Three Heroes

A few days ago, one of my children practically insisted that we watch “Avengers: End Game”. Again. At this point, there are large segments of the movie I can quote. Sometimes in my sleeep.

I admit, I love a good superhero movie. There’s great escape watching beings with fantastic powers defeat other-worldly foes. A well-crafted movie offers many opportunities to suspend disbelief and get sucked into the drama and action.

It’s perhaps too easy, however, to lose ourselves in a world of make believe; where the “good team” always triumphs and all the heroes — well, most of them anyway — get to go home at the end of the day.

Of course, we know that’s not how life works. Most of what we do is drudgery. Whether you live alone or in a home with ten other people, there is always laundry that needs to be done, dishes that need to be washed, hurts that have to be tended to, messes to clean up; the list goes on.

But, in the midst of the drudgery, there are so many opportunities for every day heroes to emerge. An everyday hero is a parent (single or married) who, despite her or his own exhaustion, serves children breakfast before they run out the door to school. It is a parent who goes to work at an un-loved job to provide for family. It is an individual who serves others selflessly in the community with no recognition for their efforts. It is the person who others can trust and depend upon when the going gets rough.

For all their efforts, I would like to offer posthumous recognition to three of my everyday heroes. They’re pictured above rocking some of the finest clothing the 1970s had to offer.

Vera Burton Pace

On the left, my paternal grandmother, Vera Burton Pace. Grandma V, as I liked to call her, was an amazing woman. Her husband Tom (my grandfather) worked a relentless schedule. He worked well into my young adult years. I accompanied him on a couple of his business trips. That was a schedule he had always kept which left my grandma to raise six children on her own much of the time. Here’s the thing: she genuinely loved it.

I’m sure she had her bad days — all of us do — but what was inspiring to me about Grandma V was how much she loved serving other people. She routinely baked meals enough to feed her own family as well as a neighbor who just needed a little something extra. In her own home, she worked day and night to make sure others were comfortable.

I had the privilege of living with my paternal grandparents for a time while I was in college. I made my own bed every morning, but my grandma would almost always come down to my room and make the bed to perfection. That was just her way. She always made sure I had a hot meal for dinner, and I often had to force my way into the kitchen to wash dishes with her.

Grandma V died on December 23, 2006 from bone cancer, oddly, the thing she feared the most.

The most important lesson I learned from her was how to genuinely find joy in serving others.

Delores Fern Brewster Colclough

On the right, my maternal grandmother, Delores Fern Brewster Colclough, Grandma Dee, for short. Here was another amazing woman.

I have a lot of fond memories with Grandma Dee. Interestingly, as kids we often referred to Grandma Dee as the grumpy grandma. There were two things I didn’t realize when I was a kid because Grandma Dee never talked about it.

First, for most of my life before her passing, Grandma Dee lived with almost constant pain. As kids, we interpreted her pain as grumpiness. In her last ten years, she was wheelchair-bound due to what doctors could only describe as a very slow stroke. Eventually, she would lose most of the use of both her hands.

Second, Grandma Dee took care of us, silently. It was Grandma Dee (and Grandpa Joe) that helped my parents make sure we always had food enough and provided Christmas and birthday gifts in abundance. (Side note: Grandpa Joe taught me the love of engineering, and always making sure I knew how to solve a problem before I relied on a computer to do it for me.)

Grandma Dee didn’t often use swears, but when she’d come to visit us in our split-entry home, we would have to carry her up and down the stairs in her wheelchair. It was terrifying for her every time, but she endured it because of her love of family. She came to everything, even though it was hard for her to just to get into a car.

Grandma Dee died on December 31, 1996 from what doctors described as a prolonged stroke after being ill for more than a decade.

The most important lesson I learned from her was how to how to really love others before yourself.

Pamela Joy Colclough Pace

In the center, my mother, Pamela Joy Colclough Pace. I could write volumes about her. My mom was, and remains to this day, one of my greatest heroes.

When I was just 9 years old, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Back in the late 1980s, that was a pretty bleak diagnosis. In 2020, the survival rate for her type of cancer is above 95%. Back then, it was below 30%. Of course, as kids my parents did a lot to shield us from what was going on. I could also write volumes about the super-human efforts of my dad who is my greatest living hero today.

Essentially all of my childhood memories come from a time when my mom was sick; dying really. Yet, she persevered. She served others. She worked until she was too sick to work. She battled depression; horrible depression. Somehow, my parents protected us from all that. We made volumes of good memories during those terrible years.

I would often come home from school and *plop* down on the bed next to my mom and tell her all about my day. She rarely put the burden of her pain on us even though she was in constant pain. She would sit or lay in bed and listen to us tell our stories. When she felt well enough, she would be up serving us or the neighbors. My mom’s best friend died of the same cancer that would ultimately take my mom’s life too. My mom spent a lot of time with her friend; they comforted each other.

So much of who I am today is tied to the relationship I had with my mother. Even though she’s been gone for nearly 30 years, I still think about her almost every day.

My mom died on November 30, 1993 from metastatic breast cancer. She was only 39.

The most important lesson I learned from my mother was how to have real faith; faith in God; faith in Jesus Christ; faith in the goodness of so many people around me.

If you’ve come this far, I have an invitation for you: consider the heroes in your life. Whether they’re alive or not, a part of your life or not, I challenge you to thank them for their impact on you.