Two Moms, three Dads, a Boy, and the Miracle on Maple Street

Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.

Robert Frost

This is a story about a boy, two mothers, and three fathers. It’s a story of grief and resilience and dedication. But most of all it is a tale of love. It began at an ending. Though it has taken several years to unfold, in reality the story is only now beginning.

In 2014 one of two mothers retired after many successful years as a teacher in Jordan School District. Once their five children left home, she and her husband had traveled widely, but now her retirement meant they could at last explore some of the world which required more time than they had had available before. Only six or seven weeks after her last day at work, this mother wasn’t feeling particularly well. A routine doctor visit discovered a discovered a devastating diagnosis–pancreatic cancer. Overnight the couples’ travel plans were reduced to the few miles which constituted the route to her chemotherapy and back home. 

Her husband never wavered. He sat by her side at every single chemotherapy appointment. He was there when she was so sick she threw up everything she ate and when her bowels no longer functioned properly. He lent his strength to her many trips to the bathroom when she was too weak to walk alone. Every day he fed her tiny bits of anything she could hold down. But despite all he and her medical providers could do, she died and left him alone the following winter. When she passed away, I did not go to the funeral. I stayed at their house and took care of several of their youngest grandchildren–two of whom were my grandchildren, also.

A little less than three years later, another mother was diagnosed with cancer. This time it was breast cancer, and this mother was the daughter-in-law of the mother who had so recently been laid to rest. Once again, the same father, now in his role as father-in-law, took his beloved daughter-in-law to every chemo appointment exactly he had done for his wife such a short time before. I never heard him say a word never about the pain he must have felt to watch the suffering of another member of his family.

His son—the second father, who had so recently lost his mother, now faced the loss of his wife. This father had two children, one near graduation from high school and one just beginning middle school. His young wife was sick for a long time. Despite intensive treatment, the cancer raged unabated throughout her body. Hospice care helped ease the pain, but one evening she simply went to sleep and did not wake up again.

 One father had lost his wife; his son, the second father, had lost both his mother and his wife. Now, as every widower knows, the most difficult part was just beginning. The son was left to raise his children alone. His youngest child, a boy, collapsed into himself, unable to bear the weight of loss from the two women he loved most. No longer able to manage school or church or friends, for him time stopped. A year passed then two, then three. One afternoon the boy and his father came to see me. The boy was then 18, and though he knew it was probably impossible, did I know a way for him to make up some of the credits that had slipped through his fingers as he mourned both mother and grandmother? Without a high school diploma, he knew had no future. I called a friend at Valley High School, Jordan District’s alternative high school, and described the boy’s situation.

“He sounds like one of ours,” my friend said, talking about the myriad of special circumstances which surrounded most of the students with whom she worked. “Bring him here.” The boy enrolled and for a few months, he earned back some of his lost high school credits. But it was not enough. Over the summer he turned 19 and by law aged out of normal public-school programs.

Again the boy floated. No diploma. No driver’s license. No employment. No progress. No future.

Then last winter, the two fathers formed an intervention. They enlisted the help of the oldest son in the family, father of two children of his own and uncle to the boy. “How can we help you,” the three fathers said to the boy. “What do you need us to do?”

The boy, now legally an adult, thought carefully about what his future might require. “I want to earn a GED (General Education Diploma),” he said, “so I can get a job. . . .” The three fathers–through the whispers of their hearts–also heard the unspoken words the boy did not have the strength to say, “. . . so that I can begin to live again.” They talked for a long, long time.

Through our winter of unending snow, every morning at 8 AM the grandfather came to his grandson’s house and sat with the boy for three hours as he worked on his GED assignments. The grandfather occasionally answered questions for the boy, but mostly he just sat quietly next to the boy to reassure his grandson that he was not alone. The uncle, a college professor, helped create the schedule and track the progress of completed assignments and testing for each of the four units—mathematical reasoning, reasoning through language arts, social studies, and science. The boy’s father oversaw the completed work, submitted the lessons on the required dates, and made sure the boy had all the materials he needed as he progressed toward his goal.

Though he is near 20 years old, just a few weeks ago the boy was awarded a GED certificate. His grandfather sent us a picture of the boy standing with two of his cousins—both of whom had graduated this spring from traditional high schools. All three of them were proud–holding their diplomas and smiling. We mailed the boy a card and a small gift to celebrate his accomplishment. This week the boy started employment at a private company as a flood abatement worker. Now he is learning to drive so he get to work every day by himself.

Loss is a part of every family’s story. But resilience? Resilience is a choice of grit and courage and determination. Three fathers and the boy-–together they have built a miracle.