Something Good Can Also Be Sad
I stopped by to see her like I have for the last 50 years. And I would visit her with my parents for 18 years before that. But his time was different. This will be the last time I visit with her there. In her house. Where the memories live. Where life happened. Where lessons were learned. Where family grew. Where laughter sang. Hard laughter. Until milk squirted out of your nose and mouth.
While I was chatting with her a battle was going on within me. The tears were being held back by shear determination. And they were the ugly, sobbing tears.
As I listened, I looked around the room. The dining room table where we would gather for family dinners. I still remember being in the kitchen at the kid’s table.
Speaking of kitchen table, I remember watching deer being butchered and wrapped on that table. Oh, the blood and the smell of the blood.
That same table is where Sunday dinner pies were made and I would sit and watch and we would laugh because she could never roll out a nice circular pie it would always be a weird shape – “Oh, this one looks like the state of MI.” The taste made up for her lack of circular skills.
The candy cupboard in the kitchen was always a detour once inside the house. Candy and ding dongs.
The sounds were like a symphony. My uncle whistling, my cousins fighting and shoving each other around – constantly. She would holler at them without missing a beat at whatever task she was doing. And the continuous laughter that was full of love.
She worked full time at a doctor’s office, came home took care of the kids and then went to the barn and milked cows. She helped with field work too. She said she got her best tans on the tractor.
My life mirrored hers somewhat. She was a preacher’s kid that moved from place to place and then married and settled on the farm. She had four sons.
I came from the east side of the state growing up in a neighborhood and marrying onto the farm and raised four sons.
Our relationship grew from when I was a kid and would come to visit to being neighbors and farmers. She and I became pretty close in order for me to survive being thrown into a foreign land - farming. I shared in the joy of taking care of her parents – my grampa and grama. Over the years she became my traveling companion when I would drive to my childhood home to visit. We weathered snowstorms, ice storms and drove through a tornado on those trips. My kids love her too.
I scanned the rooms remembering the past. A huge moose head hung precariously on one wall. Her white fireplace was always so pretty I thought when I was younger – it sparkled like diamonds.
I made a quick stop in the bathroom on my way out and noticed all her soaps, shampoos etc. I thought “What will this be like for her to take her last shower here knowing she will never come back here to live again.”
The middle bedroom is nice and neat now. But oh my, when the boys were younger. I remember staying with them when my aunt and uncle went out west hunting. I was helping one of them find something and you wouldn’t believe what we found under the beds. We still aren’t sure what it all was.
If the front yard could talk . . .I wonder how many concussions found their victim playing football. And the trampoline – surprising no deaths were contributed to that. And how many trucks pulled in with deer strapped to the hood? The garage is testimony with several antlers holding the up eaves.
Knowing there would be candy in the cupboard, something cooking on the stove and “joy” noises within the house was a constant. You never left Aunt Ellie’s house without feeling better than you went in.
I could go on and on and never paint the full picture of this house of love and the woman who created it. The woman who loved Jesus and lived accordingly.
She will be moving to an assisted living facility nearby. So, we will all still visit on a regular basis. And she is excited about it. Having people around, activities to do etc. She truly is on board and in fact it was her decision she made with no pressure from anyone.
So, this is a good thing. Yet good things can be sad things too.
I know the tears have been flowing from her and will as she closes the door behind her tomorrow.
The tears are flowing here at the computer and will continue for a while. Yet, I know this is a good thing.
But as I said before. Just because it’s a good thing doesn’t mean it isn’t a sad thing.
I have strived to create a home like my Aunt Ellie’s. A place where people want to come and find treasures of good food and laughter. A place they don’t want to leave. And more importantly a place that Jesus inhabits.
