The Close of a Chapter

Dear Overton Hotel,

We pulled into Lubbock late on a Friday night after driving for ten hours. We were anxious to get to Denver for the birth of our grandson, but knew from experience your hospitality and attention to detail would provide us with a great meal and a restful nights sleep so we could continue on our journey refreshed.

My husband dropped me off at the door and as I stepped forward, they graciously slid open revealing a bustle of activity with people of all ages. If the cameras captured my entrance, they would have shown the weariness in my face. The shuffle of my feet. The slump of my shoulders.

I went to the desk to check in. I gave them our name. As I stood there the noise seemed to dim and I was enveloped by silence and the puzzlement on the girls face behind the desk. She asked if our reservation could be under another name. I told her possibly and gave her the name. Still nothing.

She checked again…a few minutes later she told me she found our reservation. My shoulders sighed relief until she followed it up with “It seems your reservation was for last night and we are completely sold out tonight. It is graduation weekend.” The weight of graduation weekend did not register with me in that moment. All I could feel was the panic of having to get back in the car and try to find another hotel on graduation weekend. I could hear the beg and whine in my voice. “Can you please see if maybe you have something, anything available?” At this point I was willing to pay for the penthouse if it meant I could drop my bags and Blake and I could head to the restaurant for a decent meal before falling into bed. “Let me call my manager and see if there is something she can do?” she said. “Thank you”, I said. Blake and I moved out of the way and waited anxiously.

Jessica, the manager, wearing a well tailored suit and a big smile on her face, appeared behind the desk. We slowly walked back toward the desk not knowing if we would ultimately be sent on the hunt for a needle in a haystack, have to get back on the road, or receive unmerited favor and a room.

Jessica explained that our reservation was mistakenly for the night before and it looked like we were charged for a no show. She then proceeded to tell us she had one room left, but I wasn’t the type of room we originally booked. Our sigh of relief was audible, “we will take it”.

Breakfast vouchers and complimentary happy hour on the concierge level of the hotel accompanied the keys she slid across the counter to us. What a gift. Reminding me of how God always provides more than we could ever ask for or more than our finite minds could imagine. Jessica did not know how her kindness and excellent customer service impacted our head and our hearts that evening.

Just as we were getting ready to head to our room, she follow up with, “I will contact accounting and let them know that your reservation on Thursday had been a mistake and see if they can refund the no-show fee. We thanked her and walked away a little lighter than when we walked in the door.

After riding your elevator up to the room we knew would provide respite and rest in crisp clean luxury, we wandered back down to your bar/restaurant, Pecan Grill. A hub of excitement, filled with well dressed mom’s, dad’s and grandparents. Their hopes and dreams for their children/grandchildren a light that shown in their face and radiated from their eyes and smiles. Young people mingling with family and friends. The anxiety and excitement of finally standing on the threshold of closing a chapter and ready to walk into the next chapter.

The painstaking details of picking out the perfect clothes soon to be covered by graduation gowns and time spent fixing their hair that would hold their graduation cap decorated with celebration sayings and pictures had finally arrived, and would be revealed as they sat patiently through speeches of encouragement until it is their turn to walk across the stage.

I sat taking it all in in the space you provided off the lobby full of comfortable chairs and smiling waiters/waitresses. Surrounded by beautiful dark wood walls and floor to ceiling windows overlooking a patio that welcomed your guests to join you around the fire and sip on a beverage, grief rose and tears began to fall. Triggers reminding me of the hopes and dreams and anticipation of this day for my own child. Scheduled to arrive a mere eight months after his death. He had worked so hard and wanted desperately to provide a better life for his son and future wife.

How I wanted to be so happy with you and your guests as you hosted hopes and dreams, but as I sat on the edge of the crowd my own experience for graduation day rose to the surface. I knew my tears did not make your guests uncomfortable. I knew they were too consumed in their joy to see my grief. I also knew they would never be able to understand how their joy triggered my pain. Pain from the loss of a child. Pain I would never want them to understand because if they did they would have lost their own child.

See, Overton Hotel, a few years after the death of my son Christopher, Sam Houston University, with a nudge from our dear friend Dean Muesham and the generosity of The State University System Board of Regents, decided to honor Christopher by awarding him his degree posthumously. The first to ever be awarded at Sam Houston. When Dean Muesham called with the news, my heart made space for great grief and great joy.

That graduation day happened to be on Mother’s Day. There was no graduation announcement, no gathering in a hotel lobby/bar such as you have provided for your guests. No celebratory meal. No toasts to the future. We dressed his baby boy in the graduation gown meant for Christopher. A stark reminder of his hopes and dreams and my hopes and dreams for him. We topped his little head with the decorated graduation cap.

I wore black, a veil of disbelief and a yolk of grief around my heart. I stood at the edge of the steps hearing his name called. The students and guest stood. The roar of the crowd deafening as it erupted with cheers and applause honoring my son and his achievement. In a seemingly out of body experience, I watched myself walk onto the stage, receiving hugs and handshakes from friends in the Sam Houston Administration and Board of Regents. I reached for his diploma. I moved across the stage, my body shaking uncontrollably from the inside out, plastered a smile on my face and smiled for the camera. The flash thrusting me back into the reality of how terribly wrong it all felt mixed with great love for the people who fought to honor his life and remember his name. I was honored by the thoughtfulness and kindness and am so very grateful now I had that moment, but that day brought death all over. The finality of death of hopes and dreams for the next chapter. The finality of hopes and dreams for his future.

I want to thank you for holding space for me to lean into my grief and triggers. I want to thank your waiters and waitresses for their excellent service and willingness to return to check on us even if my tears made them uncomfortable. I hope for the next guests that walks through your doors, that may have experienced loss, you will be to them as gracious as you were to us. May they find safety and space to rest, recharge, lean into triggers and grief if they need to and walk out your doors the next day anticipating the joy the next leg of their travels will bring. For us that is a new grandson.

With no guarantee that their will not be more triggers, but definitely carrying a bucket full of new hopes and dreams, we will see you in a few weeks when we travel back through the area. Walk through your doors, weary from traveling all day, but with a heart full of gratitude and fall into your hospitality to rest and recharge for the next leg of our journey.

Much love,

Chrissy