No matter what, you never really forget your parents and those dates permanently embedded in your memory bank. Tomorrow would have been my father and mother's seventy-seventh wedding anniversary. They passed away within six months of each other in 1994-1995. My lasting image of them was written in my family history, Missing Pieces in a Blue Sky. The following is the short story of that lasting image.
Dad, Mom and I sat in the back lounge of the nursing home, along with other patients who were either visiting with visitors, staring blankly at the continuing glare and blare of the community television set or otherwise just making mournful irritating noises to themselves. Dad asked if she wanted to take a little walk, and, as always, mom was quick to say yes. Dad helped her out of her chair, with the accompanying groans of aging bones, and taking his arm for support, they set out for their little piece of confined daily exercise and being together. I followed and then stopped to watch them as they made their way slowly down the hall. It was at that moment that I formed my last and lasting image of my mother and father together, as they had been for sixty-one years of marriage.
Mom had the left-leaning list left behind by her stroke, as she shuffled down the hall on Dad’s arm. Dad had a slightly bent-over walk with his trousers, held up by his suspenders, situated a little too far above his waist and the tops of his white socks showing -- high water pants is what she would have called them. They had finally taken on the feeble look of the very old. Against the bright light, reflecting off the polished beige tiled floor, they moved slowly away from where I stood, supporting each other, moving gently into the light.
The next day, I started back to Minnesota. As I drove along, I couldn’t get that image out of my mind, and suddenly tears began to flow like the torrents of a summer thunderstorm beating against the windshield. I pulled to the side of the road, where I sat crying -- unashamedly. Eventually, the storm of tears subsided and the clouds of mourning cleared away. I felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. In retrospect, that moment on the highway was my period of grieving for the loss of my parents because from that moment on, I cried very little. I realized the time had come to take my seat in the front row of life as the older generation, and someday, I too would walk gently into the light.
Have a nice day!
Samuel
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