Davis - Mourning has broken: love, loss and reclaiming joy

Lauren and Colin, Christmas 2014

M AYBE IT IS, AS WRITER J OAN D IDION SO aptly put it, the magical thinking of those who grievethe stories we tell ourselves in order to survivebut in the days and months and years that have added up since the morning our world stopped turning, my husband and I have come to believe that we somehow knew deep down that our time with our only child would be far too short. Perhaps thats why, when she left us, we sought consolation in something with which so many who lose loved ones are not blessed: the absolute surety that we had left no loving word unsaid, no meaningful shared experience denied. In fact, my final tweet about Lauren pared down to 136 characters just some of the immense love and pride I felt on that special May 10, our daughters very first Mothers Day.

Nothing has made me feel more like a mother than witnessing our daughter @laurenonair grow into the role. So rewarding. #HappyMothersDay

Rob and I called our only child our limited edition. Just how limited we would find out via a phone call that came in the early hours of the very next morning.

Like her baby, who beamed often and easily, Lauren had been a happy child. Her disposition was as bright as her blonde curls; she loved to sing and lived to make us laugh. Now she was learning that life could hold even more happiness than shed ever imagined. In a daily internet blog read and heard (in an optional audio version) by thousands of my radio shows listeners, Lauren agreed to answer some questions in the lead-up to her first Mothers Day. Although she sometimes rolled her eyes and graciously passed when I asked her to share the airwaves with me (I thought a mother/daughter podcast would be a great idea if we could figure out the geographical logistics), she surprised me a little by saying yes to this request.

I believe that in becoming a mother herself, our daughter began to understand me as more than just the local celebrity shed grown up with in Toronto. Her sons birth had brought with it, as all births do, a newly added layer of responsibility for and bonding with this little human. Experiencing this meant Lauren was only now beginning to relate to the depths of my love for her, and to understand the ache that simmered in me constantly as I watched her, her loving and tender husband, and their sweet son live their lives a four-hour drive from us.

Just as Lauren saw me in a different, softer, closer light, I was seeing in our twenty-four-year-old daughter further fulfillment of the promise shed shown from the earliest days of her life, when she shimmered with intelligence, wit and musical brilliance.

We accomplished our audio interview by recording it separately, from two different cities at different times, but very much from the heart and in the most modern of ways. I wrote questions and emailed them to her; she recorded her responses into her own microphone at home, put them into an audio file and sent them back to me. Lucky for me, I had in my home the handiest of handymen: my husband since 1988, Rob, was a radio producer. He seamlessly cut together my recorded questions and our daughters answers, and together the three of us, in our last collaboration, shared our special Mothers Day interview at www.erindavis.com/erin-s-journals/may-8-2015/just-thought.

First, I asked what Colin had given to her.

Pure joy! He is such a happy babyhis smile is contagious and weve already shared so many laughs together over the silliest things.

Hell cry to wake me up in the morning, but as soon as I poke my head over the side of the crib, his face just lights up. Even when weve had a trying night with Colin, that little dimple will make me forget any frustration weve had at 2 a.m. My husband, Phil, and I talk almost on a daily basis about how blessed we are to have him in our lives.

Colin had been the answer to a prayer that had been whispered for generations in his fathers family. He was the first son of a first son of a first son in a chain that can be traced through Japanese history back to the tenth century and Emperor Shirakawa, or so family lore has it. But his nickname, Coconut, was admittedly not quite as noble. As a baby, Colins mother had become Peanutty; Coco, therefore, just seemed a natural fit for her son! And so it was that Laurens Mothers Day gift from her adoring husband was a small ceramic coconut, brightly painted and hanging on a delicate chain. I had found it on a craft site and suggested it to Phil, who agreed that it was perfect and ordered it months in advance. She wore it proudly in the family picture she posted on Facebook that day, along with these words:

Happy Mothers Day to my mom, Erinmy advisor, mentor and confidanteand thank you to my boys, Phil and Colin, for making me feel like a queen every day of the year.

Lauren was young, energetic and embracing a full, happy life with her new husband and their soon-to-be seven-month-old son, Colin. When she stepped away from her job as midday news anchor on Ottawas news and talk radio station, Phil dove in even further to help them make their mortgage payments, juggling three jobs, six days a week. No wonder he was exhausted whenever we came for a visit. But he never complained; marriage and family life were sources of great fulfillment for this soft-spoken thirty-year-old who shared the same passion for radio that his wife and parents-in-law had long held. The plan, moving forward, was for Phil to take over as a full-time stay-at-home father once Lauren returned to her job. Just as she had followed in my footsteps, Phil would be following in his father-in-laws, taking on a role that had given Rob feelings of tremendous satisfaction and accomplishment.

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L AUREN and Phil looked forward to Sundays as their day to run errands, to unplug and to reconnect with each other. But this one was even more special as their little family celebrated its first Mothers Day.