Guatemala Giving... Phase II

 

A message to our Guatemala Adoption Community on this Giving Tuesday…

16.5. That’s how old our son is now. He’s a junior in high school, thinking about his future and what the world will hold for him as he soon launches into adulthood. Guatemala is part of his identity, but it plays a smaller role than I thought it would. Recently, when given the opportunity to share funds with a non-profit of his choice, he selected an agency that fights childhood cancer rather than a Guatemalan NGO. I was both disappointed and proud in that moment, realizing that it was my mistake to have assumed he would choose Guatemala and that his choice was a sign not only of his understanding of the scope of needs within the universe but also of his agency in selecting the one that spoke to his heart.

Entering Phase II…

Perhaps you’re like us? Shortly after our son had joined our family and begun to take his first steps, we felt called to “give back” to his country of birth. I’m not sure now whether we were motivated by generosity, guilt, or the desire to create visible ties to his culture, but we were successful in identifying a non-profit that gave us all the good feels, and we have supported that same organization for well more than a decade. But now what?

Guatemala has experienced an enormous influx of financial support from our adoption community for the past 20 years but, as our children are growing, many of us are feeling less connected, less motivated, and less passionate about our stewardship, especially when our Guatemalan born children seem indifferent. I share these thoughts today, hoping to inspire a shift in our collective thinking to the next phase of supporting the country that helped build so many families.

Unrestricted Giving…

When our son was a little boy, we were intrigued by the notion of supporting specific indigenous children through educational sponsorship, food aid, and gifts. Over the years, we sent both funds and care packages to these children and their families, and we were rewarded with photos and letters of thanks. We built such close ties that we traveled to Guatemala on many occasions to visit and distribute gifts, much like a fairy godmother would do. I was, in fact, called “madrina” (godmother) on many occasions, even by elderly women who deserved far more respect than I did.

It is in this hallowed year of 2020, where terms like dignity and privilege and equity and agency have taken on a greater depth of meaning, that I reflect upon our past giving patterns and make the very deliberate switch to unrestricted giving in the future.

I know that I have a good heart and that I act with the best of intentions, but – somewhere along the journey – my ego got the best of me and I imposed my own wishes upon the fellow humans that I had pledged to support. I “lifted them up” with the things that I thought they needed… the things that I assumed would make their lives brighter. At times, I was offered a menu of gift choices, and I made my selection as if I was ordering ice cream cones for my kids at the scoop shop window, speaking on their behalf.

In their book, “Doing Good… Says Who?” my friends and authors Connie Newton and the late, great Fran Early share a quote from a local Mayan woman whom they interviewed for their research. She said with such profound grace, “Just because I have less, does not mean that I am less.” I fear that, through my directed giving, I may have made people feel marginalized. That through my picture taking and story-telling, I may have stripped them of their dignity. That I was so lost in being a madrina, that I never saw myself as a peer.

Becoming the sail…

Although things look different now from my rearview mirror, I will always be thankful for the opportunity to have helped sponsored children, families and elders over the years. But now I’m ready for Phase II. Rather than impact an individual student, I would like to help support a school or a tutoring program. Rather than focus on a specific family, I would like to help support a community. Instead of being an anchor, I would like to become the sail.

The organization that we have supported all these years has undergone a major shift in how they deliver services, empowering local staff and local leaders to evaluate and assess needs and ensuring that resources are directed where they are most needed. Large project opportunities are determined by community rather than donors, creating partnership and trust and honoring culture. And, the organization’s mission and vision are now laser focused on just three programs: education, nutrition and health, and economic development. Their once micro approach has become macro, realizing that there can only be generational impact when communities are transformed together.

It’s funny. Our connection to Guatemala began through our son, but now it seemingly carries more meaning for us than it does for him. With no strings attached, we will continue to support organizations in Guatemala that do great work. We don’t need thank you notes or pictures or plaques on walls or fireworks. We simply want to add to the collective pool of resources that helps that great work get done. That’s enough. It always was.

All I've Ever Known

As a child, it’s all I ever knew…

Faces like mine with names like mine in houses like mine.

History lessons that I never thought to question.

Leadership that I trusted.

Movies and television that told familiar stories.

Advertisements that appealed to me.

News reports that seemed normal.

A feeling of safety in my own community.

A sense of caution when venturing out.

And then I entered into adulthood…

The world became bigger, but it was still the same.

Friends, neighbors, and colleagues looked like me.

I didn’t feel compelled to try new things…

Not out of spite, but simply out of routine.

Same food and culture.

Same hobbies and interests.

Same travel and exploration.

Same network of like people.

Same blindness to what lay beyond.

But then the world changed and my eyes  opened…

And I felt it all.

Shame.

Fear.

Ignorance.

How did I not see the injustice and exclusion?

Why was it suddenly so obvious and real?

And why doesn’t everybody see what I see?

My heart is hurting and I am ready to act.

But I am afraid.

I feel heavy with guilt.

I feel nervous to speak.

I feel culpable and complicit.

But my intentions are pure.

I don’t seek attention or praise.

I don’t wish to cause frustration or pain.

I don’t want to be a burden.

I know that I must forge my own path beside you.
I want to lend my voice to yours.

I hope that you will allow me that privilege.

I pray that you will feel my authenticity.

And I beg your forgiveness.

It’s all I’ve ever known. But now I know better.

Parenting Through Poverty vs. Pandemic

During this very week, in the years 2013, 2014, and 2017, our family of six accepted the challenge to experience food insecurity.  Inspired by the documentary, Living on One Dollar, filmed in the highlands of rural Guatemala, we committed to limiting the quantity, quality and choice of the food that we would consume over a five day period. It was hard, both physically and emotionally, and I find myself – in this moment of quarantine and caution – comparing the motherly stress of parenting through poverty vs. parenting through pandemic. For our family, poverty was the harder test.

Full disclosure here… We are all healthy, and we are fully engaged in both work and school. Miraculously, we have not been economically impacted. And, as an added bonus, we are not missing out on once-in-a-lifetime events like graduations or weddings, nor are we mandatorily separated from a family member who is at high risk or ill. Truly, we are abundantly blessed, and we are surrounded by a significant percentage of families whose biggest debates, like ours, revolve around which new dinner recipe to try and what movie to watch on Saturday night. We, collectively, are so darn lucky.

What is the instinct of the mama bear?

To comfort and protect.

Last week, one of my kids told my neighbor that I was being an extra good mother… and that it was weird. I think she may be right on both counts. Like no other time in my parenthood journey have I been more attentive to my kids. I’m baking and cooking on the daily (homemade pretzels… twice)!  I am being fun and funny, patient and accommodating (or, at the very least, I am consciously trying harder). I have returned to nesting mode and am slowly tackling projects and experiencing palpable joy with each achievement. Together with my beloved, we are wrapping our children in a blanket of security and reassurance and hope. Light and love are at home here… along with a new trampoline.

So how does living in the midst of a pandemic, gifted with all necessary resources, compare to living below the line of poverty? During those three distinct weeks of our food challenges, I have never felt more vulnerable and inadequate. I remember welling up as I counted 9 small pretzel sticks for each child’s school snack. And the sawdust taste of the generic cheese blend that we used to flavor our plain pasta. And the craving for protein and fresh fruits and vegetables... and treats. And the statement by my daughter that she didn’t wish to invite a friend to our house because we were poor that week and she was embarrassed by what little we could offer. And the worry that they would not do well in their studies because hunger was impeding their concentration. And witnessing their willingness to share when one needed more than the other… and feeling unworthy of their love for not being able to provide enough. And returning to the market at the end of the challenge, weeping as I savored each choice and relished no limitations. Be reminded that, during these three weeks, only our food intake was impacted. We still had shelter, clothing, access to medical care and transportation… we still collected income and attended school, and yet I felt like I had entirely failed my family. The weight and the darkness of those three weeks sits especially heavy on my heart, because I am now experiencing gratitude on an entirely new level.

Privilege

There was a time when I felt resentment toward the word “privilege,” like it somehow discounted the value that I had placed on attaining stability and that it begrudged the random chance that my soul was placed in a vessel that had access to every advantage. Now, I use it as a reminder to withhold judgement and offer grace.

I have experienced only short, temporary moments of economic disadvantage. Plentiful resources are at my fingertips and, should adversity strike, I have rainy day options. In case of downpour, a network of peers will, with certainty, captain our rescue boat. I have privilege.

And so I will not judge those whose economic footing is shaky and who fall asleep each night worrying about how to feed their children’s empty bellies or how to pay their bills. I will not argue with them, from the comfort of my couch, that we should stay inside until September and keep non-essential businesses closed indefinitely. I will not take away from them their potential to be the strongest mama bears that they can be… to have the means to offer comfort and protection to those they love. I simply will not.

My observation has been that actions taken and words chosen in this moment are simply a reflection of each individual’s values and fears. And so it entirely crushes me to watch fellow people of privilege use every platform available to belittle, to name call, to threaten, and to bully… as if their own well-being is worthy of elevation over others. The measurement on the rating scale for self-importance and self-preservation is dishearteningly through the roof. Thank goodness for the countless acts of kindness that serve not only to lift up but also to wash away some of the shame.

Like many, I’ve had considerable time to think over the past month, and – other than the utter disappointment in humanity – I am in a solid emotional space. I recognize my privilege and express gratitude in ways that makes my heart sing and has positive impact on others. I am doing my part to provide “quarinspiration” and to toss little nuggets of love out into the universe. I know it's my calling, but I also feel that it is my duty. "To whom much is given... "

Next Tuesday is #GivingTuesdayNow, an opportunity to financially support local, national and global service providers and their outreach to the most vulnerable among us. I hope that you will recognize an organization whose work you admire with a donation that is meaningful to you.

And, for those who are looking for your next great Amazon Prime pick, please consider watching Living On One Dollar and meet a few of my remarkable friends. Maybe you, too, will find yourself inspired to personally experience living below the line.

Pandemic or Poverty?
Everyone is worthy of rescue.
We are all in different boats, aren’t we? But if you’re floating in one that has any sort of dinghy attached to it, then you truly must count your blessings… and perhaps gently toss out a life ring to the many who are simply trying to tread water. Peace and love and compassion to all.

@bethechangebeth

COVID-19 Cancellation Suckiness Curve

On my trips to the market to replenish supplies for the 6 people and 2 dogs living under our roof, I undoubtedly bump into someone I know who asks how our family is holding up. And, each time I’m asked, I think about how truly blessed we are.

Yes… We have two high schoolers who are engaged with online lessons from 8am-2pm each day, and we have a college student who has moved home from out-of-state to complete her semester virtually, and we have a fully employed daughter who has taken over our home office and is working remotely. (Let’s not forget the husband who is bouncing between home and office.)  And the second dog… She’s a 10 week old puppy. (Dog humans: Need I say more?) The house rarely sees this much activity, and – I’ll have to admit – we’re not always the kindest and most thoughtful crew, but we are weathering this storm together.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the impact that the COVID-19 virus is having on the universe, especially as it relates to our interactions with one another and everything that has been outright cancelled or postponed in order to flatten the curve. It seems to me that the “suckiness” factor of the cancellation falls into one of three categories: (1) inconvenient, (2) depressing, and (3) life-altering.  I’m here to share my personal opinion that, if you haven’t been impacted in a life-altering way, then please… take a seat.

The grid below is certainly different for each and every one of us, but this is my take. Was I bummed that I won’t be the March Madness winner in my family this year?  You bet.  And was I really looking forward to our family cruise (no joke) departing from Rome (yes, the one in Italy) in June?   I sure was.   But, if we continue to be blessed with health, there will indeed be future opportunities to travel and I will – yet again – pick the perfect brackets based solely on how much I enjoy the state (thank you, lovely people of Utah) or saying the name of the college (Gonzaga, Gonzaga, Gonzaga).

My personal interpretation....  Yours would be different, for sure and certain.

How are you looking at our current situation? Have you taken up residence in the bitter barn or are you counting your lucky stars and doing your part to keep your community safe?

Is it likely that you will come out on the other side of this pandemic with health and hope? Then that, indeed, should be enough.

Perspective. May we all have it or be open to finding it.

@bethechangebeth

When Suffering is a Good Thing

$57 worth of food (and our dog, Daisy)

It goes without saying that I’m not a doting mother. Many assume that, because I adopted many of my children, I must be a saint who wants nothing short of heavenly experiences for my brood.  In fact, the opposite is true.  I want them to suffer.

I want my kids to experience disappointment.  I want them to be the last of their friends to get the latest technology.  I want them to receive a very conservative amount of gifts for celebrations (or – in some cases – no gifts at all).  And, for one week each year, I want them to feel the pangs of hunger.

With limited enthusiasm, we registered to participate in the Mayan Families One Day 1.90 food challenge. You see, this wasn’t our first rodeo. We had participated in the Living Below The Line challenge on two previous occasions, so we knew all too well what our week would be like.  It’s not fun.  For anyone.

But, because of our absolute love and commitment to Guatemala AND because of this mama’s obsession with “Be the change you want to see in the world…”, I essentially guilted my four children into accepting the challenge yet again. (Thank you, sweet husband Jay, for standing in solidarity with me, as always.)

So, what exactly is this challenge?  Simply, it is to survive at the International Poverty Line of $1.90 (per person) each day for five consecutive days. For our family of six, this equates to a Monday thru Friday budget of a mere $57. As a reference, a dine out night at Chili’s typically runs us about $100, and our average weekly grocery bill is a very conservative $250. Because this week’s challenge budget is extra tight, it translates to… no bottled water, no fast food, no social eating, no restaurants, no fancy coffees, no baking, no purchases of school lunches, no beverages other than tap water, and no treats/desserts of any kind.  Lots and lots of no’s, nopes, and nuh-uhs.

I won’t lie. This week has been hard for all of us.  I think our boys, Luke (13) and Will (12), have been hit hardest, as their typical appetites are insatiable and our Lucas loves his protein. That said, they have been real troopers.  They have even refused food sharing offers from their friends at the school cafeteria lunch table. Now that’s commitment!  And how sweet of their friends to offer.

What have we learned this week? (Prepare yourself for our Top 10 List!)

(10) We have learned that, when you are poor, you shop the aisles rather than the perimeter of the store. (Those of us who have attempted healthy eating plans have often been told to avoid the aisles and shop the perimeter in order to achieve better nutrition.)(9) We have realized that there is no room in a poverty level budget for brand name items (bye-bye Skippy, hello store brand), and don’t even think about cage free eggs or organic produce.(8) Speaking of produce… Cross it off of your grocery list, because you can likely only afford bananas and onions.
(7) And bulk… Buying in bulk saves you pennies, and every penny counts. Individual snack packs – though they are cute and fun and easy to grab - are not an option.(6) We have experienced lack of variety in our meal plan. Same breakfast each day (bulk cereal). Same lunch each day (sandwich on white bread with 20 pretzel sticks). Two alternating dinners (pasta and canned sauce or chicken/beans/rice/corn). Our palates are craving something new.(5) And I think we have all been dehydrated this week. Tap water tastes gross when you are accustomed to the options of juice or soda or iced tea or coffee OR spring water. We definitely have not been drinking enough, and I have had caffeine withdrawal headaches all week.(4) Oh… And our blood pressure may be a bit on the high side because we are salting EVERYTHING.(3) We have been sad to decline lots of social opportunities this week as well, because we don’t have funds to meet a friend for lunch or a cocktail or even an ice cream cone.(2) Interestingly, we have created far less trash this week. Not much extra packaging to toss when you buy in bulk. (You’re welcome, planet Earth.)And the #1 thing that we learned this week…

(1) When you are poor, you are better at sharing. I can’t fully explain it, but our kiddos – who normally help themselves to generous portions of food – instead took a modest serving of each meal to ensure that everyone had enough. It wasn’t until all of us felt this week’s version of “satisfaction” (never, ever a sense of proper fullness) that anyone inquired about second helpings. A beautiful sight to behold.

The Benefits of Suffering

So, why is suffering a good thing?  You know the answer, silly! 

“To understand the man, you must first walk a mile in his moccasins.” ~ Native American Proverb

It isn’t enough for my children to learn about hunger… to read the statistics that 750 million people live on less than $1.90 every single day of their entire lives… and that our beloved Guatemala, birthplace of our youngest child, has the fourth highest rate of childhood malnutrition in the world… We wanted our children to FEEL it… to SUFFER like they suffer… to indeed WALK in their shoes.

Don’t pity us.  We had but five days of this experience, and our $1.90 only covered food and not all of life’s other expenses.  The McFadyens had clothing and shelter and transportation and education and medical coverage and everything else that makes one feel secure.  We simply experienced hunger… not fear and desperation.

Suffering with hunger this week helped my children to understand how ridiculously blessed they are (even if they can’t have a cell phone until age 13). It made them better “carers and sharers.” It educated them with a physically and emotionally altering experience that cannot be found in a text book or even on a mission trip. This week, their personal suffering helped them to grow as Citizens of the World.

At least a dozen people this week offered praise and gave us credit for attempting something that they claim they could never do themselves. To those people and to all who read this, I offer you a modified food challenge… Maybe five days is too much for you. Perhaps counting pennies feels overwhelming. But could you guesstimate the amount of money you spend on dining out for a week, simply abstain from it and then donate that equivalent to the hungry?  Or skip Dunkin’s and Starbucks on days beginning with “T”?  Or pack your lunch for the week? Or buy store brands vs. name brands? Could you make one simple change for a short period of time and donate those savings to fight hunger?  Hey… And, if all that seems unrealistic, maybe you could make a straight out donation instead.  (Here’s the link.)

It’s dinnertime now. We’re on Day 5 of our challenge and the two 1 lb. boxes of 0.89 pasta are coming to a boil. We made it through the week with four slices of white bread and a can of tuna to spare. Some of us have lost some weight. Others of us have super confused bodies that are somehow holding on to all of those carb calories. We’re grouchy and have headaches and can hardly wait until our breakfast feast.

After dinner, I will trek to the market on this appropriately rainy night to buy food for the weekend. The kids have made all sorts of special requests, mostly for fresh fruit and desserts and General Tso’s chicken. I expect, as I have in years past, to get a bit teary as I peruse the aisles AND perimeter and am able to add anything of my choice to the basket. Today, I will be carrying those 750 million people who are not as fortunate in my heart.

I hope that reading this post inspires you to take some action of some sort. Be it a grand gesture or a simple modification, you too have the opportunity to…

“Be the change you want to see in the world.”

God Bless Those Who Hunger…

If you would like to make a donation to the Mayan Families One Day 1.90 Challenge, please visit this link. 

Christmas Mission Trip 2014

 

Be The Change...

Auntie Joan

I can’t remember when I first read the life affirming quote from Ghandi, “Be the change you want to see in the world,” but I can quickly tell you the name of the person in my life who has most exemplified it.  Her name is Joan Dunlevy and she was my Aunt.

Auntie Joan was a rebel.  She had spunk and charisma and passion and the cutest rosy cheeks… all of the necessary traits required to get things done.  Over the years, I was blessed to watch her “work her magic” as a leader not only in our family but in our community as well.  I was simply in awe of her, and I am ever so grateful for the influence that she has had on my life.

She was mother to eight children, a registered nurse, our town’s first female Chairperson of the Board of Selectman, and so much more.  Whenever an opportunity presented itself to make something better, she never hesitated to take action… creating Tewksbury’s first drug awareness program, building a new school and fire station and police station, welcoming my Nana to live with her as she battled Parkinson’s disease, coaching me on strategies to convince my Dad to quit smoking… She had a hand in so many amazing transformations.  She was, indeed, “the change.”

I always loved my visits with her.  Auntie Joan had a wonderful memory and delighted in sharing the details of all of her adventures.  Her laugh couldn’t help but warm your heart as it sprang from her soul.  But she had lessons to share, as well.  She was the first to tell me that, “God gives the heaviest burdens to those who can bear the cross.”  At first, I saw it as a message about sheer strength… that our Almighty would only give us as much as we could handle.  But, as I reflect upon the exemplary life that my Aunt led, I now know that it is about responsibility.  God expects us to do good things in this world, and those of us who hear His call are charged to rise up.

No one “rose up” better than my Auntie Joan.  As we say our goodbyes to her in the coming days, I feel all the more committed to living a servant life, as she did.  God bless the change makers.  God bless Joan Dunlevy.

Remembering Dad on his Birthday

Richard Patterson, 1941-2015

We're experiencing another "first" today... Dad's first birthday since his sudden passing in January. He would have been 74 years old today.

Like many of you who have lost a parent, I find myself still in disbelief that he is gone.  Last year, on this day, I was preparing for his lobster-themed birthday party at my house.  He LOVED a good meal, and I always tried to impress him with a new recipe or an old favorite.  His rating scale was "not bad" to "that was excellent, Bethy," and the fact that there were fewer of the latter was his way of coaxing me into making more goodies for him.  There was no one that I wanted to impress more. No one.

Today, almost six months after his passing, I am aching for the comforts of home while I am living abroad... I want to be in my Tewksbury kitchen baking a cake for my Dad.  I want to visit the cemetery and have myself a good cry.  I want to hug my Mom and Brother, knowing that we all share that same deep sense of emptiness today.  Instead, we'll be honoring Dad today with a trip to a local farm where we will pick berries, just like we did with him most every summer.

I never shared our Eulogy to our Dad, but today seems like a perfect time to do so.  If you knew him, I hope that you feel like this captures his essence, and - if you didn't know him - I hope that you feel as though you now do.  He was indeed an amazing man and a wonderful Dad.  Read on to learn more...

Remembering Our Dad

Ask anyone and they will tell you that Richard Patterson was a great guy.  If you are a friend or family member from his early years, you may have known him as Rich or even Richie.  Once he entered the working world and married life, he became Dick or – to dozens of children who are now adults – Uncle Dick.  And, although he had every intention of eventually becoming Grandpa, his eldest grandchild named him Papa instead.  No matter how you knew him or what you called him, he was truly one of the most likeable people we all ever knew.

Our Dad had an amazing life and, although we are all deeply saddened that he left us too soon, he would be the first to remind us how grateful he was for each and every year.  Just last week, as we sat together in his hospital room and discussed his heart problems and the possibility of lung cancer, he said… “You know, Bethy, I have a unique perspective from most people.  I survived cancer and have been lucky to enjoy twenty years of my life that I thought I’d never have.”

And enjoy them he did…

As many of you know, Dad was offered an early retirement from the Gillette Company after his successful battle with colon cancer.  In their early 50s, he and Mom wasted no time enjoying all of the things that so many people must wait until their late 60s and 70s to do.  They were able to travel together and find special destinations that they would return to year after year.  Dad volunteered his time to serve on Wilmington’s Conservation Commission and loved doing site visits and prepping for his hearings.  He was also incredibly passionate about childhood cancers caused by pollution, and he was instrumental in advocating for compensation for local victims.  Dad was never a boastful man, but when we spoke about his meetings and the outcomes, I could see how proud he was to be part of the team that was making things right.

The top item on his fun list, of course, was golf.  Dad loved to play with his Gillette pals and would print out the tally of how many beers he had won after every game.  His cardiac doctor joked that most of his patients would come to their appointments with papers outlining their blood pressure and medications, but Dad would simply bring his golf card and a smile.  He inherited his love of gardening from his own Dad and was quick to complement me on how well I grew my weeds and the search and rescue mission that was required to find my cucumbers.  He had a great sense of humor, didn’t he?

Since becoming a Papa, one of his greatest joys was spending time with his seven grandchildren.  He absolutely loved to watch the kids play sports and simply glowed when they hit a homerun, scored a goal or shot a basket.  Nana and Papa’s house is famous for sleepovers and you know one is in progress when he answers the phone saying “Disaster Control.”  The non-stop fun (and mess) includes things like making potions in the kitchen, building tents, playing whiffle ball or soccer, swimming, coloring in Cosmo’s Place, painting, baking… you name it.  There was no doubt that he spoiled his grandchildren, but he was careful not to spoil us.

When our Dad was studying at UMASS Amherst, his father had a heart attack and Dad strongly considered quitting college and returning home to Woburn to support his parents.  He was so grateful to be able to continue his education, but that fear stuck with him and inspired him to be financially secure.  As we were growing up, Dad instilled in us a very strong work ethic and taught us how to be responsible with money.  He insisted that we significantly contribute to the cost of our college education, and he explained that credit cards absolutely must be paid in full each month.  Dad was always interested in hearing about a promotion or a job interview or a new opportunity… both for us and our spouses… and you could almost see in him a sense of relief that we would likely never experience the fear that he had experienced as a young man.  We truly credit his wisdom with helping us to be able to provide for our families, and we expect to pass those lessons on to our own children.

Our Dad was a low-key, easy going guy who took great delight in striking up conversations with friends and family and even strangers.  Unless you were a telemarketer (God help them), he genuinely enjoyed a good chat.  Many of you have fond memories of a particular topic that he would revisit time and again.  For Ellen Money, it was the perpetual request for her to make him a jelly roll, and for Sheila Burke it was always talk about Boston College, and for our dear Auntie Janet, he was constantly angling for some of her world famous meatballs.  For a long time, I would roll my eyes and think that he sounded like a broken record, but then I realized that that was not the case at all.  He valued his connection with you, and it was his unique way of making you feel special.  We hope you did.

It seems almost criminal that this memorial service should be held on the day before his beloved New England Patriots win the Super Bowl.  He watched the championship game from his hospital bed less than two weeks ago and was incredibly excited for tomorrow’s game.  Although he treated his grandchildren to several Patriots games in Foxboro, his preference was to watch the game alone – uninterrupted – with his sleeves rolled up and his pants hiked up to his knees.  Football was most definitely his favorite sport, and everyone knew it. 

Two of Dad’s sweet nieces, Joy and Julie, traveled down from Maine on Monday with a Patriots fleece blanket that they had made especially for him.  After a series of ups and downs since being readmitted to the hospital nearly a week earlier, Dad took a turn for the worse that morning and was quickly declining.  When we saw the cozy blanket, we immediately placed it over Dad and shared our messages of love with him over and over again.  We played a beautiful song called “Seagull” and – in the last few seconds of the song – our Dad peacefully passed away.  We share that image with you not to make you sad, but to help you to understand how simply perfectly our Dad left us to go to an even more wonderful place.  There is absolutely no doubt that he felt our love surrounding him and that he was grateful for what he considered to be an incredibly full and blessed life.

There are countless lessons that we have learned from our Dad, but among the most important are to be thankful for each and every day, to take time to enjoy the people in your life and make each one of them feel special, and to always, no matter what the controversy… be a loyal Patriots fan.

Three cheers for Richard, Rich, Richie, Dick, Uncle Dick, and Papa Patterson. 

We love you, Dad, and we will proudly carry on your legacy.