Category Archives: Being a Mom and Grandma

Another Empty Nest, Another Sad Mom

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Another empty nest

Poor mama bird, I know how she feels…

 

I found a broken shell from a newly hatched baby under the ficus tree. A pair of warbling vireos make a home year after year in this birdhouse.

 

It’s so sad that she puts all that work into building a nest and feeding her babies and they always fly away.

They always leave mommy. *sniff*

I guess that’s the way Mother Nature intended it to be, but it still sucks.

Facebook is full of moms who can’t wait until their children turn eighteen, almost pushing them out of the nest with a packed suitcase and a sigh of relief so they can resume their “lives”, but that’s not the way I feel about it.

As much as I’m bursting with pride at the independent and successful young professor he’s become, his bedroom is still quietly waiting — just as it always was, with fresh sheets on the bed, clean clothes in the closet, and his favorite books lined up on the shelf.

In the beginning, when he first left for college (years ago), the hardest thing to deal with was the silence — the QUIET was deafening. I have no idea how one child could fill up the space with his presence, but he did.

Now, nothing makes me happier than a call telling me he’s coming home for a visit (sigh) so I can load up on the ingredients for his favorite foods.

You know how mama birds feed their young, don’t you? They regurgitate partially digested insects and worms directly into the beaks of their babes.

I’m not THAT extreme, but you know what I mean.

It’s one of my greatest joys to watch my son eat.

I admit it. I do. I sit across from him at the table and soak it all in, every single mouthful.

(Don’t feel sorry for him, he’s used to it.)

And then he leaves again, and the quiet fills our house and our hearts.

Can you guess that I’m missing my Angel Boy right now?

Older. Wiser. Better?

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Many years later, still puzzling things out.

SELFIE PUZZLEStill the paramount focal point of any photo.
Still fabulously attired with beautifully coiffed and beribboned hair.
Still unable to fit round pieces into square shapes.
And yet, still, the world revolves around me.

And most importantly, still adorable.

P.S. I sent this post to hub and he emailed back that this has always been his favorite pic of me and it’s because I look so determined.

The Birthday That Might Not Have Been

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Like most moms (and dads, of course) I never thought to prepare myself for what it would feel like to lose a child.

I’m not talking about losing him in the mall or losing him in a crowd; I mean to lose him forever.

We were so immersed in the business of living that it never occurred to me that anything life threatening might happen to my Angel Boy.

Health and fitness has always been a priority.

I made his baby food, did all the recommended baby exercises, and as soon as he could, we walked every day; no sitting in front of a television for us…

This was a typical school day at Casa de Enchanted Seashells:

I woke up at 6:15 a.m. to make a hot and nutritious breakfast for my little guy. I’d wake him at 6:30 with a kiss and and a song —  “New day, time to wake up!”  At 7:30, we’d leave the house to walk our dog for about thirty minutes, chat about the day, and practice spelling or math as we made our way to his school for the first bell at 8:00.

I figured if I did everything in my power to build a healthy and strong human, he’d be that way forever.

Do I even need to state the obvious that he was (is) my entire world? 

I never thought of how dreadfully painful it must be to look at the calendar every year and know that your child’s birthday — the date of his birth–is approaching and all you have is a memory.

I  honestly can’t imagine the pain.

How does anyone survive that kind of loss?

At 9:52 on March 23, 1981, my most amazing boy child was born.

Since then, I’ve cherished every breath he inhales as much as the first one.

April 29, 2014 might have been the date of his last breath.

It doesn’t matter where I am; even when I’m asleep — in my dreams, I’m transported back to the hospital.

That feeling of helplessness — In the surgical waiting room and then (with DIL)  the ten days of twenty-four hour round-the-clock bedside vigil.

For vigil it what it was…

…not taking one single deep breath for months, actually.

On that day, that dark day, those dark days, none of us were sure we’d be celebrating anything ever again.

My mind replays that what if tape all the time, even though the nightmare is over. Really over.

Only now, almost a year later, I think I can finally

exhale.

That’s why this birthday is a very happy one.

He runs, he bikes, he camps, he hikes, he surfs.

He EATS. He BREATHES.

Life. Is. Good. 

(My heart goes out to families who don’t make it to the other side. For me, the door opened just a crack, and I experienced a mere glimpse into that world, and it’s impossible to imagine being able to ever smile again.)

♥ ♥ ♥ On a happier note, what does an ‪#‎emptynest‬ mom do when she can’t be there in person to bake her Angel Boy’s birthday cake?

She finds a a vegan bakery in New Jersey, Bear Hug Bakery, and commissions a cake to be delivered to his office today at ‪#‎Rutgers‬.

One layer of vanilla cake, one layer of chocolate, raspberry cream filling, and covered in ganache. YUM!!!

Mom Tip #276…it’s never too late to embarrass your child.

Happy 34th Birthday, Angel Boy!!

babyJason

POSTS ABOUT THE SURGERY:

1. That Dreaded Call at 3:00 A.M.

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/01/that-dreaded-call-at-300-a-m/

2. Time To Exhale

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/06/time-to-exhale-hospital-update/

3. Full Circle From Hell to Happiness

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/10/full-circle-from-hell-to-happiness/

4. What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma, Unit, and Mother’s Day Have in Common

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/11/what-does-a-cosmo-the-trauma-unit-and-mothers-day-have-in-common/

 

 

 

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Super Moist #Vegan Chocolate Cake With Amaretto Coffee Frosting

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Since I now focus most of my baking  to please Angel Boy 2.0 (the new and improved version), this was the winner of all the chocolate cakes I ever created, so I thought I’d share it again for those of you who do still currently turn on the oven and combine ingredients to conjure up lovely confections (not confessions). At 15 months, AB 2.0 can’t have chocolate; for now he’ll have to be happy with sugarless teething biscuits and kale smoothies. 

No eggs and no dairy, yet this cake is super moist, fluffy, and fudge-tastic — with a hint of French roast coffee and almond-y Amaretto.vegancakeTEXT

I was inspired by a recipe I found in my mom’s old cookbook — as always, I transformed it into my own version.

I know I use Amaretto a lot, but I ran out of vanilla and it’s a great flavor enhancer with chocolate and coffee.

Moist #Vegan Chocolate Cake With Amaretto Coffee Frosting

  • 1/2 tsp.  salt
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • 1 cup white sugar
  • 1/3 cup cocoa (unsweetened)
  • 1 1/4 cups flour (all-purpose)
  • 1 tsp. white vinegar
  • 1 tsp. pure vanilla extract (or Amaretto or Grand Marnier)
  • 5 Tbsp. vegetable oil
  • 1 cup cold coffee or water (coffee is better with chocolate) or you could always use soy/almond/cashew/coconut milk.

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

1. Mix the first five dry ingredients in a bowl.
2. Make three shallow depressions in the dry ingredients.
3. Pour vinegar in one, vanilla/amaretto in the other, and vegetable oil in the third.
4. Pour coffee/water over all.
5. Mix well until smooth.

Grease a nine-inch pan. Bake on middle rack of oven for approximately twenty-five to thirty-five minutes.  Check with toothpick to make sure it comes out clean. Don’t over bake or it’ll dry out. Cool and frost.vegancake4

Amaretto Coffee Frosting
Three tablespoons softened vegan butter substitute (I use Earth Balance)
Three or four tablespoons cocoa
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
Amaretto or Grand Marnier or vanilla
Cold coffee

In a medium bowl, sift sugar and cocoa. Blend with vegan butter. Add 2 teaspoons Amaretto or other flavoring, and 3 tablespoons cold coffee, Blend until desired consistency. If too dry, add more coffee or Amaretto. If too wet, add more powdered sugar.
Frost cake and dust with sifted cocoa.

vegancake3
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Happy 100th Birthday, Mommy!

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Sometimes, caring for a terminally ill grandma is a beautifully tragic way to learn compassion.

Best mom and grandma EVER.

She was born February 9, 1915
and would have been
one hundred years old today.

I’m often asked where I learned how to cook and bake. I learned it all from her — everything from scratch, and that’s how I do it, too, carrying on that tradition.

Once in a while, tugboat man will surprise his crew by baking for them and it’s her recipe he uses: The Compleat Apple Pie…Deconstructed 

You know how I love to clean? That’s because she made a game out of washing windows, polishing silver; even ironing. She made it all fun, never a chore.

When Angel Boy had his medical scare a while back, it was my mom whom I channeled in the hospital. I remembered every single thing she ever shared with me about being a strong, assertive patient advocate — how to interact with doctors and staff — and to NEVER leave the side of a loved one, which is the reason why DIL and I were there 24/7 for the almost two weeks he was hospitalized.  We all firmly believe this is one of the reasons he’s here today. REALLY.

On a happier note, all I  know about fashion and style, shopping and Chanel, I learned from my mom and I’m more than happy to carry on that legacy.

When I spray on my favorite scent, Chance by Chanel, before I leave for the gym, I remember more of my mom’s words of wisdom:

“Don’t save good perfume for special occasions. Wear it every day just for you.”

When my mom retired from nursing, she moved in with us. After suffering from months of unexplained stomach pain and nausea, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Sadly, she didn’t live very long after that.

We cared for her with the help of hospice and she died peacefully at home.

Toward the end, after school, my seven-year-old son would climb on her bed, tell her about his day and feed her a couple spoonfuls of soup.

Sometimes, caring for a terminally ill grandma is a beautifully tragic way to learn compassion.

Angel Boy and my mom had a special bond; she would play Candyland for HOURS with had endless patience. When he was two or three or four years old, whenever he’d call out “MOM!” we would both answer, because for the longest time, that’s how he referred to us both– until he named her “DangDang”, which is how his brain processed the sounds in “Grandma”.

She would have been so very proud of him.

When Angel Boy finished graduate school, I bought him an Hermes tie because that’s what Grandma would have done — memorialize the occasion with an amazingly extravagant gift.

I can think of no better way to honor her memory than to shop for a little something special, ‘cos that’s exactly what she’d want me to do!

A few of my favorite vintage photos:

Stylish nurse ensemble.
I still have her cap and velvet ribbon tucked away, wrapped in tissue paper. 

MommyRN

Lovely afternoon skirt, blouse, and contrasting belt to highlight her curves.
Mommy

Me (very yellow with frilly socks) with Mommy, attired in a full-on Jackie Kennedy look minus the pillbox hat.meandmommy

Frank Sinatra was one of her FAVES.. She used to annoy me SO much by singing along with Old Blue Eyes whenever this song came on the radio: “It Was A Very Good Year”

Empty Nest Moms, This One’s For You.

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When Is the right time to clean out an adult son’s boyhood bedroom? (And I say “son” ‘cos I had one child, a boy, and never experienced what it’s like being the mom of a girl.)

This was the week I did it. Cleaned my son’s room, I mean. Fifteen years after he moved out, or as I like to refer to it, when my darling Angel Boy abandoned his mommy.

In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m the antithesis —  the total opposite — of a “free range” mom.

Need an example?

I carried Angel Boy until he was about seven-years-old, when his legs dangled to the ground, and he was ALMOST my size.

In this photo, he’s probably thirteen-years-old or so, my little Harry Potter look alike, already taller than me. See that MOMjoy? All it takes is being next to him to bring out that kind of a smile. (And that swishy track suit was all the rage in the 90s, I promise you.)

jasonroomom

So, don’t make me say the dreaded words; “moved out”.

That’s bittersweet and rife with sadjoy (my new word all moms should immediately start using in our daily conversations.)

Sad he’s gone, but joy and pride in his accomplishments and goals. Mostly sad, though.

The purge. Well, more accurately; the relocation.
jasonroomclean1From the first grade, a diorama of the Carlsbad sea wall that his dad built — dinosaur books, academic awards, handwritten spelling tests, report cards, a writing prompt about what the future might hold (potential editor of National Lampoon)…one of the last Valentine’s Day cards made for me before that tragic discovery of the wonderful world of females who are NOT Mom–jasonroomclean2

And so many books: Chaucer to Mann to Goethe to Faulkner, Welty, Shakespeare, all the books from fifteen years of college and graduate school.

In a bookish family like ours, it’s a tough Sophie’s choice kind of dilemma: how does one determine which book might not have value? It’s pretty much impossible.

But here’s the real question…

Is there ever a right time to clean out an adult son’s boyhood bedroom?

The answer to that — for me– has always and will forever be a resounding NO! NEVER! — until I came up with the brilliant idea of simply moving things to another area, saved and protected, organized into plastic tubs to be stored in the garage, thus not purging nor destroying parts of him which is really part of me, but preserving forever and forever my Angel Boy’s childhood which means he hasn’t really grown up and gotten married and moved away and doesn’t need his mommy anymore…SIGH.

Wait a sec, let me wipe away dust-streaked tears. SIGH.

Sniff.

Buck up, Princess Rosebud, there’s still hope, he might be back, adult children DO return home, sometimes they DO need to fly back INTO the nest, so all is not completely lost.

Something to cling to, to be prepared for. Happily.

Every picture, every single scrap of scribbled upon paper, every college application, all art projects from the age of two, baby books, envelopes of baby curls, baby teeth the Tooth Fairy saved, that fallen off shred of shriveled umbilical cord (yes, Angel Boy, I told you we were forever connected, how could you doubt me?)

Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like his room hasn’t been cleaned properly in the thirty years we’ve lived in this house, because it has, but we had stored everything that belonged to him in his closet — just in case he needed that one specific item for any reason.

Or in case he decides to start collecting baseball cards again–of which there are THOUSANDS.

I’m a hoarder, not a tosser;  he and I share this attribute. Although the one and only item we’ve ever tossed out will forever haunt tugboat man and I…his favorite skateboard.

Angel Boy hadn’t sk8d in years, the half pipe ramp in our backyard disintegrated and had been torn down; who would have known that it meant so much to him? Apparently, MOM should have known, but one summery day, tugboat man and I were cleaning out the garage, and did the horrible-est thing EVER — we put the sk8board out in the street instead of framing and hanging on the wall. This was about ten years ago, and my son won’t let us forget how we failed him.

Guilt and shame compels us to regularly offer to replace the board; however, no new board could possibly subsume the sweet memories of that fave —  but we learned our lesson and promised to NEVER again summarily throw away any item that might contain a shred of sentiment without prior authorization. In writing.

Now that his room is so pristine. So vacant. So unoccupied.

I wonder.

What if…

For Rent: One room. Three meals, snacks, and yes, one very sadjoy empty nest MOTHER included…

jasonroompaint

Thrifty Vegan Compost Soup

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garbage soup1Don’t throw away those odds and ends! Instead, get creative.

Whether you call it Müllsuppe, Soup de Legumes Restes (Soup of Leftovers) Ordures Soupe, Garbage or Compost Soup — in any language, this healthy soup is a delightful melange of everything the refrigerator and pantry has to offer.

I love nothing more than the game of conjuring up a delicious concoction from available ingredients and not always running to the store. Being frugal means more shopping for me — that’s my logic!

My son made a spur-of-the-moment decision to visit for just one day (to celebrate his bio-dad’s birthday) before he leaves the west coast for a teaching position at Rutgers.

This meant that I had to spring into action; baking and cooking a day’s worth of meals.

When my tugboat man is gone, I don’t do very much grocery shopping; the cupboards were mostly bare.

I opened the refrigerator door and peered inside where I found a few carrots, celery, half an onion, a few mushrooms, a few heads of broccoli, a bit of fennel, a block of tofu, and most of a can of chopped tomatoes.

As soon as I looked in the pantry and found pearl barley and lentils, I knew exactly what to do.

Springing into action, I sautéed the vegetables in a bit of olive oil until they were tender. I added the tomatoes, about six cups of water, and the lentils.

Pearl barley takes a lot longer than anything else; cooking in a separate pot would make sure that it was completely soft before adding it to the rest of the ingredients.

While everything was bubbling away, I cubed the tofu and tossed it in with a few tablespoons of chopped cilantro, a bay leaf, pepper, and a sprinkle of freshly ground pink Hawaiian salt.

A couple hours later, the barley was ready to be incorporated into the big pot of soup.

With a salad of mixed greens dressed in my favorite lime vinaigrette, freshly baked foccacia, and a dessert of Banana-Blueberry Walnut Bread, my son was well-fed, and I was so pleased with myself for making something out of nothing.

(And it saved me from having to throw all the veggies in the compost bin!)

garbagesoup2YUM!

What successful dish have you created out of nothing?

Facebook Update: I’m sorry to report that I still have no access to any of my Facebook pages; Since it’s understandable that I’m unwilling to provide a birth certificate to prove that my name is Princess Rosebud, if you’d like to share my posts on your timelines or mine, I’d appreciate it. Otherwise, Twitter and Pinterest will be my only forums for socializing. It’s really unfair to be singled out, since there are many others who don’t use their real names on Facebook and they are allowed to continue.

Scars. Life. Love. Goodbye, 2014

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All I ever wanted to be was a mom.

There’s a half moon shaped scar on my left leg where I slammed my shin into the sharp serrated metal step of a shuttle bus.

Out of breath from running, dragging my suitcase, frantic after a six-hour flight to the East coast.

I was pretty much inconsolable and incoherent but determined in my resolve. All the way across the country, I said over and over, “I just need to get to him. I just need to get there.”

I was literally running out of time.

I didn’t even know I was injured until the next day.

It was sliced to the bone and I never felt the pain, never felt the warm blood dripping down my leg, sticking to my socks, drying hard on my jeans.

I’m sure it needed to be sutured, but that constant pain, like the pain of the C-section that brought my baby into the world, is a wound I’ll always associate with birth and life.

You see, my life almost ended on April 29, 2014.

When I think of 2014, there’s really no other moment in time that so defines my year. Or my entire life.

Up until April 29th, the sun would rise and the sun would set. I shopped, went to the gym, shopped some more. Life was pretty much uneventful.

Six months later, from the perspective of time, I can see that my life was split right down the middle; before the phone call and after the call.

In early April, I had an amazing road trip that culminated at Zion National Park; hiking and camping and finding joy in the magnificent beauty of nature.

But that one particular day stopped me in my tracks.

It was one of life’s pivotal moments. What if we had been out of cell range? What if we hadn’t made it in time? What if he hadn’t had the surgery in time? What if?

It could have gone either way.

The path not taken probably would have caused my disappearance from the world of blogging, of social media, and maybe you’d have thought to yourself, “I wonder what happened to Princess Rosebud?”

I wouldn’t have survived. I’m not being melodramatic; I’m stating this as a simple truth. I would not have survived.

All I ever wanted to be was a mom. 

I was one of those little girls who always had a doll. I didn’t so much want to play house as I wanted to be Mommy. I wanted a baby of my own one day to love and nurture and care for and take care of — and protect from all harm.

It didn’t matter how smart I was or how well I did in college; it was is my calling.

My passion.

Lucky for me that my dream came true when I had my Angel Boy. From the very beginning, he was my amazing joy. His smiles, his bright eyes; they sustained me like no food ever could.

Even now, a phone call or an email from him makes the sun shine a little brighter, my day a little happier.

Oh, he was sick from time to time with the normal childhood illnesses; he broke a bone or two from skateboarding, but he grew strong and tall and his mind was a whirl of shiny brilliance and creativity.

No one clipped his wings.

I always told him he could do anything. He has no limits.

He was limitless.

The Boy Who Was My Heart 

You know how you think you’ll be when you’re a mom, but no one prepares you for the reality of it; the limitless love, the fierce primal desire to protect from harm and pain and sadness — and most of all the fact that none of those feelings end when they’re grown up and on their own. 

That’s still how I still define myself. I’m Angel Boy’s mom.

That 3:00 a.m. call that propelled us to the airport for a six-hour flight that caused me to run and trip on the metal step of the shuttle bus so we could rent a car for the final hour-long drive to the hospital to see my Angel Boy’s face before his emergency surgery was the most horrible moment of my entire life.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else matters.

We were all thrust into a vortex of a limbo world. Waiting to get to him, waiting for the emergency surgical team to assemble, waiting by his side as he was prepped — watching his body contort in agony that I couldn’t do anything about, his eyes filled with pain — but I could feel each spasm in my own belly — and finally waiting for the surgeon to appear. Not really talking, not watching the TV that was mounted at an odd angle on the wall in the waiting room; a desolation of uncertainty.

For three hours I was stationed in the hallway, the first to hear and then see the elevator doors open, my eyes fastened on the surgeon’s face.

He wouldn’t even need to speak; I knew his face would reveal everything.

And the huge smile on the surgeon’s face lit up the universe. No words were needed.

Everything was going to be OK. He survived. It was tricky, worse than we thought, but he was fixed.

He was whole.

My Angel Boy made a complete recovery. He’s healthy and happy.

And alive.

I see the scar every day and it’s a constant reminder to not take anything for granted; that I almost lost everything — but I didn’t.

All I ever wanted was to be a mom.

Goodbye 2014…
Cheers to a healthy and happy 2015!

POSTS ABOUT THE SURGERY:

1. That Dreaded Call at 3:00 a.m.

That Dreaded Call at 3:00 A.M.

2. Time To Exhale

Time to Exhale: Hospital Update

3. Full Circle From Hell to Happiness

Full Circle From Hell to Happiness

4. What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma, Unit, and Mother’s Day Have in Common

What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma Unit, and Mother’s Day Have In Common?

San Francisco: “The Best Things in Museums are the Windows”

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exploratorium2A warning up front so you know what to expect.

This is a not-so-humble-brag/proud Mommy-moment…

Presenting a publication by The Exploratorium with a contribution by my son, Professor Angel Boy.

If you’re in the San Francisco Bay area or planning a trip to NorCal, this is a must-see museum.

It’s one-of-a-kind — interactive, creative, experiential, and encourages open-mind learning and exploration.

The Exploratorium is located at Pier 15, Embarcadero at Green Street.

 “The Exploratorium is an eye-opening, playful place—in San Francisco and online—to explore how the world works. For 40-plus years, we’ve offered creative, thought-provoking exhibits, experiences, tools, and projects that ignite curiosity, encourage exploration, and lead to profound learning.”

exploratorium1Where does the museum end and the outside world begin?

“…Exploratorium Artist-in-Residence Harrell Fletcher joined a core walking group of Exploratorium staff artists and scientists—plus the public—for The Best Things in Museums Are the Windows, a four-day trek from the Exploratorium’s Pier 15 home across the Bay to the summit of Mount Diablo. The adventurous project created a dynamic framework for discovery as it moved across water, city, suburb, and country, building on the multidimensional perspectives of the participants.

The Windows reflects Fletcher’s interest in artful investigation, community collaboration, experiential learning, and decentralized authorship. By extending the museum’s curiosity-based learning into the surrounding landscape, the trek aimed to transform the everyday world around us into an open classroom while working toward a greater integration of a cultural institution within its surrounding community.”

My son was invited to participate in the walk and is a contributor to the book.

And of course this is just another one of my obnoxiously proud Mommy moments where I can publicly boast about his accomplishments.

Seriously though, if you live in the Bay area and haven’t been to the Exploratorium in a while or EVER, do yourself a favor and go. They’ve put a lot of passion and effort into creating a real zone of imagination and exploration.

And we need more of all of that, especially now.

Less violence, less cruelty, more heart and soul and mind — more inventiveness and flights of fancy.

And sparkle. We always need more sparkle. Can’t EVER have too much sparkle!

The Unbearable Death of a Boy-Man

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It’s been  a year since my son’s boyhood friend tragically died in Hawaii from a surfing accident.  His body was never recovered. I wanted to take a moment to remember this bright shiny boy and the joy he brought to everyone he met.

From Kirk's Facebook page

From Kirk’s Facebook page

The loss of a child cannot be fathomed.

Who could ever be prepared for their child to die before them? There must be endless tears and sorrow and sadness and a forever and unrelenting pain.

For me, it’s a pure and simple matter.

If I never heard my son’s voice again or was never able to wrap my arms around him, I don’t know if I could take another breath.

…On Wednesday, November 13, 2013, Kirk Passmore, 32, a passionate big-wave surfing veteran and Hawaii resident, is presumed to have drowned and as of today his body has not been found.

One minute he was alive, surfing an estimated 20-foot wave at Alligator Rock on Oahu’s North Shore, with an audience of other surfers and photographers. He dropped into the steep face of the wave before falling over the front of his board and into the water. The top of the wave crashed over him and witnesses say he surfaced for a brief moment before he was crushed by another wave.

It was the last time anyone saw him.

Although extensive searches have been conducted in the area, he’s been missing since the day of the accident and is presumed drowned.

It was all caught on video. This is the video of his last wave. Somehow he never made it out alive.

His dad wanted the his final ride shared with as many people as possible.

Maybe you heard about this. Maybe you were watching the news on television and you paid scant attention to the story while you were on the computer or eating dinner.

Maybe you read it on the internet and saw the pictures or the video.

You probably thought to yourself or even said out loud, ” Wow, that’s really sad.”

Kirk Passmore.

Why am I writing about him?

Yes, it’s true that he was someone’s child, brother, friend.

But he was also one of my son’s friends.

They went to school together.

He’s the first (and so far, only) of my son’s friends to die.

Kirk had the biggest smile and the reddest hair. Everyone called him “Fanta” or “Red”.

He was one of the many boys I’d chauffeur around, packed like sardines in the back seat, all gangly legs and arms, endlessly stuffing their mouths —  bottomless pits of growing boy bodies– with the cookies and smoothies and other snacks cheerfully provided to everyone who came over.

A carful of boys talking about school, skateboarding; laughing, always smiling, always a thank you for the ride as he slammed the car door.

“See ya, Jason.”

A flash of bright red hair lit the way as he ran up the walkway to his house.

But no more.

I bet for most of these boys – and I still call these thirty-somethings BOYS because to me they will always and forever be “the boys” or “the guys” — my son’s friends from Kelly Elementary, Valley Junior High, and Carlsbad High School — this is their first experience with death and subsequent thoughts of their own mortality.

I feel so badly for his family and his friends who are mourning him with candlelight vigils, surf paddle-outs, tributes, and memorials. 

To honor Kirk, they’re handling their pain with grace and beauty.

One of them, artist Bryan Snyder, created a memorial wall in our town. If you’re ever in Carlsbad, check it out.

Bryan Snyder

Bryan Snyder

Our deepest sympathies go out to Kirk’s family. Our hearts are heavy and we are so very, very sorry for their loss.

The Passmore family released the following statement:

Kirk was born February 11, 1981 in Orem, Utah.  He grew up in Carlsbad, California and graduated from Carlsbad High School in 1999 where he was a member of the school’s surf team for four years.  As a youth, he was active in pop warner football, little league baseball, and basketball but his love was in surfing.

He started coming to Hawaii when he was 14 and was an experienced and expert surfer.  He was not new to big wave surfing, having surfed most of the well-known big wave locations, including Waimea Bay, Sunset Beach, Pipeline and outer reefs on the north shores of Hawaii.  He was a familiar face at Todos Santos off Baja California.  He also surfed Maverick’s in northern California and Puerto Escondido in Mainland Mexico.  He spent 3 years in the southern coast of France.  He moved to the north shore of Hawaii full-time in the spring of 2012.

Kirk was a part owner of Third Stone Surfboards in Waialua, Hawaii and a Manager at Bonzai Sushi in Haleiwa, Hawaii.

He is survived by his mother, Diane Passmore (Orem, Utah), father and step-mother, David and Karey Passmore (Sunset Beach, Hawaii), siblings, Alyson Adams (Highland, Utah); Merrily Roberts (Encinitas, California) and Matthew Passmore (serving an LDS mission in New York, New York).

The family wishes to thank the Coast Guard, the City and County of Honolulu lifeguards and Fire Department who continue the search.

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