Three Christmases had passed and two more grandkids had been born. The potential for healing the relationship with our second son felt hopeless. 

 

He and I had a huge confrontation that October, but like other times, I figured it would blow over.  But not this time.  The coarse words exchanged, the kind never heard in church, put it on another level.  A month later the holidays came and went, and for the first time, ever, he and his family were no-shows for Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

 

In March their fourth child was born.  We went to the hospital, saw the baby for a few minutes but the conversation was virtually zero.  Two years later their fifth child was born, and we only learned about him after the fact. 

 

I was the cause of this, and Deedie was paying the price.  I felt desperate. 

 

Then a friend invited me to take a course with him which centered on reconciliation.  They introduced a ten-question survey entitled How Do You Experience Me.  I wondered how our adult children would answer these ten questions which were as invasive as a colonoscopy.  The questionnaire required "The Conversation" to be face to face.  I was committed to responding with, "Thank You. Is there more?"

 

Why would I subject myself to such a high-risk process?  I was motivated by a very clear “Why.”  Healing the relationship with our son was vital.  Any pain I may experience was secondary.  And it was painful. 

 

The rest of the story …

I decided to have the How Do You Experience Me conversation with our other two adult children first.  Their feedback was kind but difficult to hear.  They were gracious but direct.  

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It was six weeks before our second son responded and agreed to meet. I had sent him a copy of the questions as I did with the two others.  I asked if he would be willing to meet, but I did not demand it. In August, we agreed to meet at a deli on his lunch break. 

 

I arrived in the deli early and my heart was in my throat.  When I saw him walk in, I got up from the table and met him halfway.  As I greeted him, he offered me a hug, a long full embrace.  My heart melted.  It had been nearly three years.  We sat and talked about work and stuff for forty-five minutes.  Finally, he said, "I guess we should talk about the questionnaire you emailed me.  I wrote out all my answers, but I forgot it."  He said, "I can describe you in one sentence. It's my way or the highway."  I nodded, and then asked, “is there more?” 

​

He nailed what the others had referenced.  The core of our relational wound was being lanced and the wound was draining.  After an hour and fifteen minutes, our lunch ended with him expressing his appreciation with another hug.  It went unspoken that things were coming back together.

 

These three conversations revealed one big thing which I treasure.  Our kids loved me enough to give it to me straight.  

 

I heard nothing from him for three months.  In November Deedie texted our three kids an invite to our yearly Thanksgiving family gathering.  Everyone responded except him.  We were disappointed but were committed to being patient.  I knew recovery was in progress. We just had to give it time.

 

On Thanksgiving morning, Deedie put on her best smile and started her final prep for our family Thanksgiving feast.  Then at 10:45 am our phones chirped with an incoming text.  "We're coming.  What can we bring?"  Sweeter words have never been communicated. Deedie shifted her focus to adding seven more plates to the table.

 

Within the hour five grandkids yelled “Grandpa, Nana,” as they ran through the kitchen’s side door. Three hugged us as if there had been no time-lapse, then the two littlest ones, having never been to our house before, joined in the hug-a-thon.  When our son and our daughter-in-law walked in behind our grandkids and offered hugs, we knew the reconciliation roots were growing.

 

Eric’s “My Way or the Highway” was the powerful feedback I needed.

 

Logan, Eric, and Stacey are adults with families of their own. The choices they make in life belong to them. "My Way or the High" was surrendered.

 

Deedie and I are committed to relationships first.

 

We’ll figure out the rest later.