When I was eighteen years old I left home. Geographically, home is a smattering of small lake towns in Southeastern Wisconsin. I went to Wilmot High School and grew up skiing at Wilmot Mountain. Just like my Dad. As many young men I felt I had to go to find something. I went west to the mountains. I found my niche in the backcountry skiing world. I built a life, and when my wife Christine decided to leave that same hometown in Wisconsin to join me, we built a family. Amos is the light of our lives. He is a gift. Every day that we have with him from now on is like a second chance. Ever since I left Wisconsin I've had bouts of homesickness. I have been fortunate to land a night job with the airlines that affords us the ability to come home often. I am blessed for it. When I would come home often I would see old friends who would praise me for "getting out of here". At first I agreed, but as time and experience came to pass I began to see the qualities of these small towns beyond the geographic. I have traveled the world far and wide in my ski pursuits, and as I met many wonderful people in so many beautiful places I realized that the things that make our hometown great are far less tangible. It is less obvious then some prolific mountain range or famous sight for clamoring tourists. In no mixed words… it is love. Love of the people who knew you before you knew anything.
Christine and I's family put on a benefit for Amos at the Lily Lake Resort just blocks from where I grew up on the lake of the resort's namesake. Now that I am an older an wiser man I see this little lake community and the local tavern for what they are. Nothing more then the perfect place for a young boy to grow up. I know most folks of the world know that it sounds strange to talk about spending a childhood in a tavern, but this is Wisconsin. We don't expect you to understand. I used to buy candy from the bar, eat lunch during a day at the beach, and when I was old enough I learned to party there. On the day of the benefit I was able to pick up my Grandpa Don pictured above. He is the last grandparent I have on this planet. By the miracle of technology he was able to FaceTime with Amos and Christine as we drove to the resort. It broke my heart to see his teary eyes as he looked into my son's eyes on my iPhone and spoke to him like he was there. Living away from home affords me the perspective to take so much pause and solace in little moments like that. I was very emotional, and it was just the beginning of the day as we pulled into the small beach resort.
^So many volunteers like these fellas gave so much effort to pull off this amazing event. The Lagerwalls and Regniers go way back with both Christine and I's families. Our grandparents were friends. These boys and I all came up in this place. All of them have become great men as a result of the same kind of upbringing as me. You can't thank people enough for this kind of outpouring of love, and for these few guys that also include hundreds of gallons of beer as well.
^My big brother, Tyler, and his wife, Nicole, were the Chairmen of this event. I would have included a picture of her as well, but I think she would rather I did not because she was unbearably pregnant this day. So much so that two days after the event she went into labor. This crew was slaving over a hot grill all day to feed the nearly 800 people who came out to show us they love us. Nothing goes better over a hot grill, then cold beer and bright smiles.
^Lady Vols!
^Marc and Shelley Weise. Shelley is my cousin, and she is a recent breast cancer survivor. She and her husband Marc have been solid confidants to me throughout this ordeal with Amos. It is hard to explain this roller coaster to people sometimes, but anyone who has been in the midst of it knows the ups, downs, and curves of the ride. I will never be able to tell Marc how much his words have meant to me. In one of our conversations we talked about a toast over a cold draft some day. At one point near the end of the event Marc came up and gave me that proper cheers. I had not remembered it until that moment, but when he held up his glass to me it came back like a flood off the quant beach. I was so thankful for it. Shelley and Marc have had to relive their own sorrows to a certain degree as a result of Amos' situation and consoling me, and I will be forever grateful to them.
^These people who came out are all a part of me. They helped raise me. The Mathers, Ron and Laura, pictured above were a large part of that along with this whole town. It warmed my heart to hug as many of these people as I could.
^Adam Mather is the oldest friend I have. He and I first met before we even knew better. Our parents were next door neighbors and friends, our father's worked together, and our older brothers were best buds before Adam and I were even born. Of course, we would become the kind of friends that as I traveled this world I learned that not many people are blessed with. It was the first time I'd seen him since Amos got sick. I fell apart in his embrace. That is part of the intangibles of small towns that I was talking about. The kind of love of a friend you have known and loved before you even knew why. Adam is one of a group of boys who I grew up with in Lily Lake I call the "starting five". The other guys came out to see me recently in Utah, and now I finally got my arms around Adam too. I am so thankful I could. His big brother, Graham, and his wife, Kathleen, drove 27 hours from Arizona to be there for us.. That is family kind of stuff. My brother, Tyler coined a phrase once, "Families of friends, and friends like family."
^Christine too is blessed to have friends like that. These girls are the best kind of friends that any woman could ask for. I also have been fortunate to call them friends as well, but seeing them come through time and time again for my wife has given me so much gratitude. I can never really say what it does to my heart to be witness to it, to them, and to the mothers they have all come to be.
^Mom, brother, and Dad around me. The story of my life.
^Our old friends Dan and Kelli Fox donning their Bears attire are among all the old friends of ours that came out. Dan said it was like a high school reunion, and he was right. So many of Christine and I's friends from our lives came. It was nothing short of one of the most miraculous things I have ever been witness to.
^I gave a short speech. I barley held it together to try to convey how much it all meant to me and Christine. I talked about a road map. How cancer does not come furnished with one, how the people of our lives have become the map that has given us direction when we felt lost, and how any good map always brings you home.
^These people. They are the ones. They are the intangible gifts of a small town. They are the guiding light in dark times. I spoke to a lot of people that day, and throughout all the conversations I realized that this is our home, these are our people, and this is the kind of thing we do for each other around these parts.
^As day turned to night and the sun went down on a day I can only describe as the unrelenting love of home I fell to pieces in my big brothers arms. I cried in his shoulder for a lot of reasons, for my sick son, for our lives together, for everything he has been to me, for the family he was just about to start, and for simply flat out, everything. In that moment I could not put labels on the flood of emotions, all I knew is that my big brother had a hold of me solidly and I didn't have to be so tough for just a moment.
^In this post I talk about the intangibles of this place that I had to leave to gain the perspective to see. I have felt it for years now as I aged and traveled, but this particular day on the shores of Lily Lake brought it all so deeply into my heart. As I said in the closing of my speech that day, "… I realized that indeed we did have a road map. This road is not guided by left and right turns or treatment plans, but by all the people who love us. And like any good road map it will always lead you home to the kind of place where hundreds of people will gather on a Sunday to tell us that they love us, we are not lost, and we never were because all of you have been with us on this road the entire way. So thank you. There really is no place like home."
