Brian, Mitch, Carter and Mikos

The Accident

Our son Mikos was in the seventh grade when he was first initiated into manhood.

Our home was always the neighborhood hangout. One afternoon, the boys came home from school talking about Jeff, a friend of Mikos who had been struck by a car earlier that day. They had no idea how serious it was. They laughed about his pranks and insisted he would be fine. When I walked into the room to explain that this was a grave matter, the words didn’t seem to land. They simply couldn’t comprehend what serious really meant.

I tried to call the hospital to check on Jeff’s condition, but without being family, no information would be released. We later learned through a mutual friend that Jeff had been admitted to intensive care. His condition continued to deteriorate. He slipped into a coma — but came out of it just long enough to tell his family how much he loved them. He died shortly after.

Mikos and his friends were devastated when they heard the news.

I never met Jeff. He was Mikos’ friend — and yet his death changed something in my son forever.

Our son Mikos was in the 7th grade when he was  initiated into manhood.

Mitch

I agreed to take some of Mikos’ friends to the funeral services. Among them was Mitch — our neighbor, and one of Mikos’ closest friends.

Mitch was my sweet friend too. He was the kind of kid who grew on you — not a know-it-all, but genuinely brilliant. He was always turning up at our door. I’d greet him and let him know Mikos wasn’t home, expecting him to head back down the street — but Mitch had other plans. He’d talk his way right through the doorway. “I’ll wait for him here,” he’d say, flashing that smile. Then he’d offer to vacuum while he waited.

Adorably charming. An old soul in a young boy’s frame.

Of all of Mikos’ friends, Mitch grieved Jeff’s death differently — with a maturity and sensitivity that set him apart. It was almost surreal to witness how deeply he felt the loss. When the time came to arrange rides to the funeral, Mitch called and asked if he could come with us. My first instinct was caution. “I can’t take Mitch without his parents’ permission,” I told Mikos. Not long after, Mitch’s mother called to give her blessing, and that settled it.

The Christmas Poinsettia

Jeff’s passing fell just before Christmas. Mitch had gone out and bought a poinsettia — not for himself, but for Jeff’s family. His mother was at work, so he turned to me. He wanted someone to take him to deliver it in person.

I hesitated. I didn’t know the family, and walking up to a grieving household as a stranger didn’t sit comfortably with me. But Mitch had a way with words. Somehow, he always did. So my daughter Sonja and I drove him over and waited in the car while Mitch went inside to pay his respects.

Mitch’s Accident

Less than a month later, a young and inexperienced driver was blinded by the sun and never saw Mitch crossing the street. Mitch had been riding his bike to catch one of Mikos’ basketball games when the car struck him — on the very same crosswalk where Jeff had been hit weeks before. The same corner. The same senseless moment. Mitch met the same fate.

From our home, I heard the ambulance first. Then the helicopter — the one that airlifted Mitch to the specialized head trauma unit of a nearby hospital. That sound carried a weight I cannot describe.

Mikos came home with the news. This time, he understood exactly what it meant.

I knew Mitch well, but had only met his parents a handful of times. Mikos desperately wanted to go to the hospital — but that wasn’t something we could do. We weren’t family. Out of respect for their grief, I chose not to intrude.

Saying Goodbye

For several days, Mitch fought. But the head trauma was too severe, and the outcome became inevitable. Mikos came to me and pleaded — he needed to say goodbye. I told him the only way that could happen was if Mitch’s family reached out to us directly. We would not go uninvited into that sacred space.

The following morning, Mitch’s mother called. There was no brain activity. They welcomed us to come and pay our respects.

Mikos and I walked into that hospital room together, and neither of us could hold back the tears. I reached out and touched Mitch’s arm. My heart ached — not only for Mitch, but for his family, absorbing a loss no one is ever prepared for. This beautiful boy with a brilliant mind had been taken far too soon.

My husband Mike and Mikos, along with Mitch’s friends, served as pallbearers for their young friend.

The Traffic Signal

Villa Park is a small community that has long prized the aesthetics of rural living — and for years, that meant no traffic signals. Stop signs mark every corner. But during school hours, the middle school and high school share the same crosswalk, and that intersection becomes a busy, unforgiving place.

After Mitch’s death, the community refused to be silent. Parents and children gathered, organized, and petitioned the city to install the one and only traffic signal in Villa Park.

I remember marching alongside a large crowd — peacefully, purposefully — from Villa Park High School to City Hall. It was grief made into action.

It took the lives of two precious young men to make that corner safe.

Now, every time that signal comes into view, Mitch and Jeff come with it.

My Poem for Mitch

In my grief, I wrote a poem for Mitch’s family, which was read at his service:

O my son, the many things we’d say we’d do. I have a hard time to find this real, this true. The coldness of life has left me numb. I ask you: why? Why, my son?

You turn my way and hold me through this. Is it Your love I can’t understand? Or is it my life which You want to command?

A life so young has now vanished, I say. But You, Lord, will not lead me astray.

Take my hand, and I will follow. Give me faith — at times, mine is shallow.

I’m slow to remember: You, too, share my pain. We share the same loss.

The difference… Yours died on the Cross.

© Lynda Ciriza

In early June I ordered backpacks for the Ciriza/Driscoll Project. This is our third year with this task. I want our grandchildren to participate in a service project and to spend quality time together. I always purchase a few extra backpacks from Ross or TJ Maxx because we have extra supplies.

I prayed about adding 24 more backpacks to our project, making a total of 72 instead of 48. In June I ordered the backpacks along with some other supplies from Amazon. Within two weeks I received two boxes of  backpacks, with an explanation that the last order was running late. With no delivery date given I panicked and felt terrible because I was thinking that I took on too much.
“Why do I do this to myself? I should have kept it at 48!”  I added the backpack headache to the long list of prayers and waited for God’s reply.

Goodbye, Target

Since I no longer set foot in Target, I had three other choices for the rest of the supplies. Between Mike and me we carefully priced out our options. Amazon was the big winner for the bulk supplies like rulers, erasers, glue sticks , pencil pouches and some of the 2″ binders. The binders, along with the backpacks, were the most expensive of all supplies. The binders retailed from $4.00 to over six dollars. Staples had a great deal but you could only order 10 at a time. After three orders they cut me off, so I had Jenny and Sonja both order 10 each. As much as I tried to keep the inventory organized, I ordered too many binders but in the end it all worked out.

Hello, Walmart

I was never a regular Walmart shopper but things have changed. I love Walmart! And the school supplies were actually the best deals, 35 cents for spiral notebooks, crayola crayons 50 cents, and the notebook paper was only 84 cents.

As I walked around Walmart,  I discovered Fancy Feast cat food for 11 cent cheaper than the grocery stores. I was hooked, so now I make my weekly run to Walmart. I pray that they don’t go Woke!

The Donors

My first call is always to my dear friend Marianela. I asked her to pray about donating. She quickly texted me and said she was in.  Marianela offered to pay for the backpacks! Then I got a text message from Tess a family friend, who also donated. Mary, who was part of our homeless ministry, and our neighbor Adele were quick to respond to my Facebook request. Mikos and Jenny were more generous than in past years. Sonja and Russ donated more supplies and binders, and my sister Jo generously donated  as well.  Everything was falling into place, but I was still missing the last 24 backpacks.

After much thought and prayer I received a revelation to cancel the last 24 backpacks and reorder them. Within a week they were delivered!

My Birthday

I’m like a little kid when it comes to my birthday. I love to celebrate but I had this big project of filling the backpacks that I had to put on hold because we went on a weekend staycation. As much as I tried to relax, the project was like a dark cloud hovering over my every thought. Then I received a disturbing message from my friends in Nepal.

Nepal

I had traveled to Nepal and to the Tibet Border only once, but have made lifetime friends. As much as I would like to support their ministries, it was out of the question this time because I had the expense of the backpacks.

Indra and Jyoti

Indra and Jyoti run an orphanage in Katmandu, Nepal. I have been there and have met the children that they have rescued from being trafficked . Aside from the orphanage they also travel up the Himalayan mountains to minister to others in remote villages. Their means of transportation is by motorcycle. Indra was on his way to a village for a baptism when he was injured. He is in the hospital still recovering.  I promised to pray for Indra but could not commit to giving any money. It was weighing heavy in my heart, but all I could do was pray. I prayed and prayed until the Lord spoke to me at Mass.

Listening To God

On Thursday,  the feast day of Saint Lawrence, I received a message from the Lord. The reading was from 2 Cor. 9:6-10