It is a beautiful early Fall day, just a hint of crispness to the morning air, when I pick Daddy up and we start our journey to his old hometown, Brownfield. Along the way, he talks of his childhood and parents, my sweet Mymommy and Grandad. Some of his stories are quite funny, some more nostalgic in nature. I have brought along a binder of old emails he sent me several years ago, where he had written about things he remembered from childhood. He was surprised to see I had printed them all out and saved them, but he pours over them as go down the road. Does he know how precious these written stories are to me?
The familiar drive goes by quickly and we arrive before lunch to drive the streets, him pointing out landmarks as we wind our way through the small town. As with many small and struggling towns, much has changed, yet much has stayed the same in the last forty years. It is a tired feeling little town, more run down than I remember. One of the places we most want to see is the red brick Post Office where Grandad walked back and forth to work for so many years. It is exactly as it was all those years ago, only blocks from their house.
We lunch at the Dairy Queen on Broadway, just across the street from where my grandparents’ house used to stand. Instead of an old rock house nestled behind cedar trees, there is only a parking lot. It feels sort of sad, so we talk about how often we used to call in an order from across the street and listen from the porch for the diner to announce on their outdoor speaker that our order was ready. These happy memories lift our spirits a bit. I can almost envision the old place the way it used to be.
Past midday, we head for our final destination – the cemetery on the west side of town. Out in the middle of dry dusty fields, it is smaller than I remember.
It is quiet and deserted now, as we park in what shade we can find and approach the headstone. We take time to just stand and look around, letting thoughts and memories come freely. Finally, he says, “I should have brought flowers for my Mother.”
Flowers for the urns? This I can fix. I quickly suggest we head back in to town and go by Dollar General to see if they have some silk stems we can use. Filled with purpose, we make the short drive back into town, around the square and down Broadway to the dollar store. Sure enough, a display of autumn hued silk flowers sits right near the front registers. We make our selections and drive once more to the cemetery.
Within minutes, the urns are filled with shades of orange and gold. Finally satisfied with the arrangement, I step back into the shade by the car to let Daddy have a bit more time and think of how much Mymommy would have loved the display of flowers.
And as Daddy stands there with his hand on the granite marker, I wonder – will we be able to do this again? Is this the last time he visits his parents’ resting spot? If it is, I want it to be all he needs it to be….
Daddy is tired now and ready to head home. We load up, I stop at a gas station to fill up the tank and get us some drinks. He reclines his seat a bit and rests quietly as we travel down the country highways. Occasionally, he looks over at me and makes a comment or shares another remembrance. More than once, he thanks me for bringing him on this outing. My heart is full of gratitude that I had the opportunity to do it.
It has been a good day for my soul…..
Welcome to the porch... 