The Unexpected Gifts

The ink hadn’t quite dried on the mortgage loan papers when my son Andy began working on our new-to-us home. He set to work, power washing and painting. He offered to install backsplash tile in the kitchen. He was like me and neither one of us could stand the look of the existing 4×4 stone tiles. The dreadful tiles had been previously glued—literally—to the kitchen walls with no grout in between the uneven, wide gaps. They were just plain ugly.

So, I purchased several boxes of horizontal backsplash tiles. I was certain the sage green color from the glass tiles would match harmoniously with the freshly painted walls. The white grout would pick up the bright white crown molding, chair rails and baseboards.

I gave my son instructions to make sure the tiles did not go pass the wall cabinets. And almost all of that time when I was explaining about how I wanted the job done, I got a blank stare.

“But…” Andy stopped midway. Then there was a long pause, like he didn’t know what to say next.

I smiled. “But what?” I gestured for him to continue.

“But that’s a lot more work,” Andy grumbled and then rolled his eyes. 

My smile grew wider. “It’s called ‘doing the job right.’”

The kitchen was going to be the beating heart of our home, so it was important to have the backsplash done right.

Andy returned to his Ohio home after he finished working on our entire home. He did one heckuva beautiful job before he left. The backsplash was done brilliantly. The way that Andy applied the tiles in the corners, was nothing short of brilliant. My first-born son promised to visit often, but life kept him busy. He was a talented home remodeler. When he wasn’t installing floors, or backsplashes, painting, installing cement driveways, sidewalks, and patios, he was tending bar. Andy would roll up his sleeves and pitch in whenever anyone, stranger or friend, needed a hand. In between my son found time to run, workout, and fish.

To look at me you wouldn’t know that part of my story, but hidden behind my smile is a deep pain that walks with me every day. You see, three years after Andy finished installing our beautiful backsplash, I received a bewildering telephone call. “Andy is missing in Lake Erie.” No words could have penetrated me more than those. “Andy. Nooooo,” I sobbed. And then I heard a wail. It was loud and long. Something in me snapped. At some point, I realized, with horror, that the wailing sound was me.

My son went Walleye fishing with three others that day. The boat capsized. All four drowned.  Andy’s body wasn’t found until 22-days later. I thought, who goes fishing when the weather and water is freezing cold? Andy had gone ice fishing two weeks earlier on a lake that had frozen over. And he caught a huge Walleye. In fact, I have a photo of him holding up the Walleye, while smiling at the camera. He was an excellent fisherman. But because the water was morbidly cold, Andy died of hypothermia in minutes, and then his body sunk to the bottom of Lake Erie. I couldn’t know then that the picture of Andy smiling with the hulking behemoth trophy fish would be the last photo taken of him.

I may laugh, joke, and present the appearance of someone that’s happy, but deep down is a sadness that will never leave. The deep pain of grief after losing my son, someone so special, so loved, makes my heart physically hurt.

After Hurricane Ian we had to redo our kitchen. My husband and I agreed to lower the bar-height wall in the kitchen, which meant we’d lose Andy’s tile backsplash handiwork. I’m not lying when I say it pained me to watch the demolition guys carry large sections of the backsplash out of our home. None of the glass tiles had crumbled. The tiles were still flawless. But then I knew the love I had for Andy wasn’t in the work he’d done, but in my heart. Someday we’ll meet again. I don’t know when, but we’ll meet again. Until then, I’ll keep my son in my heart.

Recently I received a call from Mark Kemeny, the owner of the company I retired from. Through the cellphone, I heard Mark’s friendly voice, “Are you home? If it’s okay, I’d like to stop by.”

Mark and his wife, Kathy, arrived 10-minutes later. Mark braced something close to his chest while Kathy carried a red cloth bag. I recognized the bag with Mark and Kathy’s company logo printed in black ink: Just Counters & Cabinets & other stuff.

“We have something for you.” Then they set two items on the kitchen countertop. I had not expected that.