Autumn Trees

Winding paths

Trees ablaze

With colors

Of Autumn

Beauty everywhere

Vibrant

New palettes

For aging leaves

Stillness

And silence

But listen

Listen Intently

Faint breezes

Gracing treetops

So lightly

Almost unnoticed

Leaves softly

Whispering

Quiet words

To one another

Promises

Regrets

Love

Good-byes

Beauty

All around

Yet look

Look closely

Scars and

Wrinkles

Masked

By vibrant color

Death

Disguised

By the beauty

Of Autumn

Leaves

Ready to let go

To fly

And dance

Colorful leaves

Left behind

Mourning those

Gone ahead

Wondering

And dreaming

Of their

Approaching flight

From below

The tree

A new view

Of everything

A tiny part

Of an enormous whole

Unseen

When in the midst

Clarity and

Understanding now

Blind and

Invisible before

Leaves collect

Below the trees

Together

Once again

Welcome home

Sung louder

In the rustling

Of each newly added leaf

Old People

I have a confession to make: I love old people.

It’s funny how my definition of “old” has changed over the years. When I was a young kid, 30 seemed ancient. As a teen, forty was old.  In my 20’s, “old” was anyone 10 years older than my parents.  The older I get, the older “oId” gets. I think I finally admitted that my parents were old when my dad turned 90.

Danielle teases me that most of my church friends are a good 20 years older than me. That may be true, but I don’t consider them to be old people. I do still love them, though. To me, they are like sisters. Maybe it’s because I am the youngest of eight and there is almost a 20 year difference between my oldest sister and me. Even as a teen I seemed to relate more to adults than to other teens. I suppose it’s because most of my siblings were already adults by the time I was a teenager. I’d like to think it’s just that I was mature, but I’m sure there are a few people who would disagree with me on that.

When I was a kid, I realized that my parents were the age of many of my friends’ grandparents. After all, my mom was 42 when I was born and my dad was almost 49. It bothered me some that Mother and Daddy were so much older than my friends’ parents. The older I became, the more I saw the benefits of having older parents. My parents had perfected their parenting by the time I came along. My dad used to tell the story of how when my oldest sister, Kathy, was a newborn she cried a lot. Fearing something was terribly wrong with her, they took her to the doctor and were told, “She’s hungry…feed her more!” By the time I showed up, they knew what my cries meant. They’d also been through every stage of child rearing 7 times, so nothing I did shook them. Then again, maybe that’s because I was so mature. Or not.

Having older parents did make me worry about losing them though. (There is sure to be another blog entry about that somewhere down the road.) I was certain that I’d lose my parents before any of my friends would lose their much younger parents. Little did I know that Daddy would live to 91 and Mother would live to 87.

So who are these old people I love? Most of them I don’t even know. I see them in grocery stores and sitting on benches and nearly everywhere I go. They might be using a walker or cane or wheelchair. Sometimes they are holding the arm of their adult child or their spouse.  Their hair is gray or white or gone. They are bent and walk slowly. Their faces and hands are wrinkled. And they are beautiful to me. I look at them and see that they have lived.  Even though I don’t know them, I want to ask them about their lives. I know they have stories to tell, stories of their childhoods, of friendships and loves, of heartbreak and loss. They have lived long enough to realize what is truly important in life. Their stories would surely reflect that. That is beauty…pure and simple.

Who Did She Love More?

Before meeting Eric, I'd taken one or two other boys home to meet my parents. They weren't serious boyfriends, but I learned quickly that my parents viewed them as such. Once I figured that out, I told Mother and Daddy that I wouldn't be bringing boyfriends home any more unless I intended to marry them. I don't remember exactly how long Eric and I dated before I took him home. We were serious, but remembering what I'd told my parents about bringing another boyfriend home, I decided to have a little fun with them. When Eric and I got to the farm, I introduced Eric as "Stef's boyfriend". Stef was my roommate at the time. My parents met her when Stef and I were in college together. Stef was much taller than me...and several inches taller than Eric. Mother and Daddy knew right away that Eric was in fact my boyfriend. I'm sure they also suspected that a wedding wouldn't be far off.

They loved Eric from the day they met him. I've always admired Eric for being able to talk to anyone about anything. He showed an interest in hearing about farming and trapping from Daddy. And he loved to eat, so that won Mother's heart! I do remember telling Eric not to talk religion or politics with Daddy though!

Over the years, Eric was always willing to help out with things around the farm. And as Mother and Daddy got older, he would help them in any way he could. I know they appreciated it greatly. Mother said on more than one occasion that they considered him "more son than in-law". I think they felt that way about all their sons and daughters in law. Mother and Daddy liked Eric so much that I often teased him (and them) that they loved him more than they loved me. It became a bit of an ongoing joke between Eric and I.

Even when Mother was in hospice, I teased Eric that she loved him more. Every summer, on Father's Day weekend, Eric would golf in a tournament in Rochester with his dad. Mother ended up in hospice just a day before the start of that tournament. Eric's mom generously offered to watch our kids while Eric golfed and I spent time with my mom. At that point, I didn't want Lauren and Evan to see Grandma as I knew it would have been hard on them. They'd seen her a week before when she was still in good spirits and I wanted then to remember her like that. And as I was losing my own mom, I knew it was important for Eric to spend time with his dad. Surely their years of playing that annual tournament were numbered.

The doctor had given us his opinion that Mother had "days rather than weeks" to live. When I told Eric to go ahead and play the tournament, I said that if Mother died before it was finished, that I would need him to drop out of the tournament and be there for me. I teased Eric that we'd find out once and for all who Mother loved more...him or me. I told him that if she lived through the golf tournament, it would be obvious that she loved him more, since she knew how much he loved golfing.

Eric had plans to travel to New Jersey for work the week following Father's Day. When our kids were little, I hated it when he had to travel. As our kids got older, it didn't bother me as much, but I still liked it better when he was home.

Eric and Danielle came to the hospital on Thursday night to see me and to visit my mom for what they knew would be the last time. On Father's Day, Danielle was to leave on a mission trip for church. We knew that Grandma would want her to go and we'd already made plans with the trip leaders to retrieve Dani if my mom died during the week they were gone.

Eric's golf tournament ended Saturday night. Mother was still hanging on. Dani left Sunday morning on her mission trip, just as Grandma would have wanted. Late that same afternoon, Mother went home to Heaven.

When I saw Eric, I joked with him that Mother must have loved him more than me, since she held on until after his golf tournament ended. It then occurred to me that by dying when she did, her funeral would be held during the time that Eric was to be in New Jersey. His trip had to be cancelled. Mother knew how much I used to hate when Eric was out of town on business. She had seen to it that he wouldn't have to go on that trip after all. Maybe she really did love me just as much as she loved him!

One thing I have learned is that it is ok, and even therapeutic, to keep a sense of humor during life's most difficult moments.

The Grief Stone

A jagged sharp stone

Of grief

Lodged itself in my heart

On the day you died

Every thought I had

Every breath I took

Scraped and cut

Pierced and hurt

Countless tears fell

Unstoppable

In response to the pain

Of losing you

Each tear

Was like an ocean wave

Mighty and powerful

Upon my heart

I wondered if it was possible

To drown in my own tears

To be pulled under the waves

And never resurface

The waves

Were commanding and relentless

Washing across my heart

And the grief stone embedded there

Ever so slowly

The sharp edges

Began to lose

Their jaggedness

Each pounding wave

Was transforming

The grief stone

Not drowning the heart

Jagged edges smoothing

Memories no longer

Piercing the heart

So deeply

The waves still persist

Not as frequent

Nor as intense

But they still come

The grief stone

Will never be dislodged

It has permanent residency

Within my heart

But each wave

Continues to transform it

Buffing and polishing the stone

Into something gentle and peaceful

The End of Summer Vacation

Today is the first day of the new school year. Yesterday, our kids did their best to enjoy every last second of summer vacation. The girls slept in and Evan was up early, typical this summer. They all spent hour after hour outside yesterday. I had a request to take them to Cherry Berry for frozen yogurt since it was the last day of summer. Dani must think like me, because I already was planning to take them there. Later, Evan convinced Eric to take them to Pizza Ranch for supper, since it was the last day of summer. Then it was back home to squeeze in a few more hours of play time with the neighbor kids. And for perhaps the first time all summer, I didn't hear any arguing between the kids. They were soaking up every minute, trying to make just a few more summer memories. Maybe if they stayed outside, all of us parents would forget to call them in and school would be postponed.

Then 8 o'clock hit, and all the parents in the neighborhood called their kids in. Surprisingly, our kids didn't seem too sad. They were ready to go back to seeing their friends at school each day. They were ready for life to go on, as they knew it would. They also knew they had held onto summer for as long as possible and would long remember all the fun they had. I actually felt like I was taking it harder than they were. The thought of summer vacation being over and getting kids up early each morning and making them do homework every night was not a pleasant one.

As I watched them play outside yesterday, it struck me that when each Daddy and Mother were dying, I was holding on to them just like a kid holding onto the last day of summer vacation. With Daddy, we knew he likely had only a few months to live. We visited often, trying to soak up the memories of him. With Mother, we only had 9 days of knowing she was dying. Short of a miracle, I wanted nothing more than to spend every moment with her. I wanted to memorize her hands, her face, everything about her. I hated to leave her room for more than a few minutes, for fear of her leaving this earth while I was gone. I wanted to hold onto her until the last possible minute. Thankfully I was there when God called her into his loving arms. Losing Mother was the hardest thing I have ever been through. And yet there was peace in that moment when she died. I knew where she was going. I knew she was reunited with Daddy, and so many others who had gone before her. I knew she was with Jesus now and would never have pain or sadness again. I knew life would go on for our family as well. There would be plenty days of grieving. But we had held onto her as long as we could. And I have memories that will last a lifetime.

Perhaps we should all live each day just like a kid on the last day of summer vacation.