Musings of an Aging Nobody

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

² He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

³ He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

⁴ Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

⁵ Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

⁶ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

 

 

It’s Father’s Day Weekend.

Last Monday I was in church.

A church I have attended off and on for the last 27 years.

The plaque on the wall outside reads “Addition 1998.”

I remember the first time I attended this church, my future father-in-law gave me a tour of the new addition he had worked so hard to make a reality.

An addition that even included an elevator, knowing his knees could only be replaced so many times.

That was July of 1998, and I had gone up to Somerset to surprise Kim and run the Daily American 10K.  At that time Donny and Savannah would spend summers on the farm and running this race was kind of a family thing.

Even that first weekend, without introduction, I was redirected from my hotel room just off the Somerset exit of the Pennsylvania Turnpike and was invited to stay at the farmhouse.  Once there I remember Kim’s mom pointing out the window and explaining the acreage, the barn, the corn,  the milking parlor, and the dairy cows.  I was way, way, out of my element (“have you got any waves here?” you know, that sort of thing).

Even further out of my element at the time, it was mandatory to attend church. This same church, a Church of the Brethren church, Geiger Church of the Brethren.  Not a washed out Methodist Church (as my father-in-law would say sometimes) a Brethren church. I think I had to borrow clothes to dress for church that morning.

Over the years I listened to many good sermons, preached by three different pastors and even one of my all-time favorites delivered by a lay speaker.  I attended the Sunday school class.  I would experience the Brethren ritual of Holy Communion and be humbled by the act of having my feet washed and kneeling to wash another brother’s feet.  I would experience my then father-in-law singing a solo to my mother-in-law in church on her birthday in what I thought was maybe the greatest act of love I could witness.

 

Then last Monday, I was there once again.

Maybe for the very last time.

Listening to the 23rd Psalm.

A Psalm that is often read at funerals.

A Psalm I heard read the last time I was here.

Now I am hearing it read again.

 

Thursday, May 29th, I got a haircut.

Getting a haircut is not something I would normally write about, but in this story, it is important.

Kim and I were planning to go see Kim’s mom that upcoming weekend, and my mother-in-law had never liked my hair long.  So, I would usually try to get a haircut before going up to visit, so I could say “mom, do you like my haircut?”

And she would say, “No, I don’t like it long, it’s not short enough!”

But as it turned out, Kim’s mom took a turn for the worse that Friday and was admitted to the hospital in Johnstown.  We decided it would be best for Kim to go up alone in case she needed to stay longer.  I had a throbbing toothache and an emergency dentist visit scheduled for Monday, and as much as I hated to go to the dentist, I didn’t want to miss that experience.

That would begin maybe the longest week that I could remember since Donny’s accident.

Monitoring my mother-in-law’s condition, my dental anxiety, communicating mostly through texts with Kim as I was once again “home alone,” since the cell service is still spotty in that part of the world, it was stressful for all.   I took the opportunity with Kim not home to further prepare for our downsizing, filling the garage and our living room with everything I could identify that needed to go to auction while I waited for the phone call that would give me the green light to move all that stuff to the sale.

Thursday morning, I got the phone call.  There was no room for our stuff in the upcoming sale and the next opportunity wouldn’t be until August at the earliest.

Though I was disappointed to say the least, with my garage and my living room unusable,  now I could just worry about Kim’s mom and Kim.

As it really should have been.

Kim, much like after Donny’s accident when she would describe being lifted by the Holy Spirit that carried her through and set the example for the rest of us, remained by her mom’s side all week as she went from hospital, back to Laurel View Village, her room and then to Hospice care.  Once again, setting the example.

Very early Friday morning, Kim’s mom Faye, went home to be with Jesus, with Kim and her sister Kathy at their mom’s bedside.

As I drove off the Pennsylvania Turnpike on my way to Geiger Church of the Brethren on Monday, past the hotel where I spent that Friday night in July of 1998, I thought about the nice welcome I received from Kim’s mom that first introduction, and how out of place I felt, though it now seemed kind of silly.

Over the years I got over that and eventually I became my mother-in-law’s favorite son-in-law, ignoring the fact that I was her only son-in-law, I wore that title well, often bragging to the other residents at Laurel View of my status.

 

Now it is the weekend, and we have had some days to move from sleeplessness and sadness to a time for decompression and the nice memories that will keep Faye always alive in our hearts.

Though it is Father’s Day weekend, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend it, writing about the mother-in-law I grew to love, and sharing time with my mother and my wife.

As I watch the gentle waves spawned by the wakes of passing boats out on the water and throw in the crab pots, I find myself thinking about cows, the milking parlor, corn knee high by the Fourth of July, and my favorite mother-in-law.

Nice memories.

I hope you are allowing for some decompression time too, honoring your fathers, and your mothers, as well.

Happy Father’s Day weekend.

Postscript:

A happy life and happy memories require many nice people to help make that happen.  I have experienced many in western Pennsylvania as I have often shared in these writings.  Thanks to Linda and John Stoner, the pastors, and all the nice people who were a part of Faye and Royal’s life in the church and the community, and in Kim’s life.  And especially for making last Monday special.

The many friendships we made with the residents and the staff at Laurel View Village, we will miss greatly.  And the great care Faye received will never be forgotten. Maybe there is another Que Classic in our future and a visit.