... with parents kind and dear...

The storm cresting the mountains in Brigham City

Yesterday I woke with an urgency to go to my parents home.  I usually get there every other week, but with the pending storm I was a little apprehensive.  That, and my schedule at work has been horrid, and I'm exhausted - so staying home was what I really should have done.  But that feeling kept nagging me and I just jumped in the Yota and drove up.  I really didn't need to drive much as the wind blew me there as added encouragement.  My first stop was to see my dad.  For those who have not seen my dad in years, he's not quite the same man on the out side as he use to be.  At 82, his body has basically failed him, taking with it his memory, and ability to function at all, whatsoever.

  I entered his room and watched him sleep a restless sleep.  His brow was troubled, his breathing erratic.  I snuggled in next to him and I laid my head on his chest - just to hear his heart beat.  It was solid as a rock - ticking away, not realizing that if it were just to rest, my dad would be at peace.  There is a reason it's still going on and on - and through much prayer, I realize that it's nobodies call on that one.  He woke up and flashed me those amazing beautiful eyes.  He tried to whistle - it's what dad always did when he was happy.  I kept my head on his chest and I left a bucket of tears on his shirt - telling him about life as it is now with me, and all about his grandchildren, and great grandchildren.  I reminded him that he is loved, and that we are taking care of his sweetheart.  He kept nodding and trying to speak.  I wonder what he would have told me if he could have.  I desperately needed his arms around me.  But instead, I rubbed lotion on his hands, put a blanket over his feet, and combed his hair.  Beautiful white hair.  I haven't had the opportunity to have a two way conversation with my dad for about 10 years now.  I know now that all those years he taught me things would need to be sufficient enough as perhaps he knew he would lose his abilities one day.  Most of what I do in life is a direct reflection of what my parents have taught me.  They taught me about laughter and joy, and serving, and forgiving, and working very very hard, and being honest.  They taught me skills to survive - the toughest storms.  The storms have be horrid lately - but I still see my daddy's eyes in my thoughts and I stand a little taller.  I sang him all the songs he loved, I teased him about not liking spaghetti - because I think we lived off of it for years.  I told him that I was trying really hard to become something, anything, that would make him proud - and how I've very much fallen short of that promise.  I always wonder why God sends us places like he did me yesterday - my time with dad was so perfect.  The nurses left us alone, no poking or needles or turning or upsetting him.  Just dad and I.  I need my kids to remember that your mom might be strange sometimes (well most of the time) but the stuff I was raised on is rare, and one day - you'll realize that I've given to each of you, that which my parents gave in great abundance to me.  You'll be doing something one day and recognize it to be something in your past, and you will know it's now been passed on to you.  You will then be asked to pass it on to the next generation.  My dad - is and will forever will be, mine.

I headed over to Mom's house - the blizzard had started.  I went into the house and it was quiet and dark, it was 2:00 in the afternoon.  I found my mom curled up on the bed wrapped in a blanket crying.  She looked up at me and said, "I prayed you would come."

OK WHAT IF I HADN'T HAVE LISTENED TO THE SPIRIT??

I gathered her little body up in my arms and held her tight and let her cry.  Then she looked at me and said, "Oh my YOU'VE been crying."  I told her about my visit with Dad, and she told me of how she missed him, and needed him.  We both sat there in the mess of cryingness, the ugly cry.  She said that she had found a big folder of the obituaries of all of her friends, she had forgotten that they had died, and she relived the sadness all over again. We had tried to keep most of them from her because she forgets that things have happened.  I talked with her about those that had passed - and asked her to tell me the stories of their friendships.  We pulled out pictures of them and laughed about some good times.  She started to brighten up a bit.  I got her out of bed, we made some hot soup and some bread and we filled the house with smells of love and home. We went over the paper work she'd been worried about.  We wrote out birthday cards to mail.  I refiled the paperwork she unfiled, and has unfiled several times before. (;  We put pictures in a book and I asked her to write down the names of who was in the pictures.  The same people we had just talked about, and she had already forgotten. Realizing that her thoughts and memories will be wisped away as dad's was far too soon.

The blizzard was in full force and I had to still drive through the canyon.

I honked 3 times when I left - she stood in the door and waved - just as we always do.

I drove away knowing that this day was meant to be.  The moments I could tell my parents of my love for them are priceless.  I never know when that dreaded call will come saying they have left us, so each day is a day of expressing my feelings to them.

How luck I am to be a part of this family.

My Brother Eric's birthday is today - he is loved by me more than he'll ever know.  The 4 Musketeers we were - that's for sure.  Now we have Grandchildren, and Great Grandchildren and we've created our own generations of 1st and 2nd cousins!  Lucky us... We were meant to be. 

Sigh - well that was long and full of drama.....

..... and just when you think you might fall asleep from reading this long epistle without finding one bit of humor in it (because you know I can't keep it serious all the time).... on the way to Mendon... here's what I found on the side of the road near Spring Creek Ranch.... I seriously thought I had been drinking too much NyQuil.....

I get the donkeys and the Llamas... but a Camel?

Must be auditions for the Nativity Scene somewhere....

If I had seen a pregnant woman standing there -

I would have had a stroke.