Things Forgotten

Yesterday was one of those days where you plan for it, then regret the obligation, then are glad you carried through. All of that said, I traveled to Abilene to see my dad and pick up a dresser that my youngest had claimed after it cleared waivers through the rest of the family.

When I got out there a little after lunch, we visited a bit then got to work. You have to understand my dad. He has been saying for a couple of years that they need to sell the old farm place where I was raised because it is too old, needs too much work, and is pretty isolated. So they got a contract on the place contingent on the buyers selling their place. This means it could be a month away or 6 months away. Dad has no patience for 6 month events. So they started packing...NOW!

After we had dismantled the dresser, hauled all the parts downstairs and into the Blazer, we set to work packing pictures. It was a discovery to realize that different people collect different things. Dad and his wife collect pictures. There are pictures of kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, parents, bridal portraits from 5 generations. Then the usual who-the-heck-is-this? all three of us standing there figuratively scratching our heads and wondering if we were all losing it in some group dementia event. There were pictures on walls (by the way, I was a very cute baby, not so much as an adult) on top of dressers, under beds, in closets. We packed boxes and boxes of the things. It is going to be a feat to untangle all this, my dad was packing things away that I am pretty sure will never again see the light of day.

We talked about who was going to get what furniture, what needed to sold, what needed to be moved to the other house. It was a day of realizing that when two families merge 27+ years ago, there is a lot of shared stuff.

One funny incident. Margaret and I were looking at my mother's old silver and she noticed that all the knives did not match the set. We speculated that they must have switched some, or maybe mom replaced some. We ran through all the possibilities, puzzled by the non-conformity. Then I flipped one of the non-matched ones over and realized that the pattern was different depending on which side you were looking at. They all matched when you turn them the same way. We shared an embarrassed laugh about our silliness. Maybe we can get a ward at the nut-house or a group rate.

As I drove home, it occurred to me that this was a healthy separation event for me. I was raised on that farm, it is a lot of who I am. The lessons of hard work, of patience for letting the seasons work, of cherishing the people in our lives and not the stuff were all learned on that farm. I had forgotten about so much of the THINGS that made up my youth, but as I held and looked I was reminded that each of these things reminded me of someone, or an event involving someone that was so important to me. The old Victrola was a favorite piece of furniture for my mom because Dad found it and bought it and gave it to her as a gift. The old tractor where I spent hours on hours discing, harrowing, grain-drilling, hauling hay. I have no place for it except in my memory and my heart. It reminds me of Dad. There is his old desk that he used for decades at his office, then later at home. It is sitting now ready to be sold. All memories of a childhood spent in far more interesting ways than I can recount here.

Yes, these things will pass from our family. But the memories are here to stay. They say that mortality is marked by the last person to remember your name. I think mortality is marked by our memories and I think one of the blessings of heaven may be our good memories from time spent here, in the time of "no forgetting"

Godspeed, the journey will grow steeper, the loss of those close to us will mark our own days. But yesterday was a good day to reflect, to honor, to appreciate all that has been done for me by those who may not be with me for the rest of the journey.
Don