It’s What’s On the Honey Jar, Not What’s In It

Going back 2 years . . . .

The weekend of October 15th my daughters had a marching band competition at the Pontiac Super Dome in Michigan. Their performance time was 10:30am. My sister, Sam, happens to live just 10 minutes from there so after weeks of firing emails back and forth, we came up with a plan. After Friday night’s football game, my girls would be transported to MI by charter bus with the marching band. Saturday morning at 4:00am Jerry, Zach and I would head off to MI and arrive at my sister’s house around 8:00am. We’d have breakfast together and then Sam, Jerry and I would go to the Dome to see the girls perform. Zach would stay at my sister’s to entertain his cousin. It was simple, it was clean – it was a plan.

The Friday night before we were to leave, I was saddened by the news that my boss’ brother, Todd Weaver, had been killed in a bus accident. Though I didn’t personally know Todd, I did know the impact this would have on the Weaver family. I knew how close Mark, my boss, was to his brother. After receiving the news, it was already late and I had to leave early in the morning so I decided to proceed with my trip as planned and try to reach Mark later in the weekend.

When my family travels, my husband does most of the driving while I assist with the navigation. I usually read the maps and directions, look out for signs, exits, etc. It was about 7:30am on Saturday and we were getting near the exit to my sister’s house. I was watching the signs when my cell phone rang. It was Mark. He asked for a favor. It was strange that he called at that particular time because during the entire trip, thoughts of the Weaver family weighted my heart. As I drove to my sister’s house for a casual visit, Mark drove to his brother’s house to assist with funeral arrangements and console a grieving widow. Thoughts of the tables being turned made the Weaver tragedy more real to me. I understood the place Mark was in.

Mark’s mother and her husband, Judith and Gerry Mullen, were vacationing in Texas and the family had not been able to reach them. Mark asked me to make travel arrangements for them to fly from San Antonia, Texas to Charlotte, NC. The problem was, since the family had not yet been able to reach Mr. & Mrs. Mullen, Mark did not know when they would be flying out of Texas. I told Mark I’d take care of everything. I was honored to be entrusted with such a responsibility and I was glad to be of some assistance to the Weaver family. After taking down the necessary information from Mark, I hung up. My husband, sensing the importance of the call, did not try to interrupt me for directions. He just kept driving. When I was finished with the call I looked up and said, “Where are we? I need to get to a computer right away.” My husband wasn’t sure so we got off at the next exit. I looked at the map and I couldn’t get a feel for where we were. We drove around a bit until we finally stopped in a parking lot. I called my sister and after explaining to her where we were and why we got off course she said, “You know that famous rapper that’s from a rough part of Detroit? ….. Well, that’s where you are right now. That’s not the best place for you to be so start driving as we talk so you’re not just sitting there in a parking lot.” Before giving us directions to get to her house, I explained what I needed to do for Mark and asked her to get the ball rolling for me.

We arrived at my sister’s house about 8:45am. Not only were we off schedule, I was in an emotional panic. I knew that once Mrs. Mullen heard the tragic news, I needed to get her out of Texas ASAP. The last thing that woman needed was to sit around with nothing to do. I knew she needed to be embraced by her family – especially her son -- as soon as possible. Earlier I vicariously grieved for Mark from the heart of a sister but now, now my maternal mode kicked in and here I was vicariously grieving with a mother. I wanted to be ready for her. I wanted to have everything in place once I got Mark’s second call. I’m in a panic but also, I just walked into a zoo! My nieces and nephew met me at the door running, screaming and jumping into my arms. My sister was in the midst of preparing breakfast for 8 people and looking up flight information and we needed to leave by 9:30am to get to the Dome. Picking up where my sister left off, I spent the next 30 minutes making tentative flight reservations departing San Antonia about every hour. I had confirmation numbers so as soon as the Mullens were ready, all I had to do is call the airline with the credit card information and everything would be set. We then left for the Dome.

When we got to the Dome there were two bands that would perform before my daughters went on. No sooner than we got situated in our seats, my cell phone rang. It was Mark. There was a band currently playing so I jumped up so I could get to a quieter place. I didn’t want Mark to know where I was because I didn’t want him to think he was imposing on me. There was nothing about this mission that was an imposition. But also, just for practicality, I needed to get to a quieter place so I could talk to Mark. I’m running back up the stands with my eyes darting to and fro looking for a quiet place I could slip into. I’m in a Super Dome, for goodness sakes – a place that wasn’t exactly designed for quiet somber conversations. I slip behind a concession stand that was not in use and duck behind the nacho machine. As Mark is talking I’m hearing what he’s saying but over and over my heart is saying to me, “Just minutes ago, a mother learned her son has been killed.” I never met Mrs. Mullen but in that moment, unknown to her, I was with her. Then I focused on one word – Dallas. The Mullens needed to fly out of Dallas and all of my reservations were for San Antonia. I finished the conversation with Mark and knew I had to get to a quiet place to make these phone calls to the airlines. I grabbed the paper out of my pocket with all of my confirmation numbers and head towards a door. I’m suddenly stopped by security, “I’m sorry Miss. You can’t go passed this barrier.” I pleaded with the man to let me through. I was literally an arm’s reach from the outside door and I could see a very private quiet spot I could go to. I tried to explain the situation but --- to no avail. The only door open to the public is at the very back of the dome, I’m currently at the front. Over and over my heart is telling me, “Just minutes ago, a mother learned her son has been killed. You need to get her to her family.” I slip back behind the nacho machine and start calling the airlines.

The airlines were anything but helpful. I could not get the bereavement rate without confirming information which I did not have. I could not book a one-way because with heightened security such as it is, you can imagine how suspicious this sounded, “No, I am not the traveler. Yes, it’s just one-way. The traveler lives in VA, not TX. Yes, she’s going to NC. No, I’m in OH. No, this is not my credit card. It’s my boss’. Well, he’s in NC but he lives in OH. No, the party does not want to return to TX………………..” I’m so glad Mark thought ahead enough to have me do this because there’s no way a person in the midst of shock and grief could have handled this red tape madness. After going around and around with several different airlines and agents I finally get a lady who was very understanding and tried her best to help me. I was on the phone with her for about 25 minutes and after getting all of the arrangements settled, she asked for the credit card information. She then asked me for the billing address and I told her I could not provide that but I’d be happy to call back with that information. Well, unfortunately she could not run the credit card without the proper address. I knew Ballard Rd, I knew Xenia – but that’s all I could recall. I could call Mark but then I’d have to disconnect my call with the agent and after having worked with her for so long, I couldn’t imagine having to start over with someone new. She’s trying to work with me and at this point, I’m in tears. I slide down the wall onto the sticky concession stand floor and I muttered, “Lord, now what?” Just then a thought came to me. I sprung up and said to the agent, “Can you hold on please? I know where I can get the information you need.” I took off on a sprint towards the back exit.

I run through the Dome’s crowd, the exit, the ticket gate and the parking lot. I get to my van and slide into the driver’s seat. There in between the front seats, peaking up from beneath the road map is a glimmer of golden honey. I reach down, pick up the Brother Bear bottle of honey and breathless, say to the agent, “I’ve got it. I have the billing address!” From the front of the label, I read out loud, “848 S. Ballard Rd. Xenia – with an “X”, Ohio 45385.” Transaction completed! Reservations booked, confirmed and paid for. Since we arrived late to my sister’s, we did not unload the van. I had purchased some honey from Mark to bring to my sister and so it was still in the van. The honey saved the day.

Relieved that the flight arrangements were finally made I then realized that despite the red tape hassle, that was the easy part. I now had to call Mr. Mullen and let him know the flight information. It almost felt like an intrusion like, during this private grieving time – which was still so soon after first hearting the news, I was going to barge in. I knew I had to be gracious, kind, supportive and strong. That was in complete contrast to how I was feeling. I wanted to fall apart. It wasn’t my son or brother but somehow, being a part of this made me a part of their grief too. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I took a deep breath, I steeled myself up and I made the call to Mr. Mullen. After speaking with him I was almost sorry it was done. I wanted to help even more. I wanted to be able to step in and assist the family in their time of need. Mark was my boss, true enough, but also he’s my friend. I respect him and his family. His children are a blessing to everyone that meets them. The Weaver family is highly regarded. I wanted to be there for them. Later in the day Mark called on me once again for one other small detail of the travel arrangements. I was glad to be given another opportunity for service.

I walked back to the dome and upon entering I hear a familiar sound – my daughter’s flute solo which signifies the end of their performance. I step up to the seating area to try and get a glimpse of the band on the field. I only see them for a brief moment – the performance is over. I walk back to the seating area where my husband and sister are seated. The original plan had been to stay at the dome and watch other schools perform but now I no longer felt like doing that. Instead I wanted to go find my girls and hug them and tell them how much I loved them. I wanted them to know how proud I was of them. We left the dome and drove around to the back where the band’s buses were parked. We found the girls and their faces lit up when they saw their Mom, Dad, Aunt and little cousin heading towards them. I was so glad to be there. I was so glad to see that look on their face. It was a welcoming proud look and I was thankful to be there. It’s true I had missed my daughters’ performance but there was not a moment of regret. Instead of seeing a marching band show, I gained something far more valuable. I did not know Todd Weaver in his life but in his death, I came to learn several important things.

It was not by chance that we got off course going to my sister’s house because had we been on time, we would have unloaded the van – including the honey bottles. Though it seems like such a small unimportant thing, it was the information contained on those honey bottles that prevented a grieving mother from having to sit and wait in a place that was not home and surrounded with people she did not know. It was not by chance that we chose seating directly in front of an empty concession stand where I would later need to use as a quiet private place. It was not by chance that Todd Weaver’s life came to a tragic end. For if I believe in an almighty God that is the Creator of all things, then I have to believe in that same God when life seems unfair, unbearable and unreal. If I believe that God takes care of the sparrow, then I believe that he takes care of even smaller details like honey bottles and band competitions. It is the untimely death of Todd that reminds me of the need for me to surrender all things to Him, my God and Savior. It is Todd Weaver that brought me to a place where embracing my children was far more important than what high school band would win a competition. It was Judith Mullen that reminded me that every day is a celebration of life and a mother’s heart is a reflection of our Creator’s love for us. It was Todd and Judith and Mark that reminded me of the things our busy days rob us of.

I am constantly amazed at God’s grace and mercy. I’m constantly perplexed by the depth of it all and how seemingly distant things, like the death of a person I never knew, can enlighten my heart.