A Borgdorff gathering is not unusual and during the summer months I would even say is quite normal. They are often marked with good conversation, laughter, sometimes some tears and an overall good feeling of being together.

On this date last year it was a gathering of a different kind. My Mom had alerted us on that Sunday morning that she had called 911 because my Dad was having extreme pain. He was alert and when we got to the ER he was clearly uncomfortable, but still so alert. He asked me to call his friend Ron who he was supposed to have Tea with that afternoon and give him a heads up his day wasn’t going as planned. It all felt like a little bump in the road, for a short while.
Then the Doc came in and reported that my Dad’s ruptured ulcer was the presenting issue and due to his compromised physical condition, he was not a candidate for surgery. The facts unfolded in a conversation with a few of us as my very brave sister Arlene outlined for my Dad what the Drs were not saying. We talked about how on Friday he was told there was no reason to believe his end would be soon and this morning, due to the complications, his life was now limited to maybe two weeks.
We left my parents for a few minutes alone as they tried to absorb how a Sunday morning went so quickly from planning to go to Church to now preparing to live out the last days of my Dad’s life.
We all agreed my Dad should be admitted for pain control and then he would come home on Hospice.
I can hear this as if it was yesterday. It makes me smile deeply. My Dad loved to be crafting emails, advocating for the Belhar, preparing to chair his next committee meeting and occasionally glancing through Facebook.
“If I am going to stay here you better go home and get my computer. I have some things to get done.”
We waited for him to get settled in the room. His pain was great and we so wanted him comfortable We met Dr Hadley and she was such a gift to us. She honored Arlene’s role as a Hospice nurse and worked closely with her to ensure his pain was managed. As my Mom and I prepared to run for the computer, Dr. Hadley came out and said I don’t think you should leave. He is changing quickly.
But, my mind wanted to say, he needs his computer. And just that quick, I heard what she was saying. We took a minute to catch our breath and then we knew we needed to gather.
In the hours that followed a gathering unfolded. One by one, my Mom, my siblings, and their spouses, my nieces and nephews and my dear Aunt Dot all filled the room. We shared silence and song, we shared scripture and prayer and conversation and laughter and memories. Dear Erika was the Chaplin on duty at Spectrum that day. She is someone who we have shared life with and her and my Dad shared friendship. It was sweet. We remembered and we stood in the gap as my Dad transitioned from his life on earth to his life eternal.
My body can feel the emotion of that day as if it was yesterday. I hope to never lose the feelings of that day. I hope to always weep as I feel the ache and I hope to always celebrate as I feel the joy of my Dad’s life. I hope to never lose the overarching gratitude I hold in my heart every day for the life we all shared with him.
I have been very aware of the time today. I remember what time we got to the ER, what time we got to the hospital room, what time my Dad faded from our presence. what time we called Aunt Marg and Uncle Bill and others. And I remember, oh how I remember, when he took his last breath with my Mom at his side.
But the sweetest memory of the painful day was the fact that we gathered. We honored the way that our Dad and Mom taught us to join together and bear one another burdens. We showed up and lived present to the pain and the promises.
We miss you Dad.
Blessed Be His Name!

It was 1987, and this picture was taken at the Annapolis Naval Academy. My oldest brother Len was graduating, and we traveled as a family to celebrate, but missed Nick who was serving in the Navy in Scotland.
Tonight I am anticipating another adventure. The once in a lifetime experience is about to happen again in a different way. This time I will be celebrating with
Andrew started the Naval Academy 4 years ago with commitment, passion, and vision. There has been a transformation at many levels. Many of these transformations are only for Andrew to share as his story unfolds.

Laura is the newest Mom. She has a wonderful husband and two great sons. We are so grateful that she and Dave shared the boys with us in their first 18 months when they would come to work with her 4 days a week. Now ages 7 and 3, they visit often, and we celebrate birthdays and Christmas and any other gift giving opportunity in their world.
Janet came on staff 7 years ago when Laura went on maternity leave. Working with my Mom is a gift I am grateful for every day. She is willing to jump into new spaces and learn new things. She challenges me to risk and grow, and she is ready to risk and grow with me.
day he died, we gathered in the hospital room, overflowed into the waiting area and walked the halls. I remember walking the hallway and finding Ellie tucked away drawing. Ellie is creative and able to put her heart into beautiful, meaningful art.
And then there is Olivia. Olivia is gifted in writing and is a faithful writer. She can put her questions, her dreams, her fear, her hopes, and her feelings into words in ways that draw in the reader. When I read Olivia’s words, I feel as if I have sat with her and she has shared her heart.
year-old son Gerrit died after an 18 month battle with brain cancer. It was tragic in so many ways. He had the best smile and vibrant spirit, and it felt wrong and hard to make sense of.
As I have reflected on words that bring comfort on hard days, I have found that my Dad would often sign off his emails with these words.
As we approach the first anniversary of my Dad’s death, I am aware that I have stories I want to write, I have experiences I want to share, I have memories I want to record. I want to reflect on the depth of the last year but also about what today and tomorrow, next month and next year might be shaping up like. I want to return to honoring the many spaces of life that are within me. I want to give my story the time, tenderness, embrace and voice that it deserves.