Coming and Going Home

Over the pre-Holiday weekend, I traveled HOME..to my first home...to Iowa and spent time with my mom and dad. It has been a rollercoaster week of emotions and feelings. Being away from my computer has created a bit of angst. I am 'itching' to write...so here goes.

What a blessing it has been for me and my brothers and sisters to have our parents healthy and alive all of these years. We are considered a fairly close family. We have our differences. From politics to food choices, we are a mixed bag of nuts. But, many positive things come to mind of why we are who we are, and do what we do. It is our roots.

We were raised on a farm, where WORK did start early in the morning and none of us were excempt! ( if you ask the boys...they may say they worked harder than the girls, and if you ask an older sibling, they may say they had it harder)...but all in all, we have survived. We respect, support and LOVE one another. Not only were we taught to WORK HARD, but we also were given time to PLAY together. Not just the kids, we all played together. From sack races in the front yard, making play houses in the weeds, taking a picnic down to the creek and drinking fresh cold water out of the tile, to going minature golfing...and boating! yes, we had a boat when I grew up. It was a very common theme on a nice hot summer day that dad would decide by one o'clock pm that he had done enough work that day and could take off for the RIVER! Mom would fix a picnic lunch for us to eat...creative cooking in a jiffy...and away we would all go! It was this spontaneous yet, hardworking lifestyle that created five independent strong-willed adults.

My parents are both 82 years old now. Time has been good to them. They live alone in an EARTH HOME, that they built 28 years ago. They have a huge lawn to mow, both have riding lawn mowers and their place looks like a park! It is beautiful. It is where I used to tromp through on summer days to get to the creek to cool off. Dad's heart hasn't been good for the last ten years. This spring, he noticed a definite difference in how he felt. Doctoring weekly with different specialists, he still isn't feeling up to par. He doesn't like it and neither do we. He is a goer and doer. Even at his age, he just doesn't like to sit! He wants to keep on keeping on. He is frustrated that he feels so weak and out of breath. It is very hard especially as a nurse to see him like this and not be able to offer him anything but support. And, that is rejected by him especially if he is being treated like an invalid. (ie; assistance walking, etc)

So, when he wanted to go "burn trash" in the big hole he had dug down in the back of a field and mom suggested I go with him. I did jump at the chance. It felt like 45 years ago. I was 9 then...and many times, we would HAVE to go help him do something. It might be hold open a gate and watch so the cattle or pigs didn't get out. It might have been to go hook up a wagon, just something that made his work a little bit easier. So, away we went, he driving and me being the little girl helping her dad once more. We loaded up the trash, grabbed some newspapers and away he slowly drove. Back behind their home, through the oak trees, into the pasture and back by the creek. He talked the entire way, pride beaming with every word. This is his life, his home and his world. He showed me the volunteer apple trees, we drove back by the corn to see how big it was. He showed me where he mowed the paths to get back to the 'dump' area and we talked about the land. What is was worth, was it wasn't worth. My folks have sold off some of this non-tillable land to eager homebuyers who have built lovely homes. I am a bit envious. This land where I grew up, that I don't have really any future connection to. My homeland...is now someone elses. We then stopped up to the garage and picked up the gas weedwacker. He wanted me to help him trim around the big machine shed. I was more than glad to help him do this. When I got done doing the weedwacking, with trembling muscles in my arms and hands (yes, I am out of shape!) he then took me inside the machine shed, showing off his possessions. His world. He pointed out each tractor, his very old road grader that he purchased last year. (yes, he made a service road..I got to drive that one too) and then all the way in the back, the brand new combine that my brother has just purchased. We climbed into this combine and sat. He explained all that he knew about it.

These precious moments spent with him are cemented in my memory. All of our days are numbered. Perhaps something will happen to me, before it happens to him. But, these moments are priceless. This time spent with him. He is the patriarch and he will always be in that role, no matter how weak he gets.

Mom and I spent our time in the kitchen. She is the one who taught me to cook. She has this relaxed approach to everything she does. I love her for that. I have picked up that same approach. We made 3 gallons of homemade potato salad for a 4th of July Birthday Bash we attended for my brother-in-law! Mom is known for her delicious potato salad. Her dump, mix and taste method works. No recipe sits on her counter for this salad. It was delicious, I must admit.

I was given a book called "Companion Through the Darkness" by Stephanie Erickson. She too is a widow, her inner dialogues on grief as she calls them are honest, open, raw and touching. Her widow experience is different from mine. She is pregnant with her first child when her husband dies. But, many of her feelings are my feelings. Some of what I am reading is too much for me. It hurts, I am not ready to move where she has moved to. But, I understand, that someday I will be there too. She writes about her home, their home that she is leaving. She looks around and remembers all of the memories it contains. ...we are still here, in the air, in the walls. ...our lives together are soaked into the thirsty sheetrock like permanent paint. They can be covered maybe, but never removed. So it is, with my two homes. My life as a child, my life as an adult with my own family remains intact. I am still there and I am still here.

One year for our anniversary, Bruce bought me this piece of art/work in a frame, It is a home that is etched into a piece of homemade paper all done in white. It hangs in our foyer hallway. It says, Home is where your heart is I am so glad he bought that for me. Enjoy, Deb