Down the Lane

Five years ago, we drove down the brick paved driveway of my parents log home to head back to our home. We'd been there three weeks taking care of my parents. My Dad was recovering from a broken hip. I had replaced my Dad in caring for my Mom who had become almost 90% dependent on someone else concerning her physical needs. We also had begun the overwhelming task of the beginning of packing up 55 years of accumulated possessions. Overwhelming is an understatement.

It had been a rough three weeks. I was physically and emotionally drained. I was glad to be going back home. I felt like I had lost my own life. As we drove out, I broke my tradition. I did not look back for one last look. I knew it could possibly be my last time there. Even though only the upstairs had been packed and things they weren't using elsewhere was packed, I had a feeling I would not be back. And still I chose to not look back. I did not want that last look in my memory.

But still I have last glances in my mind. I remember all the other times I looked back. Mom and Dad waving from the porch, always looking sad that the much anticipated visit was over. When Mom no longer was able to come out on the porch to see us off, we said good-bye to her in the living room. Never could quite give her a full hug since she was sitting in her chair. Dad would stand alone on the porch, waving us off while wiping his tears from his cheeks.

Today I am thinking about stopping at my parents log home in the forest on our way home from our Florida vacation. My first time back since we moved them north. This will be a hard step in the grieving process for me because this is the place I call my parents home. I think I am ready.

I was picturing driving down the lane to the log home again. Just remembering the excitement of arriving after a long trip brought tears to my eyes. It was always fun to try to sneak in and get to the door before they saw us. Or they were watching and would quickly come outside to greet us.

If I can just make it down the lane. If I can just see the log home without expecting Dad to greet us from the porch. If I can just not picture Mom waiting inside the living room all excited because we have arrived. But I know I will. So if I can just do those few things without bawling my head off, I would like to go there. I think I am ready.

Grieving is going down the lane. Turning another corner. Embracing the flood of memories both sweet and sad. Seeing new things while remembering old things. Even through tears. Sad smiles. Replacing last looks with new looks. I think I am ready.

Grieving is a life long journey down the lane. Seldom am I ready.

From Pills to Bottles: Siblings

This beautiful blog written by someone else is dedicated to my one and only dear sibling....Linda, my precious see'star. And my three daughters. Always stick together! Sibling bonds are a blessing from the Lord.

From Pills to Bottles: Siblings

Father, forgive them.

My childhood was filled with unique experiences because of my parents involvement in ministry. In the mid 50's to the mid 60's, my Dad was a Youth For Christ International director in South Bend, Indiana, London, Ontario and West Palm Beach, Florida. YFC is an outreach to high school youth in cooperation with the local churches. Saturday evening rallies were held with fun activities and special speakers from all over. One speaker that stands out in my memory was a Japanese gentleman who we hosted for dinner in our home. His testimony was of God's amazing grace to change his life from a lost sinner to a believer of Christ. After the meal, he fascinated us by writing our names in Japanese and the words, 'Father, forgive them.' Those three words were very significant for Captain Mitsuo Fuchida. Why? He was the Japanese pilot in command that led the attack on Pearl Harbor. From Pearl Harbor To Calvary!

Seeing Dad

I read another daughter's blog this morning about her dear father's declining health. She is already in the process of grieving because she is preparing herself to let go. Letting go of how things were, living with how things are and getting ready for how things will be.

I remember being at the beginning of grieving. Maybe I am somewhere in the middle now. I do not believe there is an end to grieving. Because there are those moments when a sight, a sound, or a smell propels you back in time. And unexpectedly the tears you thought were all cried out flow again, a deep sadness you thought time had replaced with the joy of memories settles over you, and the yearning for one more hug, one more talk, one more moment is unfulfilled.

I will confide that I have a special one more moment with my Dad every Sunday morning. Sitting in the church sanctuary before service begins, I ALWAYS look towards the door to the left of the platform. In my mind's eye, I see a vision of my father framed in the doorway as he enters the sanctuary from his Sunday School class. His Bible is under his arm, his steps are slower, his once erect 6'4" stature is now stooped, his white hair is beautifully combed with every hair in place and he is strikingly sharp in his colorful suit coat with matching tie.

It is only a brief glimpse. But in this moment, I still feel Dad is there with me. I miss you Dad!