A Peaceful, Happy Place

On this autumn morning, Abbie Wharton and I met to talk beside Caleb’s Garden, a poignant memorial honoring her 21-year-old son, who died in an automobile accident Sunday, November 2, 2014.

 

This past spring, you see, I’d broached the idea of penning a Reflections about her family’s journey, then well into its fourth year, and the tribute to Caleb, a 2012 Collegiate graduate.  Tough subject, I recall saying, as if she needed a reminder. We’ll talk about Caleb, of course. And the garden. And how you’ve all coped. But if you’d rather not do the interview, we certainly don’t have to. Abbie didn’t hesitate. She was all in.

 

So there she stood, on this day that some might consider a bit gloomy, sharing with me – and now with you – through smiles and tears, her insights, observations, and memories.

 

“Caleb was a happy, easy kid,” Abbie began. “He didn’t ask for much. He was very grateful. He was born with life-threatening allergies to all nuts and carried epinephrine with him all the time. He couldn’t put anything in his mouth without thinking about it first. He never complained. He was just a compassionate, empathetic kid. I think that (his health challenge) was a big reason why. He didn’t know a stranger. He was a loyal friend. He never had an agenda. He really appreciated life.”

 

Caleb played lacrosse and football at Collegiate. After flirting with the idea of continuing his lacrosse career at Division I Virginia Military Institute, he opted for Hampden-Sydney where he found joy competing for the Division III Tigers. An economics major, he was interviewing for summer internships in the early fall of 2014 and hoped ultimately to work with his father Kemper, a financial consultant with Raymond James.

 

That Sunday around noon, Caleb called his folks, who were in Davidson, NC, to watch his sister Libba, Collegiate Class of 2014, play field hockey for Appalachian State against the Wildcats.

 

They talked, caught up on some news, then signed off.

 

As they did, Abbie said, “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Mom,” Caleb responded.

 

The next call Abbie received was from Miller Golliday, Caleb’s good friend and high school and college classmate.

There’s been an accident, Miller told her. Caleb’s been hurt.

 

Stunned, shocked, and incredulous, she and Kemper talked to the authorities on the scene, which was close to the Hampden-Sydney campus.

 

Then, they pulled Libba off the hockey field and began the frantic five-hour drive to Farmville, receiving periodic updates along the way. They contacted their older son Conrad, a VMI senior and 2009 Collegiate graduate who was in Detroit interviewing for jobs. He hurriedly booked a flight home.

 

“We first thought Caleb would be medevaced to Richmond,” Abbie said. “We were calling family and friends. Can you meet us at the hospital? About an hour outside Farmville, the (emergency room) doctor told us.”

 

In the early evening, Abbie, Libba, and Kemper arrived at Southside Community Hospital. There, they saw Caleb.

 

“He did not have any cuts or bruises,” Abbie said. “He looked so peaceful.”

 

The ensuing days were a blur: Caleb’s funeral at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church. Interment in Port Republic, VA, in Rockingham County between his grandfather and great grandfather.

 

“We would not be here today,” Abbie said, “if it were not for the love and support of friends and family, the Collegiate community, the Hampden-Sydney community. Never in my life have I felt so much pain. But so much love and support at the same time.

 

“Faith has been a huge part of our survival. I remember John Miller (their minister at St. Mary’s) saying, ‘What do you want?’ I said, ‘I just want to know that Caleb is safe and taken care of, that arms are wrapped around him.’ That’s how we felt. That’s God’s grace.”

 

Then began the long, challenging, intensely emotional road back.

 

Which brings us to Caleb’s Garden. Located on the embankment at the southwest corner of the Grover Jones Field and Jim Hickey Track on Collegiate’s North Mooreland Road campus, it was dedicated in September 2015.

 

“Caleb’s classmates donated the bench and the maple tree,” Abbie said. “They wanted it close to the football field. There really wasn’t much here other than some cryptomeria along the fence. We wanted to enclose it to make it a special place. This is the spot where Kemper and I would stand to watch Caleb (play football and lacrosse). We always felt like the spot needed a tree.”

 

A landscape designer by profession, Abbie (in collaboration with Terry Tosh and Sue Thompson, her partners at Garden Graces LLC) played a major role in the design of the garden.

 

“We have hydrangeas,” Abbie said. “They usually bloom starting in the spring and summer. The plant on the corner – thread leaf amsonia– turns bright golden yellow in the fall. It was chosen for Collegiate. We have angelonia and vinca (which have white blooms). I like white because it shows up at nighttime. Evergreens – hollies, cryptomeria, magnolias – were chosen just to give a backdrop. And there’re different varieties of daffodils. They all have meaning. There’s one called Sweet Love, one called Angel Eyes. Several were chosen for Collegiate.”

 

Abbie, along with the school’s grounds staff, tends the garden. Depending on the season and the weather, she comes once every week or two to weed and prune, tidy up and water, and reflect.

 

“The garden has been a peaceful place for me,” she said. “Caleb loved Collegiate. I love being here and hearing the background noise. I think the garden has given a lot of people pleasure.”

 

There’s more.

 

“Little things will show up here that are so meaningful,” she said. “(Boys varsity lacrosse coach) Andrew Stanley will oftentimes bring his team here for meetings before a game. Sometimes, I’ll find lacrosse balls tucked away.

 

“When I see a heart, I think of Caleb. A friend hung a heart (made of gold fabric with colored beads) in a tree that only I could see. It disappeared for a while. That made me sad. Then it came back…on his birthday. My friend didn’t take it. That’s a silly thing, but it’s been a very meaningful connection.”

 

Conrad, who graduated from VMI the month after his brother’s accident, now works as a senior portfolio manager for United Bank in Charlottesville. Libba completed her first-semester classwork and exams from home, but she never returned to Appalachian State. She remained in Richmond during the spring of 2015 – “a gift to me,” Abbie said – then enrolled at Virginia where she graduated last May with a degree in art history. She’s now a merchandising assistant for Saks Fifth Avenue in New York.

 

How have you managed? I asked.

 

“It’s been very difficult,” Abbie acknowledged. “Kemper and I went to a grief counselor for over a year, and I went back and checked in this (past) summer. That was very impactful. One piece of advice that somebody gave us early on is that we are going to grieve differently, and we need to give each other space but stay connected through the process. The counselor was a big part of our getting through.”

 

And holidays, family events, and the anniversary? I said.

 

“We call November 2 a sadiversary,” Abbie said. “The first couple of years, Caleb’s friends met us at Port Republic. We planted bulbs, had a picnic, shared happy stories. That’s what we try to do: celebrate his life.”

 

Recovery from a grievous loss never ends, of course. It’s managing one day at a time, sometimes one moment at a time, sometimes one step forward, then two steps backwards. There’re always reminders, but you persevere. You have no choice but to persevere.

 

“As your brain heals and you’re slowly getting reacclimated,” Abbie said, “everybody (else) carries on, as they should. We’ll never, ever be the same people. We’re still trying to incorporate our loss. I feel constantly unbalanced. I try to focus on doing things for other people, trying to make a difference because of Caleb, trying to be a better person because of our loss.

 

“Grief is so individual. Everybody handles it differently. I’ve learned a lot about compassion. I’ve found that everything takes me longer. I don’t have the energy I once had…but definitely more so than I did. I think you have to guard yourself, take care of yourself.”

 

We’d talked for almost an hour. Our time together was coming to an end. Through our conversation, I’d seen uncommon courage and resolve in the face of unfathomable loss. I’d seen strength and character. I’d seen quiet dignity. I’d seen hope.

 

I’m no gardener, I commented as we were parting, but Caleb’s Garden seems so very bright, even on a dark, rainy day.

Abbie smiled.

 

“Our intention,” she said, “is that this is a happy place. A pretty place, forever.”

 

And a forever place? I said.

 

“Yes,” she replied. “A forever place.”

  -- Weldon Bradshaw