Circle of Life

The place I grew up in is a sleepy small town in central Illinois.  Each time I visit, I am reminded of how much changes, and how much just stays the same.  There have been errands to run and things to sort.  Since my mother's passing this past winter, there is always a list of things that my father needs help with during my visit.  Some items on the list are honey-dos, some are just a listening ear, and some are emotionally daunting tasks for each of us in our own way.  I note now that he needs to hold my hand more.  This is partially out of love and connection, but more and more because he needs me to steady him as he walks.  Holding hands offers this guidance, yet it is subtle for this proud, but aging man.  He has fallen a few times recently, so we have set up a lifeline unit for him.  This is a huge concession for him.  He is accepting old age.  The talk we talk is more about death than life.

I am also here in anticipation of a family reunion.  This is the family whose blood runs through my veins, but also whose stories I listen to with intensity.  I am just learning the stories of this family.  They are just learning my stories too.  We have been separated for 50 years, so there is much to tell and much to hear.  My aunt and uncle took me to a baby cemetery this past week.  I didn't even know it existed.  We tried in vain to discover the site where my baby brother was buried almost 55 years ago.  Our parents were so poor there is no stone, and the marker most likely gone for many years. I will probably return another time to see if there is a plot map at the office, and place some sort of remembrance there.  His resting place should have some mark.  He has not been forgotten.

I also have become reacquainted with an old friend.  We went to high school together, but we probably have not connected since.  We've changed.  We each wonder how we ended up looking middle aged.  She probably has aged more gracefully.  I say this because I went into a shop to look around and the owner asked me if I had grown up there.  When I said "yes", she thought we might have been in school together and told me the year she graduated.  Seems I was about ready to enter first grade that year!  Maybe I should reconsider my decision not to color treat my hair!

Blessings of:
-Photographs and Memories
-Being lost, but found
-the precious love of family