FINDING The THREAD

In memory,
a THREAD begins to reveal itself.
Ahead are endless, unplanned days.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.

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 ahead just a little,

maybe I could unravel the thread.

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,

the horses in the pasture.

As long as he was able,

he rested on his side

watching them.

I hope he loved the quiet scene.

Fall yard

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;

 his way of dealing

with the impending transition.

We visited with Dad,

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,

 committed to his family.

What about me?

There are many questions,

 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,

with no plans for commitment? I believe we have the answer to that question.

What happens to adults who weren’t raised

with a Dad and Mother like mine who encouraged us?

The last two generations have given us a preview.

The media has become the parent of many young people today.

Is the media making their moral judgments? Is it making our moral judgments?

Everyone is doing it, so why shouldn’t I?

Blame can always be affixed to someone,

somewhere,

somehow.

By what moral standards does this new 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

[email protected]

Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

VIEW FROM MY PORCH SWING

The View From My Porch Swing

1996

Through the years I’ve watched our trees that never seem to change.

Across the road,

where once our sons and neighbor children came to play

on stubby fields of meadow grass,

there grow trees and underbrush

so high

no pathways show.

Even now,

those boys and girls seem ever young.

My thoughts are filled with

visions of them playing there.

Hidden there midst oak and pine,

in memory,

there lies an open meadow.
Joyful youth played games

on long, 
hot summer  days

in full pursuit of life.

Those days and sights and sounds of living

never left my inner soul.
 Returning to this quiet place,
 from the porch swing

I relive those treasured days

of years gone by.

Gently swinging,

deep in thought,

MEMORIES return.
 I recall each day with love.

The day begins at summer’s dawn

and ends
 with muffled, evening sounds.

Nothing troubles,

thoughts abound, peace is found.

2019

Now sixty short years have passed

and MEMORIES remain.

Our porch is now a deck.
 The swing remains a “porch swing.” 
“Deck swing” somehow cannot recall 
those precious times

of years gone by.

Three sons have grown to men.

 Two grandchildren have added to the enjoyment

of this peaceful homestead.

The barn is now one hundred-two years old.

The house is eighty-three.
 In addition to our three boys and two grandchildren,
 this homestead

has entertained many animals and pets and gardens. (Or did they entertain us?)

The neighbor kids have grown. 
They now have children and grandchildren of their own.

Our son, Tim, died five years ago. 
Even so,

family love and CHERISHED MEMORIES

will never change.

Tim

The porch swing now provides a peaceful place
 to remember

all the times of joy and sadness.

 We were sitting on the porch swing 
when the news of my Father’s death

came to us.

 We gathered here as a family
 to enjoy the wedding receptions of our sons,
 and to celebrate
 their high-school graduations.

We’ve entertained our friends at church picnics.

We celebrated birthday parties.
 Friends of our grown children 
have come to share an occasional Sunday afternoon

MEMORIES are many,

from our porch swing.

My Husband, Don…1930-2017

And Laddie…

copyright©2018
Photography By Mary Anne Tuck
memoriesaremadefromthis.com
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