Wednesday, April 8, 2009

From my friend Jill

Fate is a strange bed fellow, and time is a healer.
Busy days and nights cause distraction from the unpleasant.
Or is it just that time is a healer?
I am not sure.
What I am sure of is April 7th is here. A day I have dreaded for the last 7 years.
It's the day I last held my father's warm hand, laid my head against his chest, listening to his heart beat, as we all told him, it was OK to go, to give up his fight, making promises to take good care of his bride of 54 years.
Yes, my parents were still in love. On their 50th anniversary trip, a cruise in France, people thought they were newly weds, and instead of cringing like little kids would. Don and I and some of our close friends marveled at the depth of love my parents felt towards each other and how long they had loved each other for.....till the end. A few months shy of 55 years.
Fate, a strange friend, I hadn't realized April had come. I do recall trying to think of an April fools joke to play on Kyle and Don, came up with nothing. Last week was to busy to spend time on things like that.
Don and I attended concerts in the night, and the normal weekly activities and a lot of pouring over travel books planing our 30th anniversary trip this summer to Alaska.
We missed seeing the travel agent on Sat, and set off to meet with her on Sunday..but failed. We got there at 3:00 p.m. and, oops they close at 3:00...and then it happened.
We were driving back home, talking about this weeks plans. Who's going where when and so on. Tree people coming and going and trying to figure out where to fit in family time. And Kyle going to Ct. to see a show with Ethan and Ethan's other half, Kelly.
Kyle didn't seem ready to drive to Hartford alone, and it became clear, I would drive him half way, and meet up with Ethan at a rest stop, and do a pass off. The rest stop is also the half way mark between our house in NJ and our house in Ma. That was my parents house....and that's how I came to find myself here, on the cusp of the passing of my father.
Comfort, I find inside these walls. I hear my parents laughter, and my father, the only time he'd get annoyed with my mother, her soft voice calling from another room, and he couldn't make out what she was saying. No one could. So after a few tries, seeing his frustration growing, I'd get up and play translator between the two, relaying messages between the 2.
Once annoying, now something I miss.
The long breakfasts continue. Several cups of coffee around the round table, till the coffee is cold, leaving rings inside the cold china cut. That tradition continues and is part of what makes this house a home.
This morning, bundle up.
Put muckers on my feet.
It's raining, raining and it's mud season in the Berkshires, and add in the rain, it makes the cold wet mush shin high mud in some places.
Take my parents memorial stones I made, out of their winter hide out and place them in the garden. Go back inside the house and fetch a hot cup of coffee, and lawn chair and share quiet time with my parents once again. Giving thanks for the wonderful life they gave me, filling them in on their amazing grandsons, and filling them in with what they have missed, the awesome women my sons have chosen to spend their time with.
That some how, when I never thought I would ever smile again,
from deep inside, spreading all over me on the outside, I have.
When I thought I could no longer put one foot in front of the other,
somehow I have.
When I thought I'd never see the bright sun inside of my soul, I have.
Fate is a strange friend
and time is a healer.
It was 8 years ago today, since I held my father's strong hand,
Yet somehow, I can still feel him.
Love your parents today, thank them today.
Love your friends today and tell them so.
Treasure your children, even when they get on your last nerve.
Tomorrow is a gift, promised to no one.

I'm thankful for my country home.........It brings me PEACE OF MIND!

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