Remembering Days Gone By

Beloved ~

While getting ready for work this morning, my body, mind and spirit were coated in molasses.  I moved very slowly.  Tired and grieving, I climbed into the car.  I cried a great deal.

All I want to do is to sit with my daddy.  All I desire is to snuggle up close with him.  I don't want to see or hear or touch anyone else.

Perhaps being a nanny is hard right now because what I want more than anything is to be little again.  I want to be a small child once more -- knowing what I know now -- climbing up onto my daddy's lap at the end of his work day.  I want that time with him back.

Sharing snacks of peanut butter and crackers while watching cartoons or reading a book was one of my favorite ways to end the day.  When everyone else was asleep, I would lay in my bed and wait for the sound of daddy's car to drive up.  I'd sneak out of bed and greet him at the door and we would have our special time together.  The nights when daddy would tell me a story about life on the farm when he was little were the best...

In my father's stories, I heard the "whoosh" of milk splattering into the big metal buckets before the sun rose.  My tiny eyes longed to see the big milk cows, my little hands reached through my father's memories and touched their velvety hides.  As I lived out his stories in my sleepy head, I ran out in the middle of the night to save them from the barn fire.  I became just like my daddy, the hero.

Through my dad's bedtime stories, I rebuilt the barn after a terrible storm, grieved the loss of cattle and sheep who perished when the barn fell down, and rejoiced at the hatching of baby ducklings.  I saw him leading them to and from the pond up the road and watched with delight as the tiny babes began to swim.  The ducklings followed wherever he went.

Photo by Trista Wynne

In daddy's stories, I heard the sing-songy voices of my great aunts as they brooded over him like a couple of mother hens.  I saw my daddy, a strong teenager, defending the herds from the roaming coyotes.  Saw him fetching the daily water from the well, repairing holes in broken fences and leading animals to dry ground when the river flooded that year.

I heard the thunderous blast of the rifle as he strove to provide for his family, saw the look in the buck's eyes as it gave its life so that others might live.  I felt the cool, refreshing water of the gentle river he splashed in during the summer's heat and watched the tractors as they drove up the road for the late summer harvest time.  I saw the tractors become combine machines and the work get cut in half.  I saw the bundles of hay become larger as the machines did over the years.  I felt the longing for a simpler life not too long after that happened, and I have retained that longing myself as I have grown...

I may not be able to climb onto my daddy's lap any longer, for now I am bigger and stronger than him.  As his body and mind continue to fade, I struggle to reconcile the memories of the strong, hard working man with this changed one before me.  I am remembering days gone by.  I will never forget his stories.

Oh, Beloved, may I never forget these stories.

Amen.