A journey over the rainbow

Dinner Date

C.J. Fitzwater

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.“ With our usual Tuesday auction canceled due to the timing of the Christmas holiday (my primary job is running an auto auction in Kittery, Maine), I took the opportunity for an impromptu adventure. My wife, Nina, stayed behind for work, and our son, Max, eager to take his driver’s test and earn his license, decided to stay as well. Their choice gave me the freedom to catch the first flight out of Boston, soaring above the clouds like a Kansas farmhouse carried by the wind, to Jacksonville, Florida.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”

I was on a quest to confront my past and share words left unsaid. Back in October, I had written a letter to my mother, Anna after she became gravely ill. It was a reflection on our relationship, filled with the things I needed to say before it was too late-words born of anger and pain. Now, I was determined to read it to her, hoping to bring closure and perhaps peace.

I rented a car and followed that golden path to my sister Judy’s home on Amelia Island, where my mother and Aunt Diana were staying. With great anticipation, I felt one step closer to finding a land of peace and understanding. Though not physically present, my wife was my constant companion — a reassuring voice on the other end of the line, guiding me like Toto, nudging me toward the next chapter.

At a local southern diner called Ms. Carolyn’s, known for its comfort food, oversized buttermilk biscuits and sweet tea, I read my letter aloud to my mother and aunt. Both have faced their own struggles, including difficult relationships with their children and lingering scars from abusive childhoods. Like the Scarecrow longing for a brain, they have searched a lifetime for peace of mind, and now, as they enter the golden years, they also seek forgiveness. Tears fell freely at the table, but with them came healing. Peace, much like Glinda the Good Witch, arrived quietly, washing away years of anger that had lingered like the shadow of the Wicked Witch.

“Someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me, where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops—that’s where you’ll find me.”

The next morning, I continued my journey south, driving through central Florida’s endless orange groves and cattle ranches. Arriving in Lakeland, I visited friends, George and Judi Burtch, who split their time between Salisbury Beach and their nice, active 55-plus community in central Florida.

George and Judi have built a life filled with joy and purpose. Judi, whether at their beach home or in Florida, always has a puzzle on the table, like a cup of tea steeping. Their game room is a trove of Parker Brothers and Milton Bradley classics, cleverly decorated to celebrate their passion. They are the type of parents everyone wishes they had-warm, generous, and active volunteers.

George, after moving to Salisbury, channeled his energy and determination into volunteering at Anna Jaques Hospital, a few years ago his dedication earned him the title of volunteer of the year. Yet, his most courageous endeavor has been his involvement in restoring and housing the historic carousel at Salisbury Beach. Among the carousel’s menagerie of animals is a special giraffe named “Missie,” a tribute to their daughter, whom they tragically lost a few years ago.

Every day, George and Judi face their grief with remarkable bravery. They refuse to let sorrow define them, choosing instead to honor Missie’s spirit in ways both big and small. Whether through the whimsical Hello Kitty decorations, a nod to Missie’s favorite character, or by carrying her love and generosity forward, they embody courage. Each new connection they make, each moment of kindness shared, is a choice to celebrate their daughter’s memory by spreading the giving spirit she brought to the lives she encountered during her life.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow— why, then, oh why can’t I?”

Continuing along the yellow brick road, I found myself in Port St. Lucie, where my next visit was with Jessica Gholston, the mother of Dominick, my heart donor. She was delighted by the visit, inviting me to stay and attend her church the following day. Jessica’s friends- Frank, Kristina, Brian, and Tracey — have become her pillars of strength as she navigates life without Dominick. Each of them has experienced their own grief, and together they support one another, walking the difficult path that the loss of a loved one brings.

Dominick’s death, four and a half years ago, shattered Jessica’s world. While his heart saved me and his organs helped save others, Jessica’s heart remains broken. Her search for healing brought her to Christ Fellowship Church, where her friends have surrounded her with love and understanding.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow- why, then, oh why can’t I?”

On Sunday, I joined Jessica at Christ Fellowship, a South Florida megachurch that felt like the Emerald City itself. With 30,000 parishioners each Sunday, the atmosphere was electric, resembling a major sports event. There were live animals, camels, goats, and donkeys referencing Jesus’s birth in a manger. There were cookies, and a café that rivaled Starbucks. The service combined live performers with on-screen dramatic storytelling, before the Wizard- like pastor Todd Mullins shared the message that Jesus was born to build relationships and take away sadness.

Jessica’s loss is profound. Dominick was her heart. While she will never stop grieving, her journey at Christ Fellowship is helping her find pieces of herself again. As the Wizard told the Tin Man, “Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.”

As I made my way back north to catch my flight, I reflected on the journey. My relationship with my mother had finally reached a place of peace. George and Judy had shown me the true meaning of courage in the face of tragedy, and there was hope that Jessica might one day find her heart again. At every stop, I confronted the Wicked Witch of anger, sadness, unforgiveness, and ego. Yet, peace, love, joy, and Glinda’s guiding hand prevailed in the end.

There’s no place like home, and I found myself missing Nina, yet comforted by the knowledge that the lessons I had learned along the yellow brick road would stay with me. Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, I had discovered the land I had once heard of in a lullaby—a place where forgiveness, courage, and love could finally be found.

In memory of Melissa Siu Bean (Burtch) Moorhouse 1980-2018 and Dominick Gholston 1992- 2020.

“If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why, oh why can’t I?”

“Dinner Date” is a series of stories written by Salisbury resident C.J. Fitzwater about the places and people he meets for dinner. If you are interested in meeting, eating and telling your story, send him an email at cfitzwater@ymail.com. Thanks for reading, and supporting local journalism.