I am reminded this quiet and overcast morning why I love to write.

Mainly, it’s so I won’t forget, because I know that I do, and I know that I will.

I don’t want to forget moments.  I don’t want to forget details.  I don’t want to forget thoughts and conversations.  And yet I know that the memory bank of my mind is bound to lose a precious jewel, likely sooner rather than later.   So much can be absorbed in a situation, but the substance of it is fleeting if it’s not eventually deposited in my internal bank, somehow.

Writing helps me to capture things for my brain, just as a camera does for my eyes.

The summer of 2017 has been full of those moments that need to be captured, lemme tell ya. It’s been a bit surreal to read the 3rd chapter of Ecclesiastes and see my family completely suspended in it, walking out those verses day after day.

The absolute best part of this summer happened the middle of May, when my sisters and our families were able to take our first REAL vacation all together.  We loaded up the kids and husbands, packed 2 minivans and a truck full of crackers, cookies, ice chests, phone chargers, plastic dinosaurs, and pillows……..and trekked for two days up to Yellowstone.  It absolutely did not disappoint.  The first morning inside the park is what stands out the most in my memory.  The sun was so bright, the sky so sharply blue, and it provided the perfect backdrop for the grins and gaping mouths of the fam as we encountered our first buffalo herd.  To witness those incredible animals in the valley, grazing and lazing around, surrounded by towering rock cliffs, seeing the young calves, the rolling river……it was just so cool to be present.  You know, just simply present in the moment with my favorite people.  Whether it was the outward spectacular scenery, or the satisfying reminder of inward peace, I somehow knew deep inside that morning – just how very blessed I was.

Great memories can be like the gas that keeps us going, that which reminds us of good times, that which fuels the hope that more memories and joy can be made.  My tank was so full after that trip.

My sisters and I have been through some major stuff in our lives (Matthew, Ricky, Sarah, Sam…) and I know now the personal hardships and struggles have served to strengthen the ties that bind us.   I am grateful to have experienced this one week with them, in one of the most breathtaking parts of our country.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven……..a time to mourn, and a time to laugh.”  

However, upon our return to Oklahoma, the realities of what lied ahead of us all were becoming more and more clear, now demanding action over mere observation.  Change was in the air, and while some of it was needed and welcomed in my personal life and home, it was definitely feared and dreaded for my mom and stepdad and what lied ahead for them.

To explain better what loomed ( and still does) large on the horizon was the season our parents were now being ushered into.  Just a few short years ago (maybe 2 years??), my stepdad was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia.  We had never heard of it..  Think of Alzheimers in 5th gear.  It is swift and not slow. Changes are abrupt and rapid and what is the expected pattern of thinking and speaking  and functioning one week, can be totally different in the next two weeks.  They begin to respond differently, their emotions and actions becoming increasingly inappropriate – a quickly debilitating loss of the essence of the person and who you’ve always known them to be.  It has been exhausting for my mom to live with, day in and day out. Though Larry’s awareness of his situation and surroundings is now totally different today, he was aware for quite some time of his plight and condition. It’s hard to describe those days, in which he knew and understood what was happening to his mind.  I cannot imagine the fear that must’ve invaded his head and thoughts. Piece by piece, his life and independence have been taken out of his hands, and at a pace that has left them and my sisters, little time to adjust and accommodate to.

My mom was naturally feeling increasingly isolated and overwhelmed with the demands and burdens that seemed to get a bit heavier with each passing week and month.  When she took care of  her own mother a few short years ago, Gammy too, was losing her mind.  I have seen the same mental struggles and patterns that come with care-giving, repeating in my mom that I witnessed when Gammy lived with her.  The difference then however, was that she had Larry to lean upon for help and support in those days.  This situation has now found her with more of a burden to bear on her own shoulders.

The decision for them to sell their comfortable cabin on the hill near Lamar was one of the very toughest I’ve seen her have to make. The buying of groceries, the paying of bills, the upkeep of the house, the lawn, the animals, the water well, the vehicles, along with a  changing and declining spouse………..she was about to crack – and crack she did, more than once.   For well over a year, she has wrestled hard with the reality and gravity of what Larry’s illness meant.  Was selling and moving the right path? Was there any other available solution? Much prayer, fasting, crying, worrying, and yes……quite a few squabbles were involved. But the quicker that Larry declined, the more evident was the writing on the wall.

This has all been an arduous process.  They both have been immersed in their own personal grief for the past few years.  When loss occurs, or even threatens to occur, it looms and grows so large, but has taken on different meanings for each of them.  Larry struggled with the loss of his manhood, of feeling useful and independent, fearful of the changes he knew he’d have no control or choice over. Mom grieved over the loss of her role in the community that has embraced and supported her and our family for so long.  The fear over a change in routines, the loss of familiarity of church, of people, of their health, of the sheer day to day living they have been accustomed to……the strain on my parent’s brow has been so tough for me and my sisters to watch.

The only clear cut message through those long months and weeks of praying and talking, and examining – all that we heard and knew,  was simply that mom and Larry – they needed help and something had to change.

“……….a time to plant, and a time to uproot…….. a time to tear down, and a time to build…..”

This time arrived in mid July.  It had been agreed upon and arranged that she and Larry would live in Liz and Scott’s roomy trailer house, directly in front of their new home they’ve been building in Byng, which was now ready to be moved into.  In the mean time, mom would begin building a permanent residence next to me, just across the way in my pasture.  So on one weekend, we helped Liz and Scott relocate boxes and furniture across their yard into their new home, and the following weekend, we moved mom and Larry out of Lamar, and into their new place.

The day that Wade and my brother in laws (and even my dad) arrived to Mom and Larry’s house with trucks and trailers, was a tough one. Emily was there to take her daddy out for the day.  We knew the merciful thing for Larry would be to spare him the confusion and pain of seeing his entire life being carted out in boxes.  It would be better if he was just not there to witness it.   Liz, being 7 months pregnant and tired, stayed at my house to care for Sam and Andy.  Mother sweated and sighed and fluttered around from room to room, packing this and that, cleaning up here and there, trying to make endless decisions about what belongings to keep, what to send to storage, what to throw away.  We teasingly griped at her, for nearly every knick knack or picture that was packed, there was some kind of memory or story she had attached to it.  We simply knew we had an enormous job ahead of us that weekend, and quite honestly………there was simply very little time for consoling her or for giving into much emotion.  After all, the whole reason we were there, doing what we were doing, really stunk – but that didn’t change the reality or the enormity of packing and moving a lifetime of their things.  I’m sure we all could have stood to be more sensitive to her, but 48 hours was all that my husband and brother in laws had until Monday morning, when their jobs and endless obligations would be rolling back around.  Watching her though, I was struck at how emotionally and physically burdensome it is to get attached to ‘stuff’.

And mother has A LOT of stuff.

Just try walking through your own home and make a decision about everything you see.  Could you live without it?  Do you want to live without it??  You’ll understand what I’m talking about.  Daunting.

“…………. a time to keep, a time to throw away……….”

Mom doggedly insisted however, that she and Larry would still stay that night in their own home, although 3/4 of it had been packed and moved to Byng.  Dismissing our advice and reasoning, she declared, “I’ll just keep an ice chest, a coffee pot, a few changes of clothes, and we’ll be fine.  We’ll be just fine and sleep on mattresses on the floor.  We’re going to stay a few days longer so I can get the rest of everything packed and moved. ”

I’ve never fully acknowledged or appreciated my mother’s determined stubbornness or strong will, until this season of her life.  Lord, this is sooooo hard, this exercise of patience, and understanding, and longsuffering.

One night was all they lasted, for it was incredibly taxing on them both.  Sunday found her more agreeable, though still very reluctant, to the idea that staying in the new Byng house offered way more advantages than continuing to camp in their mostly empty home, two counties away.  It was the mental and emotional work of saying ‘goodbye’ that she was avoiding.

We knew it.  She knew it.  No one knew what to say, honestly.

That Sunday evening at Liz’s however, exhaustion and lingering stress was in the air.  Everyone’s muscles ached.  Nerves were frayed, bodies were hot, tired, and hungry.  The guys had managed again to spend another day moving more things, and weariness was taking hold – though we all were doing our best to be sensitive to the sad reality of why all this was even having to take place.

I went outside, knowing that I soon would be having to go back home.  I didn’t want to leave; I just was stalling and wasting time, kind of nervously lingering around, worrying that their first night here would be too much change for both of them to endure.  I watched Larry go the truck trailer that was parked outside, and looking puzzled at the flat tire that had happened earlier, while en route with more belongings from Lamar.  He recognized there was a problem, but was confounded and frustrated that he didn’t know how to fix it.  This heartbreaking observation from a man who was so gifted with cars at one point in his life. Who’s shop had been filled with tools and paint gear that over the years, had created gorgeous street racers from rusted out old cars, designed shiny hot flames on motorcycle tanks, had slicked up Jeeps and trucks, and had taken a 66 Mustang and made it the hottest car in the county for me when I was 16.  He knew his talent and love was with cars, and so did the surrounding communities of car enthusiasts.  He always was being sought out for some restoration project.

But this evening, a flat trailer tire was proving to be too much……….

One by one, everyone was trickling outside, leaning over truck beds, standing on porches, talking about what else needed to happened; what plans the following week would hold, the tasks that still needed to be completed……and then there was him.  Lost in the shuffle, lost in the commotion, not knowing where he fit into all this.

Walking over and rubbing his shoulder, I remarked to him how beautiful and gorgeous the setting sun was, leaving brilliant streaks of golden orange and purple in the evening sky. (My feeble attempt to provide a pleasant distraction away from the flat tire he could not fix, away from the reality of why he was here, and not at the familiarity of Lamar that he’s always had.)

He paused to look up at the sky for a few moments, and flatly said, “Yes, but it’s not like it was at my house.”

I frowned sadly at him, but knew full well what he meant.  He and mom had enjoyed a spectacular view from their front porch, and morning sunrises and skies were always so pretty.  “I know, PawPaw.  I know.  But you’ll have a beautiful and pretty view up here, too.”

He looked solemnly at me and obvious tears had now filled his eyes.  “We’re going to be nobodies.”

I was now speechless.  I felt a glimpse of his emptiness and resignation inside me and I didn’t know how to adequately respond.  There were no pat replies to that, no quick words that would heal the wound that he obviously was keenly aware of.

I just hugged him hard, told him I loved him, and hurriedly left before he or mom could see me crying.

“………..a time to embrace, a time to refrain………..”

I’ve always wanted my parents here with us., closer to me.  Don’t get me wrong.   I had a wonderful little community and school that I grew up in – but,  I’ve daydreamed and envisioned early morning treks across my pasture to mom’s house for a cup of coffee or conversation. There’s been talk of her and Larry possibly moving closer ever since Sam was diagnosed, to help us, and us them, as they aged.  I’d get so excited thinking about it at times, then sense the reluctantcy on their part to uproot and leave their dream home, their community, and the closeness they enjoyed to Emily and my nephews – and I’d just block it out of my mind, knowing it’d likely never happen.  And that was ok.

But tonight, on their first night here – this was not what I had envisioned.  There was no rejoicing.  There was no closure. There was very little peace with this move.

Doesn’t Carly Simon sing the line, “They were clouds in my coffee……clouds in my coffee….”?  I felt cheated out of a dream, just like she did.

I’m quite sure that we all feel that way.  Emily, Liz, mom, Larry………..

On my way home that evening, I let it all out.  I’ve not cried that hard since this whole thing began.  To have to watch my parents suffer different kinds of losses, go through different stages of grief, walk underneath an enormous load of stress and make painful decisions – and knowing full well that while I/my sisters can be there to support, and encourage, and pray…….. I/we cannot change the situation. Gut wrenching to see my mom so conflicted and angry with the circumstances; gut wrenching to see my once capable stepdad become more childlike and helpless with each passing week.

Life is so hard sometimes.

And the changes are still not over.

In just a few more short weeks, we’ll be welcoming a new addition into our fold, for baby Aaron Ward will make his appearance into our lives and routines.  Andy will be making more and more treks across the yard to Minnie’s, helping her heal from the changes that have happened in her life, and in turn, her helping him cope with the changes that a little brother will inevitably bring into his.

While old routines have gone away, new ones will be forged.

“………… a time to be born, and a time to die………”

Instead of strife and stress being the common thread between our families, the miracle and wonder of a new life will take it’s place.  And the beat goes on….

We will continue to witness the hand of God in each season to come, to be a recipient of His provisions in times of need, to feel His consolation when our hearts seem beyond consolable.

We’ll continue to grow closer as a family, letting patience, forgiveness, and love keep us strong in the face of storms.  Ever learning, ever growing, and ever changing.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.  He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. “