To everything there is a season

Ryan with almost all of his grandparents

Five years ago, on the first weekend in April, my sister and brother and I came to our childhood home. That was the last time we would all be together with our father, who died about a month later.

Since then, the anniversary of his death has passed without me realizing it – because the time I remember without fail is the first weekend in April. Among the many things he talked about that weekend was attending the Maundy Thursday service at church and going to the altar to pray. He said that he prayed every night before bed, and that he fell asleep while praying for everyone else and never asked God for anything for himself.

I feel certain that one of the many things he prayed for was his children's happiness, and that he hoped they would figure out the best path for themselves without too much hurt. After he died, I changed my path. And it led to this first weekend in April, when my son was baptized on Palm Sunday.


Ryan wore the baptismal gown hand-sewn by my mother-in-law's mother, Grace Biggins, for her two daughters. It's been worn by all their children and grandchildren – 12 people, by our quick count. He managed to spit up on it only once. And he smiled at Pastor Joe Miller the entire time.

It was a weekend of firsts:
The first time all three George grandchildren were together...


The first time all three laptops were together...


The first time my niece Alexandria rode on an airplane...


The first time Aunt Julie and Sophie visited our home...


The first time Ryan napped on both grandmothers...



... and the first time Ryan wore sunglasses.


Hey, Aunt Mary Ann, whazzup?

We had a house full of family and it was a joyous occasion, and I know it was exactly what my dad wanted for me.