Healing in Wilmington

I’ve made several trips to Wilmington since Chip died. The weekend of July 10-12 was particularly special since we gathered there to remember him 40 days after his death. The other visits to Wilmington were meant to share memories and time with his parents (and anyone else who came to spend time with them while I was there).

When I am spending time with his parents, I feel close to Chip and my memories of him are so vivid. I feel his energy that he left on the place where he spent the bulk of his childhood and returned countless times. I see the items in his bedroom and stare at photographs of him at various ages around the house. I see the sofa and the chairs that used to be in our house and that we sat on and chatted about so many different topics (Because of the age of the items, the decision was made that it was best for the items to live at his parents’ house until next steps for the items will be determined). I remember all the times Chip and I spent there together and the conversations we had on the way up to Wilmington as well as on the way back down to Virginia.

Each time I am in Wilmington, I come to understand better and better how and why he became and was the person whom I loved and admired so much. When I see his mom physically struggle to stand or sit down and when I see her manage her pain without too much complaint, I see Chip and the way he handled the pain of living life with a chronically painful and uncomfortable condition. I realize that he got his “stiff upper lip,” so to speak, from those who have endured struggles before him. When I witness his dad’s patience and positive demeanor, despite some pretty challenging moments, Chip’s resolve to endure cancer and all of its horrors with grace and dignity comes more into the light.

I often find myself thinking “What would Chip do?” or “What would Chip say?” since losing him. I know as time goes by, these thoughts will become less frequent (or maybe not). But, being at his parents’ in Wilmington frequently has me asking these questions since I am surrounded by so much that is related to him. And, I get to hear his mom wonder aloud in the very same way as she considers what Chip would have said, thought or done about something.

Throughout Labor Day weekend, Chip’s mom talked frequently about him. Clearly, many things make her think of him and she likes to share what’s on her mind. On Saturday, she said “I wish I could tell Chipper about the tents at Tower Hill.” (to accommodate Tower Hill School students during Covid times). She showed me a decorative piece she saw in a catalog that made her think of Chip, so she ordered it. After lifting the metal flowers on top of the orb, one can see there is a votive candle inside. The words on the stone orb read “Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy.” The orb is pictured in this post next to a trivet Chip made of the family’s dogs, Toby and Fluffy. Every time Chip’s mom sees the trivet on the breakfast table, she tells me that “Chipper made this” and that everyone thinks Fluffy is the poodle, but that that dog was named “Toby.” Then, she adds that Toby was not very smart (those are my words…her description of Toby is more caustic). And, like clockwork, his mom then says “Fluffy blew in like a piece of fluff and that why we called her Fluffy."

While eating dinner in the dining room Saturday evening, Sam asked what time it was. Chip’s mom responded “Kissing time and half-passed time to kiss again.” Stella replied, “Chip used to always say that.” I expressed that I didn’t recall him ever saying that, but Stella said “Oh, he said it all the time.” The smile on Chip’s mom face was priceless and I got the distinct feeling she knew that he was saying it because he had learned it from her.

On Sunday, she expressed, “If Chipper were alive, he’d laugh at Tower Hill for what they’re doing” (referencing the tents/outdoor classrooms set up at Tower Hill). Talking about what Chip would think or say about Tower Hill led us to talk about other things Chip would have thought or said. To be honest, I could spend the whole day with his parents talking about what Chip would have said, did or thought.

The best thing about being in Wilmington is that I get to hear stories…lots of stories. Some are the ones Chip’s mom has been telling for years. Many are ones that I have not heard before, such as how she met Chip’s dad, about their life in San Francisco (Chip was born at the same hospital as his sister Leelee, but the hospital was called Stanford University Hospital when she was born and had switched to Presbyterian Hospital of San Francisco by the time Chip was born), and about her parents and her family history. Some are stories told by Chip’s dad about his time at Harvard, about his draft into the Army, time at basic training and serving in Europe in the 1950’s, and about his marriage to Chip’s mom. Of course, of all the ones I hear when I am there, my favorite stories are the “Chipper” stories.

Chip’s dad is the quieter of the two, but seeing him move and hearing him speak when he tells his stories reminds me so much of Chip. On Saturday this past weekend, his dad leaned over his mom's walker towards her so that he could hear her a bit better. Seeing him lean that way instantly reminded me of a time Chip was standing outside his truck and I was still sitting in the front seat, and he leaned into his truck to kiss me. When Chip’s dad moves his hands to grab something or move it, I am reminded of Chip’s hands. His willingness to help and jump up and jump in when asked to do something reminds me of Chip. The cadence of his dad’s voice echoes in my mind and the echoes sound as if I am hearing Chip speak to me.

Being in Wilmington is healing for me in my time of loss. Despite fighting traffic on 95 heading north or south, despite the occasional challenges of time spent there, and despite the sadness being in his childhood home can bring to me while realizing that his life was cut short, the time there is so valuable for me as I manage my grief. And, I believe that me being there is valuable and healing to his parents as well. It is a solid dose of keeping Chip’s memory alive for all 3 of us.

When I was there the last weekend in August, Chip’s mom blurted out “I miss him” during a a minute or so of silence while she, Chip’s dad and I sat together in the family room. I returned her heartfelt sentiment by saying “I miss him too. So much.” Sharing that moment with her truly softened my sadness and emotional pain a bit, and I am so grateful I was there to share the moment with her.