The Way We Were
Today I am grateful for safe travels over the weekend, time in conversation with family members, and events to celebrate. I also appreciate chance meetings with old friends and faithful readers of this blog.
Congratulations again to my brother Linus and his wife Elaine on their 40th wedding anniversary!
We drove home yesterday in a light rain and mist for part of our trip. I was thinking about the visit we had just had with my mom before we got on the road. As her eyesight worsens, she talks about things looking a little foggy. She asks if we see it too . . . that fog?
And these words from the song The Way We Were came to my mind: “misty water-colored memories of the way we were.” It is a sad and reflective song if you want to listen to it in a live version here. My memories of the way life was, the way Mom was before aging and dementia deepened, are both uplifting and burdensome.
As I looked at a family photo from a wedding day forty years ago, I saw all 12 of my siblings and I, our parents, and the newest member of our growing family. The picture wasn't fresh, but our much-younger faces were. Fewer lines, less sorrow. We had already been hit with some challenges, and the sheer size of the family had left behind forms of neglect that continue to play out still today. I was in the fall of my freshman year of high school. My youngest brother Lee hadn't even hit double digits yet.
My sister Mary Jo stood directly behind me in her curls and wide smile. Cancer wouldn't come to our sisterhood for 25 more years. Dad stood tall and strong, with that same smile on his face. His remaining nineteen years would slow him down, but not his spirit and spark. Mary Jo and Dad live on in those smiles and my misty-eyed memories.
As I walked out at the farm this weekend, I captured these photos:
The first is the tree-lined road adjacent to our land. We often walk this route and have for nearly four decades. The trees have grown tall and even on these gray fall days they stand secure and welcoming to me.
The sunrise across the harvested fields seems a fitting way to close this post. Life's harvest is done for some. Those of us who wake to this new day still have harvesting to do. What will we bring in today?
Congratulations again to my brother Linus and his wife Elaine on their 40th wedding anniversary!
We drove home yesterday in a light rain and mist for part of our trip. I was thinking about the visit we had just had with my mom before we got on the road. As her eyesight worsens, she talks about things looking a little foggy. She asks if we see it too . . . that fog?
And these words from the song The Way We Were came to my mind: “misty water-colored memories of the way we were.” It is a sad and reflective song if you want to listen to it in a live version here. My memories of the way life was, the way Mom was before aging and dementia deepened, are both uplifting and burdensome.
As I looked at a family photo from a wedding day forty years ago, I saw all 12 of my siblings and I, our parents, and the newest member of our growing family. The picture wasn't fresh, but our much-younger faces were. Fewer lines, less sorrow. We had already been hit with some challenges, and the sheer size of the family had left behind forms of neglect that continue to play out still today. I was in the fall of my freshman year of high school. My youngest brother Lee hadn't even hit double digits yet.
My sister Mary Jo stood directly behind me in her curls and wide smile. Cancer wouldn't come to our sisterhood for 25 more years. Dad stood tall and strong, with that same smile on his face. His remaining nineteen years would slow him down, but not his spirit and spark. Mary Jo and Dad live on in those smiles and my misty-eyed memories.
As I walked out at the farm this weekend, I captured these photos:
The first is the tree-lined road adjacent to our land. We often walk this route and have for nearly four decades. The trees have grown tall and even on these gray fall days they stand secure and welcoming to me.
The sunrise across the harvested fields seems a fitting way to close this post. Life's harvest is done for some. Those of us who wake to this new day still have harvesting to do. What will we bring in today?
Comments
Post a Comment