A Special Day

There are some lives that ebb away while others are taken from us so quickly. My dad was one that seemed to vanish, his last breath taken while I slept dreaming of his recovery. He was never to recover from a heart that was torn and couldn't be put back together again. I had been fooled. Deceived. Believing what I wanted to believe. Then he was gone. One minute I was telling him goodbye for the day, the next day he was gone for life. He was stolen from me in the night.

His birthday would have been last Friday. I miss him.

His big sister and I went exploring the old home places again a few days ago. We went last fall. We both love the history and had to do it again.

My favorite place we explored was the home place where she and my dad grew up. He was six months old, she two and a half when they moved there.

The farmhouse is a memory in both of our minds. She of many days, me of few. The porch remains. Footprints from my little girl days have been washed away by many rains. I remember dancing there.

I remember the old house where grandma's home was. The squeak of the screen doors, the smell of fresh bread, the coal stove in the front room linger in my mind. It had an upstairs, wasn't it a big house? My little girl memory thought so.

Grandma passed before my fourth birthday. My mom says that I am like her. I do not remember the soft of her face or the sing in her voice, but I feel a kindred bond to her heart. I remember the day of her funeral. The sadness of it settled upon everyone. Even in my youngness I could not escape it. It is etched in my mind forever.

As I grew, I would sit on my grandpa's lap and asked him about her many times. His love for her was seasoned, deep and real. I felt it when he spoke her name.

Dad's big sis and I wandered all over the boundaries of old home. I was thrilled with her delighted squeals when she discovered something familiar.

"We pumped our water at this well and carried it to the house! It is still here! Does it still work?"

Answer, "Yes, the grandkids still pump water from it when they come."

"Look at this pear tree! I couldn't even count all of the pears that I picked for mother for canning!" Pears were hanging from every bough. She touched them remembering then leaving them for the new owners.

I am tickled by her delight.

The old barn stands. Steps to the loft beckoned me to explore among the rafters. The word "snakes" held me back.

I pictured my dad, in work and play running up and down those old wooden steps. The stories they could tell me! Stories he would have long forgotten!

A Monarch butterfly settled among the flowers, eavesdropping memories.

It was one of my favorite days. I will remember and treasure it for a very long time. I must take my children there so that their footprints will mingle with mine and those I have loved.

It is where I have come from.

Remembering where I have come, inspires me for where I am going.

My grandpa, grandma, dad, are treading heavenly ground now. Someday my feet will dance over the holy places they now enjoy.