My sister remarked in an email recently that it had been ten years since Dad died. It hardly seems possible for that much time to pass. Several of us exchanged email memories of that day and what we felt. Some of the nine of us were able to be present when he died. The story of our parents' final two years together is sad to recall. But, the fuller and more complete story of their lives together is not sad. I want to share some of my feelings for them by telling part of our story. Maybe you will see that it is also the story of millions of other families all over the world, including your family.
Eighty years ago this summer, my folks posed for this picture. They were 21 and 20 respectively. Their story is not unique. If you rummage around in the boxes, old dresser drawers, and photo albums, you can find the bits and pieces of lives just like those of my parents. Each morsel tells of the dreams and hopes for a happy life, free of sorrow, and blessed with health, friends, and possibly children.
The newspaper clippings and old photos are reminders of the highlights of those lives. My grandmother and mother were dedicated keepers of those kinds of memorabilia. First it was mostly paper clippings. When cameras became more affordable, photographs became the medium of choice. My mother had an old 4 drawer upright dresser in the corner of the living room. When the boxes under the bed filled with photos, the old dresser got the call. It took a long time for us to go through them after their deaths. Amazing bits of lives were saved. She was also a videographer starting in 1950. Her collection of three minute movies captured the mundane, silly, and important memories of the day. Is this part of your family collection, too?
Please join me below for more of their story.
The Beginning of Our Story
They were like any other young people starting adulthood. They were fresh and confident. They had dreams of hard work paying off. They felt strongly about family and friends and the important roles they played in their lives. They believed in responsibility and paying their fair share of the burdens. They also believed in the importance of regular church attendance.
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My folks both attended this country church each Sunday. St. Patrick's church was founded in 1877. It looks like thousands of others across the country. Her grandparents were one of the founding couples. There were several devout Irish families who settled in the area in the mid-1850s and 1860s. It is still thriving today. That story could be repeated everywhere.
Of course, there are countless memories connected to the families of this and all the other churches across the land. Fortunately, my family has a long history with this place. We logged many generations of baptisms, first communions, weddings, and funerals in this holy place. It is a core element of our family story.
One of the events that may have started our story was described by Mom in a handwritten note from 1998. She remarked in the note how she 'managed a date' with my Dad. It was in September of 1929, four years before they married. He claimed she had tricked him into helping her fix her flat tire by letting air out of it at church. What do you think? She never revealed her secret. It doesn't matter. They wed in 1933 and were together for almost seventy years.
Their story is the same as millions of others of the era. Dad didn't finish high school. Helping his father farm was too time consuming. He was smart and could easily have done so. Mom completed high school. She boarded with a woman in town so she could attend the school affiliated with the state teacher college. She had success and could have chosen teaching as a career. Instead, they decided to marry. After marriage, they soon set up a home here. This property had belonged to Dad's grandfather when he and a brother came to the midwest in the 1870s.
The young couple enjoyed one another. After five years of marriage, there were two children. After fifteen years, there were seven. After twenty years, there were nine.
Unfortunately, the folks never owned the farm. They, like millions of others who started families in the 1930s during the depression had no money to buy a farm like this. Renting and sharing the crop and expenses helped to keep the family fed. The folks stayed there until about 1980. Retirement and health issues caused them to move to the nearby small town. There house was on a nice corner lot, with garden space, and some things to keep entertained and busy. Plus, it was on the road between the larger town and the homes of several of my siblings. Someone was stopping in every few days to keep an eye on them. They enjoyed the easier lifestyle and long peaceful times on the front porch watching the birds, butterflies, and the neighbors.
Their story could be the same as that of your parents, or your grandparents. Change a few details and it fits perfectly. The folks enjoyed their years and remained healthy and independent. As the end of the century neared, they were both in their late eighties. They had seen remarkable things come about during their lives. However, three things always remained with them unchanged. They loved one another deeply. They loved their family of children, grand and great-grandchildren, in-laws, and out-laws. They were true to their faith.
A Fateful Event in Our Story
The next part of the story is a very personal one for my family. On New Year's Eve, going into the year 2000, mass was offered at their country church. Dad wasn't feeling well. Mom decided to go herself. It was a twenty mile drive that she had driven hundreds of times. She told Dad she would be back home right after church was over.
They always took communion when they attended mass. This evening was different. Mom stayed in her pew and didn't receive communion. Something wasn't right.
As she drove home in the dark, she got confused at a corner and turned instead into a driveway. Her car got a little hung up on the culvert. A passing farmer stopped and helped her out so she could get back on the road. He called one of my family members he was good friends with to tell them to watch for her. That sort of thing is not at all unusual. People look out for one another and know when something wasn't right.
She got about half way home and made another wrong turn into a driveway. She pulled up to the white machine shed and probably tried the garage door opener in the car thinking it was their garage. She got out, left the car running, and started walking along the road in the ditch. Another person drove by and stopped to check out the car. Something wasn't right.
They called the sheriff and reported the plate number. My brother was listening to the scanner and heard the call. He recognized the number. Soon, Mom was seen walking down the road in the ditch. Luckily, it was not sub-zero and she didn't turn and walk far back into a field. She could have died from exposure.
Mom was rushed to the hospital in Peoria and diagnosed with a stroke. She could remember bits and pieces of the past few hours. The few details faded quickly as the damage from the bleeding increased. Ultimately, she was left with her long term memory nearly intact. Her short term memory and processing of immediate tasks was compromised. She never returned home to Dad. Instead, she went directly to a nursing home a few miles from where their house was located. They were wonderful to her.
Dad was devastated. He told her good bye as she left for church. She never returned. Physically she did. Mentally she was gone. He was completely unprepared for that, as were the rest of us.
Every day, one of us kids stayed with Dad in their home. We took him to the nursing home to visit Mom. She was always pleased to see us and sometimes new our names. But, she never really grasped what had happened to her. Dad prayed she would recover and be able to rejoin him at home. He held on tight to the idea that something would bring her back. After many months, some of us decided to take her back to their house for a visit. We pulled into the drive and entered the house they had lived in for twenty years. She didn't recognize it. She thought it was a nice house. It didn't occur to her that it was her house. Dad's dream of her return was destroyed that day. He lost his desire for life and died in March 2002. Mom died three years later in 2005.
What Lives On?
It is not my intention to tell a sad story. What I want to tell is a story of hope and love. Their recent deaths came about within unique circumstances. Every family faces their own. It is a fact of life that we must face death. Many of our parents grew old. The things they built and worked hard for were all around. Their lives had meaning. Their families grew and had families of their own. Changes took place.
To all of these life stories an end comes. The rest of us continue to live our own life stories. No person lasts forever. But, some of the facets about their lives do last. The examples of love and charity do last. The lessons of forgiveness and courage do last. The spirits of laughter and joy do last. When our family thinks about the legacy left them, it is not with sadness, it is with warmth in the heart. It is a gift we want to pass along to our children. May you feel the same.