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The call that we
never want to get, and are never quite prepared for came the
Monday before the week of Thanksgiving. There is something
about our parents that if nourished in a loving
relationship, continues as a stronghold and they become more
of a rock, despite the gray hair and wrinkles,? no matter how
old,? it is never time to let go.
"Diane, Dad is
gone." were the words that echo my mind and continued to run
havoc through my brain as I tried to make airline
reservations, cancel appointments, order medication and pack
for a trip back to Michigan. Through the tears and telephone
conversations? I thought back two days ago.? Hadn't I just
spoken with him and he said as always, "I'm just fine,
feeling good."? With so many health problems over the past
year, and at 81 he was still so positive, alert and good
natured.
We had planned a
trip to see Mom and Dad this Christmas at their Florida
home; they would have been coming right after
Thanksgiving,? just a week away.? The plans had been made.
Just one more Christmas, Lord. Why now? I wasn??™t able to
say ???goodbye.???
As we rode with
our son-in-law from Detroit Metro on that gray? November
afternoon to my brothers home, my concern was for my Mother.
She? was happy to see us and surrounded by loved ones, family
and? our children and grand-gals. After some quiet time
together we worked diligently on a collage of photos that
Mom wanted to have at the funeral, in the church lounge
where people would pay their last respects, remembering
how? Dad had? looked over the years. I went over the order of
service with our son who was officiating, and together we
picked out some songs that those in attendance would know.
The days seemed
to blend together, the service which was attended by so many
friends, family members and neighbors over the years; the
bounty of food, beautiful flowers, and contributions to the
cancer foundation.? And soon the day before Thanksgiving
arrived. Dad would have loved it. I hadn't seen snow in over
five years, and on that night, Thanksgiving Eve, as the
flurries came down. I stood at the window? looking out at the
beautiful pine trees in my brother??™s backyard, now sprinkled
with powder dust. The moonlight came down and a peaceful
hush prevailed. How precious life is, and how hard to let
go, so many? thoughts? ran through my mind.
At the graveside
service the Friday after Thanksgiving we had? driven the
three hour trip up to the small town where I had spent so
much time with loving grandparents, and where so many family
members are buried among the two cemeteries close by.? I
recalled the years when as a youngster I would accompany my
grandparents to other graves, and one at a time they too
were gone. Now, my Dad was being laid to rest next to the
spot he and my mother had chosen.
I looked
around? at the? peaceful countryside. The day was drab and
dull with snow shoveled to the side of the little lane. Our
immediate family members were in attendance. I stood next to
my mother, she looked frail and I saw her leaning on my
brother. I must have looked frail also, as? I felt my
son??™s? firm arm on me. I listened to the words I'd heard so
many times before, as my husband read from the book of
Corinthians. I saw our children and my nephew and niece; how
I thanked the Lord that Dad had been able to see his own
grandchildren grow and become responsible and happy adults.
But I wouldn't
remember Dad here, when he died his spirit went to heaven. I
would remember him through the years; as far back as I
could, he was always there. To help me hunt? lost cats and
dig proper holes in the backyard for their burials; to walk
beside me when I was learning how to ride a two wheeler, and
finally letting go; reading to me before bedtime. I would
remember when he taught me to dance before my first prom,
politely talking with my dates when they came to the door,
looking up as I spoke in front of groups and seeing his
proud face.? The memories? ran like a waterfall, continuing to
flow, one after another.
As long as I
could hold onto these precious remembrances that my Dad had
been part of, he would always be part of me. How could I
forget the positive attitude that he held onto, never
discouraging, but always seeing the bright side?? While? I
was studying a? homework assignment he might ask me how it
was going...and I would moan something. He always? had a
swift comeback "Hey, if it's a good day tomorrow, we'll
shave the mule."? And I'd have to laugh. Things weren't as
bad as they could be. And tomorrow they would be better.
As the closing
prayer was said I looked up to see a glimpse of the sun rays
for a moment coming through the dull winter sky. I could
imagine Dad saying "Diane, everything will turn out just
right."? And I knew he was now at peace, and I was able to
say good-bye to Dad.
If
you should meet me and forget me, you've lost nothing.
But if you meet Jesus Christ and choose to forget Him,
You've lost everything,
Diane is a
former newspaper reporter and freelance writer. She has
written for a number of websites, magazines, books and other
publication? and is the author of Beach Walks
and her new book Carolina in the Morning.
Diane and her
husband Stephen are the parents of three grown children and
two grand-gals. They make their home on the Carolina coast.
You may visit her website at:
www.DianeDeanWhite.com |
