Finding The Thread


In memory, a thread begins to reveal itself.
Ahead are endless, unplanned days.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“You have to have a plan”, I told everyone.
But where is my plan?
If I could see just a little of it, I could unravel it.
Walking into the spare bedroom this morning
to raise the shades, the view turned from dark
to sunshine.
A scene exploded in memory.
I could see my father lying on the bed we borrowed from Hospice.
We’d moved the regular bed from the room.
I wanted his last days to be spent with a view of our peaceful world;
the trees, our flock of sheep and the horses in the pasture.
As long as he was able, he rested on his side and
watched them. I hope he loved the scene.
“The Lord is my Shepherd…He makes me to lay down in green pastures. He
restores my soul”. I hope my Father’s soul was restored.
He knew what he was facing.
He wouldn’t talk to us about it.
That was his way of dealing
with the impending transition.
We visited with him, as did many friends in those last few days.
We could only face the situation by continuing our daily routines.
He did his best
to honor our game.
Dad didn’t retire
until the age of sixty-nine.
It seemed like a grand old age in those years.
Now it seems rather young to me.
He always had a plan, a routine, an interest, and a goal.
He was disciplined,
determined, loving and reliable and committed to his family.
What about me?
There are many questions and not many answers.
I want my life to count for something.
 Have I stopped counting?
What will happen to the generations who have not had the parenting or the communities
in which my generation was privileged to live?
What happens in the single parent family
when the parental balance does not exist?
What happens to the marriage that has no plans for commitment?
What happens to adults who didn’t have the parenting of a Father and Mother like mine?
The last two generations have given us a preview.
Has the media become our parent?
Is the media making our moral judgments?
“Everyone is doing it.”
Blame can always be affixed to someone, somewhere, somehow.
By what moral standards does this generation make its’ decisions?
There is a new intensity in my nightly prayers.
 He is much closer.
 My time to see Him face to face is much nearer than before.
I see the thread.
Mary Anne Whitchurch Tuck


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