Going Home

This past week, I braved the cold weather and went back to see my parents on the farm where I grew up. For those of you who know Nebraska and it's major highways, I should have turned around at Hebron, NE, on Highway 81. It was freezing rain and I had to get out of my vehicle twice to get the caked ice off my windshield wipers! My husband also let me know that Interstate 80, across Nebraska, was closed at North Platte, NE and the storm was moving east, in my direction. Persistence or stupidity, I'm not sure which, kept me headed north. I can't tell you the last time I had visited the farm, but the pull of something simpler, more restful after the crazy holidays, was calling me.

Here's the truth: My dad is 92. He now uses a walker to get around their home. He also has a new friend, the C-PAP machine, that helps him get a better night's sleep. Earlier this fall, he participate in a sleep study and was found to have sleep apnea. On top of that, my 81 year-old mother, whose early morning constitutional is it to walk four miles a day, had slipped and fell on the the ice on one of her walks and broken her left wrist. (Did I mention that she's also left-handed?) I still had eight days left of Christmas Break after all of the festivities at our house, so I went to check on things and to help out where I could.

I was happy to see that they seemed to be faring pretty well! Mom was adapting to her “Husker Red” cast and it seemed as if my dad was more mobile than I had seen him for quite some time! So, I addressed some Christmas cards, caught up my mom's journaling, helped with meals, gave my dad a break from doing the dishes, and even caught up their ironing. (I HATE ironing!!)

What I didn't expect, though, was to see the farm through different eyes. The miles and miles of roads, up though the cattle yards that I used to traipse through, looking for baby kittens or missing cats who weren't there when I fed them each night. The windmill, that our daughter calls “My windmill,” because when she was little, she would climb to the platform and sit there and say, “I am the master of all I survey!” My bedroom, where, at a very low point, I returned to,with a three year-old in tow, to get my bearings. And the wide open spaces!! Wide open spaces where I would ride my horse, Monkus, for hours! When I was on his back, I felt such a freedom and a sense of peace. Oh, to capture that again!!

       

The church I grew up in. Where, at one time, we even had a children's choir, directed by my aunt, who also directed the adult choir. I remember being in the pew, as young children, with our cousins, right in a direct line of sight from the choir loft where our parents sang. If one of us got out of line, we'd get “the look,” which, more often than not, made us giggle even more because we knew there was nothing they could do without making a spectacle of all of us. This is also the church were my husband and I got married, almost thirty years ago! Some of the families I grew up with still attend church there. Others have moved on and new folks have come in. Fellowship time after church is always a good time, sharing memories and updating the lives of our continually growing families.

But duty and my own family calls and, even though we all prayed for a blizzard that would keep me there until March, it didn't happen. I am thankful for the time I was able to spend at the farm, with my parents and my brother. It's something I can never replace and will never forget!