chatting, and willing to help their neighbor if there was a problem—like when they needed guidance backing into their “spot.” The second time we visited Gary and Teri they were at the Edisto Island campground. It was right on the beach. They had a picnic table under the awning of their camper, and we ate hotdogs and hamburgers, then walked by the ocean. This is the life, I thought. So God willing, I think a whole new type of traveling may have just opened up for me and my husband. Besides learning how to rent, drive, set up a camper, I only foresee one other possible problem. Gary and Teri told us that the best spots book up fast, sometimes a year or more in advance. Which means someone will have to take the lead on the planning.
Lesson from The Crown
May 2026 - Moultrie News
For the past couple of months, my husband and I—a little late to the party—have enjoyed watching “The Crown,” a Netflix series based on the life of Queen Elizabeth ll, and world events taking place during her reign. During the first two seasons we can clearly see the role God plays in Queen Elizabeth’s life, but we do not see it as much in the life of her husband, Prince Philip. But smack in the middle of Season three we see how God was shifting his outlook. As the episode unfolds, it is the year 1969 and a new Dean of Windsor has just been hired by the Queen. Shortly after this priest arrives, he asks Prince Philip if he may use one of the many buildings on the residence for a retreat center. He wanted to have a place for spiritual growth where priests “of a certain age” can come visit so they can “recharge, reflect, and raise their game…by talking, reading, and thinking.” Prince Philip quickly rebuffs him, “You raise your game through action,” but allows him use of the property nonetheless. As all this is taking place, something big is unfolding on the world stage. The United States is about to put a man on the moon. As an airman himself, Prince Philip is fascinated and begins to question his own worth and accomplishments, especially in light of his backseat role to the Queen. We see his frustration when he is doing mundane events, such as presenting an award to the British Concrete Society. He then goes home and—utterly transfixed—watches every minute of the moon landing. One day the new Dean of Windsor asks Prince Philip to say hello to the visiting priests. Reluctantly he agrees and soon finds himself in the center of a group of clergymen. One of them starts lamenting about his sense of under achievement—how he always wanted a bigger congregation, and how is losing the one he did have to the world. He wonders where people are getting their spiritual needs met. “The moon?” Prince Philip suggests. To which the Dean of Windsor contrasts the riches of Heaven to the bleakness of the moon. Prince Philip, agitated, admonishes the group, telling them to go out in the world and “DO SOMETHING,” achieve something “SPECTACULAR,” instead of being a group of “Navel Gazing Underachievers.” Later, when the famous astronauts are touring the world, Prince Philip asks for a private audience with them. Sneezing from colds, they answer his question, like what their thoughts were “up there,” by explaining they didn’t have much time to think because they were busy with procedures and checklists. Prince Philip is left unsatisfied and as the astronauts leave, he sees them taking multiple pictures—clearly enamored by the palace and his lavish lifestyle. The “grass is greener” concept plays out beautifully, and we see that even the shiny things of the world— like the palace itself—cannot fill the ache in Prince Philip’s heart. As the episode draws to a close, Prince Philip is back again in the circle of clergymen, this time opening up and admitting he is in a crisis. He tells them he has tried to make himself feel better with “the usual things,” but nothing is working. He admits he has lost his faith and asks for help—humbly saying that he was more scared to come to the meeting than he would have been going up in a rocket. This touching episode shows how certain people can enter our lives at just the right time. Sometimes we may resist these nudges, but if we open ourselves up, they can often steer and guide us to a deeper place of faith. Enabling us to “up our game” in ways we might not have been able to do on our own. It was also beautiful to witness Prince Philip’s change of heart as he comes to the conclusion that his faithlessness is indeed like the moon—dark, gloomy, empty, lonely—and that the solution to his problems isn’t necessarily in science and technology, but in the place that faith resides. He then goes on to touch his head, and then his heart. The episode ends with Prince Philip and the priest walking together and chatting, with a footnote saying, “For over 50 years St George’s House has been a centre for the exploration of faith and philosophy. Its success is one of the achievements of which Prince Philip is most proud.” A beautiful reminder that some of our greatest accomplishments might not be what the world would consider.
Surviving the eye prob
March 2026 - Moultrie News
I recently had to have a test on my eye called “probing and irrigation,” something I had been putting off for months. It basically involved inserting a needle like probe down my tear duct to see if 1.) there was a blockage and 2.) if it could be flushed out. Most of what Google said about the procedure was okay, but of course I happened to stumble upon the website that seized me with fear, making me doubt if I could ever sit still for such a procedure. As my epiphora (constant tearing) continued, I knew it had to be done. Hopefully, if there was a blockage it could be flushed, enabling me to go on my merry way. So I called and made the appointment with a doctor who had been recommended. Maybe I wouldn’t even need a probe, I thought. Maybe there would be some cutting-edge technology where they would wave a metal-detector-like wand over my eye and it would beep like crazy if something was amiss. If there was a blockage, maybe they could heat the wand and melt it away. They might even throw in a head massage at the end for good measure—from all the stress of having to deal with something involving the eyes. I tried to focus on positive thoughts as I waited over three months for my new patient appointment. Even though I was terrified of the probe, as time passed, the tearing was getting worse, so I started calling the office weekly to see if there were any cancellations. There never were. By the time the day came, I could hardly wait to go. I couldn’t believe that the person who was so squeamish about eye stuff could now hardly wait to have her eye probed! I think God had been slowly preparing me. When the doctor looked at my eyes, he said it was a two-part problem. 1.) that they were dry and overproducing tears and 2.) there might be a blockage in the tear drainage system. He said that we could do the probe and flush or we could start with moisturizing drops for a couple of months in hopes to break the cycle, but gosh darn it I wanted that probe! After months of tearing and discomfort I needed answers. I was not about to waste my courage. Guess what? The procedure, which involved numbing drops, wasn’t even that bad. I couldn’t even see what the doctor was doing (one of my fears) because he made my eye look in a different direction as he worked. It also only lasted a few minutes when I thought it was going to take at least twenty minutes. And my biggest worry of all—that I was going to have to sit with some contraption on my head and forced to keep still—was all for naught! I simply had to lay back in a chair as he did the work. The only real discomfort was the bright light shining overhead. Unfortunately, while the procedure was simple, the results were not. I could not feel the liquid going down my throat as I should have. The tear drainage system connects to the nose, and then to the throat. So if you have ever used eye drops and can taste them—hooray! Your tear drainage system is probably flowing freely. Mine, not so much. I will not go into the possible “next steps” of my journey at this point, but I will say that never in a million years did I think I would make it through the eye probe, but I did. In fact, when he finished, I practically begged him to do the left eye, (which occasionally waters as well), and lo and behold that eye was blocked in the same exact spot! (At this point I basically did break down in tears—the doctor none the wiser—he probably just thought it was the epiphora.) Despite not having the situation remedied by the probe and flush as I had hoped, I still found myself flexing my muscles when I walked past a mirror. Because in those few minutes I was braver than I thought I could be. For now, I will rest in that small victory.
Light in the darkness
February 2026 - Moultrie News
“It almost made me lose my faith.” She was speaking about a recent visit to Auschwitz. She said the energy there was so dark, so oppressive, that she couldn’t reconcile the fact that a good and loving God would allow such atrocities to happen. These thoughts are certainly understandable. So many things can shake our faith: babies dying, animals being abused, terrifying diagnoses, murders. The list goes on and on. I think about the heavy crosses that people carry: the loss of a job, a child, their health. Whenever I have been going through a trial, and have questioned the character of God, my husband always reminds me that God is everything good in the world. He is the person who visits you when a loved one dies, or organizes the meal train when someone gets sick. He is the friend that prays for you and sits with you in your pain. He is “the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it” (John 1:5). This bible quote perfectly sums up a man named Maximillian Kolbe, who she would later learn about on her tour of Auschwitz. Maximilian Kolbe was a priest during World War II that lived in Poland. He provided care and shelter for people fleeing Nazi persecution and even hid Jewish men, women, and children. Eventually, Maximilian Kolbe was arrested and sent to Auschwitz. The guards at Auschwitz especially hated priests and treated them very badly. Kolbe could have hidden this fact, but instead he continued to pray, encourage, and counsel other prisoners. One day a man escaped from camp. As a result, a guard, wanting to set an example to deter others from escaping, chose ten men who would be starved to death in a bunker. One of the chosen men cried out for mercy, saying he had a wife and children. What happened next was nothing short of miraculous. Kolbe willingly offered himself up to take this man’s place. He imitated Jesus in the most beautiful way, by laying down his life for another. While in the bunker with the other nine men, Kolbe continued to pray and sing psalms, reminding the men that while their bodies could be killed, their souls could not. After two weeks of immense suffering, Kolbe was still alive. On August 14, 1941, Kolbe was put to death by lethal injection so the bunker could be reused. She went on to tell me that during her tour of Auschwitz, they were taken down to a dark and gloomy place where there was a row of cells. It was there she had heard Kolbe’s story. “In his cell there was a tall candle with a red cross. I was feeling so heavy and oppressed, feeling the weight of despair and doubt, and seeing that candle, that cross, gave me room to breathe. I could feel Kolbe’s strength and holiness. He had the incredible ability to turn away from the evil that was staring him in the face, and turn toward the light. He became the light. It was such a contrast between the dark, depressing energy I had just witnessed on the tour.” During the same trip she visited the church where Kolbe was taken away from. It was there she saw his face for the first time. She would also learn that the man whose place Kolbe took, Franciszek Gajowniczek, survived the war and lived until 1995. He was there at the Vatican in 1971 when Kolbe was beatified, and also present in 1982 when Pope John Paul II proclaimed Maximillian Kolbe a saint. Kolbe is known to be the patron saint of prisoners and drug addicts. He is a powerful witness that while there is evil in the world, there is also immense goodness. He also demonstrated a concrete example of how to fight evil —by being the light that shines in the darkness.
The Gift of time
January 2026 - Moultrie News
“You’ll notice a change in her,” the nurse said as my father and I made our way up to the continual care ward. “When was the last time you saw her?” My dad and I looked at each other. “Two months ago,” my dad said. “A year ago,” I replied. I tried to visit my 80-year-old aunt at her convent every time I went home to Connecticut for a visit. But this trip was only a quick three days. Should I still try to squeeze her in? I wondered. Plus, would she even remember me? Things had changed drastically since the summer of 2022 when she was zipping across the freeways of New Haven, meeting us for lunch at Pepe’s pizza. Not even a year later her license had been taken away and she could not answer questions coherently. But she still remembered who I was at last year’s visit. When we got off the elevator my aunt was already approaching us at the front gate. She looked at me first. Nothing. But then she saw my father and immediately her face lit up. She recognized him fully. “Look who I brought,” he said, “It’s Deana….Deana!” She turned back at me and a look of recognition came across her face. We all hugged and teared up as we made our way into the communal room. “I’m just so excited,” she kept saying, looking from me to my father. “What a surprise!” I thought of how rarely my aunt gets visitors. My dad is 83-years-old and can’t make the hour plus drive as easily. As we talked, my aunt was so positive, never complaining. Always a work horse, she showed us how she had set up tiny Easter baskets along the window’s edge, even though it was the end of July. “Sometimes they fall, and then I pick them back up,” she said, laughing. Her heart was so pure. So full of gratitude. A couple of times during our conversations she would become confused, then she would pause and look down to the table and, as if reassuring herself, would say, “Everything will be okay.” Yes, just as she had taught me all these years whenever I needed her wisdom. “Don’t worry, Trust God. Everything will be okay.” “Show me your room,” I said after we had been sitting for a while. She walked me down the hallway and went straight for her door. Once inside I was surprised by how stark the room was. There was a bed, a reclining chair, and a desk with a couple of pictures. The walls were bare except for a large crucifix to the right of her bed. That crucifix was her everything, it always had been. On the way back to the communal room she introduced me to all the nuns and nurses. It was interesting to see the contrast between who my aunt had always been—the ‘Mother Superior,’ the one in charge—and what she was now. She had been the head of a school for decades, and in her later years she took care of the older and dying religious sisters. She had also tenderly cared for my grandmother, who had Alzheimer’s, and for my uncle when he was dying of prostate cancer. Now she was the one being taken care of. I could see how all the love and care she had given to others was now coming back to her full circle. That thought gave me peace. Before we left that day, I asked her if she remembered the Our Father prayer. “Oh yes,” she said. She didn’t, not fully. But we still said it together. She, my dad and I stood in a circle, holding hands as we prayed. As I left, I thought about how I had almost skipped the visit, but was so glad I didn’t. In our culture of business, I have to remember that we have choices in how we spend our free time—and it is never wasted when we spend it being present with others, especially our family. A couple of weeks later, after my dad saw her again, I asked him if she had remembered seeing me. She hadn’t. But I will not let that stop me from visiting her in the future, God willing. Because for that 90- minute visit she had remembered me in the moment—even if it was just her soul recognizing mine. And I have no doubt it was still recorded in her overflowing heart.