Dave's Deep Thoughts

Sometimes, you don't come home.

 

When my mom was diagnosed

with dementia several years ago,

my family began that inevitable journey

towards the day when she would

no longer be able to remain on the farm.

After two years of providing

24 hour care for her

we had no options left,

but to take her out of the farmhouse

in which she was born 82 years ago,

and move her into my sister's home.

And so on Sunday,

we had a party on her behalf.

We invited family, neighbors, and friends

to visit her one last time

under the big maple tree

that had housed many picnics & parties

through the years.

Then, after the party,

she was escorted to my sister's car,

never again to set foot on the farm.

We experience last times for many things in life,

this last time just seemed a little bigger.

The week prior to the party,

there had been heavy rains and winds.

The yard was a mess,

with branches and leaves

covering the overgrown grass.

The day before the party, the unexpected happened....

the sun finally came out and began to dry the land.

And so I did what any son would do.

I seized the opportunity and began to mow the lawn.

When you mow a large property,

you have time to think.

And so I mowed,

and I thought about all the memories of life on the farm.

Bailing hay on the 4th of July,

in 95 degree heat.

Supper at 5 o'clock every day,

with the entire family sitting down to table.

Making homemade ice cream with mom

and taking turns at churning.

Hosting neighbors and friends on the weekends,

playing in the creek on hot summer days.

The bush where I hit my brother

in the head with a baseball bat (accidentally)

Putting up with older sisters'

high school friends who came for sleepovers.

Birthdays when friends were able to come over for the entire weekend.

Sitting on the porch in the late evening

and listening to the crickets

or watching the fireflies.

Herding livestock in

when storms approached.

The smell of apples on the trees in the autumn.

Thanksgiving Days

that began with hunting

and ended with extended family

gathered around a table

that had to extend into the living room.

Summers that seemed to last forever,

a swing that hung from a large tree branch,

and sandboxes where we created entire civilizations.

There were sad times too.

Deaths in the family.

Gathering together to grieve.

Times when the family was

challenged with disputes and circumstances.

The day the barn burned,

and watching the helpless expression on a dad's face.

 

But there was always a tomorrow.

Time to rebuild barns.

Time to heal from physical and emotional wounds.

Christmas in the early years.

Taking the tractor out to the grove

and bringing in a fresh tree.

A dad who would foolishly climb the windmill

to place the Christmas star at the highest point.

Big gaudy Christmas bulbs on the front yard bushes

And cold winters,

with snow drifts taller then I could reach.

Bedrooms so cold

I couldn't wait to slip under the electric blanket.

Wood stoves

that made the house feel so good

when you came in from the cold.

Easter mornings

with the obligatory photos in our new clothes,

always in front of mom's flower beds.

Croquet & football games in the front yard.

Graduation parties.

The smell of manure freshly spread in the springtime.

Secret trips to the attic,

just to explore what was there

and

avoidance of the cellar,

which seemed so scary.

When you have a lot of grass to mow,

you can think about a lot.

And so today,

I thought about how much there was to remember.

How much there was for which to be thankful.

How within another generation,

these wonderful stories and memories

would be forgotten.

As I turned off the mower,

I looked at the new home that had just gone up

on the other side of the pasture.

A new family starting their own memories.

Just up the road,

a home had been recently built

to house those with disabilities.

Another type of family,

beginning its own journey.

Yes, it is true,

sometimes you don't come home.

But I am learning that that is okay.

It's what happens when you are a part of eternity.

There is another place for you.

And so as mom was helped into the car,

for that final trip down the driveway,

there was sadness,

but also joy.

A sadness that recognizes we are witnessing a close to a season of life.

But a joy that comes in knowing that there is another season

both for us, and for the families that follow on this sacred space.

And the greatest joy is knowing,

that God is preparing those who love Him,

the best home of all.

In my Father's house,

are many dwelling places;

if it were not so, I would have told you;

for I go to prepare a place for you.

John 14:2