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November 27

St. Mary’s Cathedral, St. Cloud

After an early morning Herceptin infusion, I was excited to attend noon Mass in the Cathedral, but Scott and I noticed other people gathering in the lower level of the super-sized church and followed. The chapel there was built for daily Mass apparently. The gospel for the day,Luke 21:12-19, deals with religious persecution: “You will be hated by all because of my name, but not a hair on your head will be destroyed. By your perseverance you will secure your lives.” In relation, Father Jose Chettoor stressed “living authentic faith in public” and to be aware of serious threats to religious freedom as it becomes more difficult to “uphold values as we are relegated to more private religious relationships.” He used his childhood in India where he yearned for plurality as a minority due to his christian faith to stress that “it is never easy in any culture to speak confidently and morally follow the Gospel. It takes supernatural strength and courage to stand up for our faith.” He preached a message promising that God’s faith will make us endure and so long as we remain faithful until death, He will give us everlasting life.

It reminded me of hearing the author of The Von Trapp Family Singers–the basis for The Sound of Music— Maria von Trapp, speaking at the College of St. Benedict. I was only in second grade, but I completely understood her message of holding fast to freedoms and not to take our liberties for granted. I was star-struck at meeting her, a stout woman in a dirndl with her long braids encircling her head. (Julia Andrews’ short haircut was so out of place to me in the movie.)

My Joys: Mack and Ben

I had such vivid memories of my childhood. As a mother, I wondered what my boys remembered and held dear.

After church detention was a thing I invented. We usually attended the earliest Mass or we told the kids it was the first Mass with the threat of repeating Mass if they were naughty. One Sunday when Scott had to work, I had the boys solo when their antics proved too much. I whispered sharply to them  that we needed to make up some time in silent prayer after Mass. As the parishioners streamed out, nearly all gestured for us to get in line before them, the boys hung  their heads, and I shook mine but eventually the church emptied out. The young hip organist passed us and abruptly backed up, “Hey, guys, wanna play the organ?”  I could not say no.  I wanted to play the organ too.  I had barely nodded when they bolted out of the pew and dashed upstairs. The cacophony was intense, almost matching their level of glee. I played a few bars of J.S. Bach’s Solfeggietto I had memorized then we left. The next Sunday when the boys seemed all too eager to go to Mass, we had to admonish them in advance, reading their devious minds hoping to earn more detention.

Scott and I always marveled at how unique the boys were. Ben won people over in his own way. On our first family vacation to Cancun, Scott sat by Mack on the plane and I sat by Ben, each boy with a backpack full of snacks and toys. I took the window seat and two-year old Ben cuddled up next to me with his blanket.  The flight attendants were preparing for take-off and it looked like the third seat would be open when a middle-aged man in pilot garb rushed up, glared in disdain at Ben, plunked down and opened his newspaper in a wide V to obliterate any sign of the toddler from his view. Ben worked his magic by remaining still, napping, and taking up less than half of a seat. By the end of the flight, the pilot was asking for a blanket and pillow from the flight attendant and making sure Ben got extra cookies over peanuts for his snack.

Mack made his own path always. The elementary school counselor sought me out at conferences, coming very close peering into my eyes as she shared that second grade Mack brought up some interesting points in class, apparently asking her about Medicinal Marijuana. He’d soaked it up from the nightly news, but was never one to shirk a good discussion.  In his junior year, his teacher described how he embraced Thoreau, stood on his desk and quoted a passage from his essay, “On Nonconformity.”

Since the boys attended school in the district I taught in, I felt comfortable reaching out to all their teachers via email after my initial diagnosis to let us know if there were any issues. Ben was a busy fifth grader who played football, basketball and baseball with the same pack of boys in his school. Richmond Elementary had only one section per grade so the same kids were together K-6 with a few moving in and out. It was a public school, but had a lot of the best features of a private school too with the small size being one of them.

In eighth grade, Mack seemed to give his homework more attention and stayed focused, maybe as a distraction. He was busy with football, basketball and golf and navigating middle school. He kept some friends from elementary school and had made new friends when the 30 Richmond classmates mixed with the 170 other kids in his grade.  Mack was self-motivated and not one to complain. For a ninth grade English assignment focusing on descriptive vocabulary, Mack wrote the following about the day I returned from my BMX surgery:

Mack Liebl

Hr. 1

English 9B

My Best Holiday Memory

If I’m not mistaken, I think some wise people have said how a bad event could bring people closer better than anything else; I would have to agree. Last year during the holiday season, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. None of us saw it coming, and it took us all by surprise. On the 19th of December my mom had her surgery to try to prevent the terminal illness called cancer. We were lucky enough to have the surgery go well, but just because the surgery was over didn’t mean it was all over. The memory of waiting outside that hospital and seeing my mom sitting next to me and the bringing closer of our family was definitely the best memory I’ve ever had.

At the hospital, there were many really helpful doctors. They were very obsequious when we asked them questions about my mom. They also said my mom transcended their expectations when it came to the surgery. They said they were over 90% sure my mom would get out of the hospital in a short amount of time and, most important, that the cancer was all gone. There was a minor mishap with my mom’s hemoglobin that made us worried, but the doctors got it all taken care of.

As I said in the beginning paragraph, just cause the surgery was all taken care of didn’t mean everything was done. My mom had to recover for a long while and they had to be 110% sure everything was going good and that my mom was in great condition. Besides the hemoglobin thing, my mom was, in the words of the surgeons, “the perfect patient.”  I knew my mom was a fighter, but after she battled cancer, she was a warrior in my eyes. I just wish all people fighting cancer could be as fortunate as her.

My dad, brother and I only missed one visit. We drove to the cities every day besides the day there was a blizzard and it was insurmountable to drive. It was a painful drive, but I would’ve ridden any amount of time to see my mom. One particular day, the 21st as I recall, doctors had some great news. My mom’s quick recovery transfigured the day she could come home. It went from the 24th to the 22nd, which happened to be my mom’s birthday. We were all transfixed when we heard this.

I remember that night very specifically. I could hardly get to sleep since I was extremely anxious. The drive there, I felt like a little kid thinking, “Are we there yet?”  We drove up to the entrance of the hospital, waiting for the advent of my mom. When we saw her, she had a smile from ear to ear. She struggled into the car, and with the help of my dad and the doctors, we began our way home. That experience, in my case anyway, brought me way closer to my family than I ever thought Icould be. My mom now lives life to the fullest, and I don’t take her for granted nearly as much as your stereotypical teenager would. My mom, simply sitting next to me in the car, and our family coming closer together was most definitely the best holiday memory I have.

I loved having the boys at ROCORI High School. Hopefully they felt the same. I did let both know when they were in ninth grade that I enjoyed being part of pep fests and chaperoning dances and since I had been at RHS first and would be there longer, these things would continue. I had both boys in class for College Writing I and Multimedia and enjoyed it. They were careful not to call me Mom, but some of their classmates did instead. I made sure there was no sign of nepotism and informed them that they would never get the top score on any assignment, maybe just a fraction off if they were close.

Both boys worked at local golf courses so had experience dealing with the general public and both also worked a summer or two at Elks Camp, the best place on earth, as camp counselors for disadvantaged youth.  Mack’s first week included the full spectrum of emotion: one boy asked if he could be his dad and another threatened to kill him.  Both boys were fluent in special education labels by the end of the summer. Ben only did one tour of duty but Mack did two, returning as head boys counselor. We missed them so much but were so proud of all the connections they made and the compassion they offered. When I caught myself feeling sorry for myself, I would hear Ben’s counselor voice, “You know what really helps? Complaining about it.”

Mack had a flair for writing. I will never forget the looks on his classmates’ faces as they read his descriptive essay, “Eat it or wear it.” Joby looked aghast and Hailey looked at me in revulsion, then quickly reverted her eyes. Mack’s description of a still-unsettled argument about mustard and cheese painted me in a harsh light. I read it aloud as an example to future classes both for the quality of writing and to throw fear into the hearts of the students, dispelling any notions that I was so nice. I would read it without revealing the author’s name and watch as students would realize in horror that Mack was the author.

Mack was always confident in his beliefs, active at the regional level in student council and advocating for students at UMD in Student Association helping form curriculum policies with professors; he was never afraid to speak up for himself or others. He graduated with university and department honors with degrees in criminology and biochemistry, bounding up to get his diploma with the same exuberance we recognized from his childhood. He launched from the nest to Los Angeles, as a criminalist for the LA County Medical Examiner’s Office, one of the few places in the US where he would get both lab and field work in forensic science.

Ben forged his own path in service by joining the Minnesota National Guard in human resources and as a combat engineer. We tried to keep up with the many military acronyms and abbreviations and always enjoyed his stories from training and drill.  His confidence grew with his military experience as well as his compassion. He met a lot of people who had difficult childhood experiences and many who had little to no connection with their families. He double majored in finance and financial planning but graduated with less pomp due to the COVID-19 circumstances. His graduation arrived in a box, loaded with medals for university and  department honors, his diploma, mortarboard, alumni propaganda, and a maroon and gold pom pom that he immediately passed to me. After a few months of COVID restrictions snarling his training with an insurance company, Ben chose to become a police officer in Brookings, SD, which paired well with his military career and his drive to make a difference. We enjoyed his stories, well-told and also showing his humanity and also more cat stories than we expected. We could not have been more proud, this career fit him so well.

Both young men texted frequently and called often to keep in touch. In person, they were quick to tease me and tolerated my quirky sense of humor with a lot of “Oh, Mom” replies. They were also quick to hug me, soaking up for the future. When I wrapped my arms around these tall men, my arm covered a matching hope ribbon tattooed on their sides in my honor–Mack’s on his left and Ben’s on his right. It would be impossible to know how my health affected their lives, but I was fiercely proud of the end results.