Actually it was everyone’s first trip to Franciscan with the exception of my mom….she was an old pro at attending FIRE Rallys and summer conferences and without her support and encouragement we most likely would not have been able to attend that Family Conference in “88”. She offered to go with us and babysit the boys while Doug and I attended the sessions. We stayed at that old hotel at the bottom of the hill, long before it was Bonaventure
Hall……long before there were nice motels in the area. Justin was just 3 years old and Ryan was a year old.
We traveled, all five of us, in a two door Chevy Citation…loaded down with all things necessary for three adults and two small boys. I have no memories of it being an unpleasant trip at all, we may have been a bit squished, but a peaceful squished. You can tell by the tell-tale corner in the picture of Justin at the podium that the conferences were still being held in the big tent outside. We had such a wonderful weekend.
I miss those days of being young parents, when anything and everything was possible, when you were too young to think out all the
details of traveling, when it all was a great adventure. Then I think of my mother, she was 65 years young and had not lost any of that enthusiasm for a road trip, thought it all possible and didn’t fret the details. She just reveled in the joy of being with her “boys” on holy ground, she loved Franciscan University with a great passion. Sunday morning we attended Mass all together under the tent, what a beautiful day, bright sunshine…it was all good.
Fast forward 20 years, Justin’s graduation from Franciscan University of Steubenville. How do I write what our hearts felt that day? And how do I write of our pain this day?…these days without him? We are so grateful for the years that he had at Franciscan, the friends he made, the professors he met and learned so much from, a place where he grew by leaps and bounds in his faith and love of Christ. But our grateful hearts are still shattered, the pain of loss washes over the joy of the memory, like a watercolor that has been dashed with water. Grief is a thief that reaches back and steals every moment.
