Yesterday I had a visit from a friend who was very close to me during my twenty-plus years in Alaska. Through the late seventies, eighties, and early nineties we were great friends known as a "Pair of Jeans." She was Jean P. and I was Jean G. She is now retired from her job as a school teacher/counselor, and is traveling around the "Lower Forty-Eight" visiting relatives, friends, and places of interest.
On the east coast she visited a great aunt who is approaching one hundred years old. This aunt, Jean tells me, remembers the old days without hesitancy, but when talking about things that have happened in recent years, she "has to think about it awhile" before she can recall. Still, that sounds pretty good to me. I hope to hold my memories if I live until my late nineties.
I can't imagine the world holding together another thirty years, though.
In writing this blog, I have written about memories of my childhood. I remember being seven years old and sick in bed in Pine Bluff, feverish, waiting for Mama to come home from the cotton mill. It seemed like she would never come. The clock ticked so slowly. I was sure if she would just come on home and place her hand on my forehead, I would be okay. Tick Tock... Tick Tock...Why was she taking so long? My ears were "buzzing." Tick Tock... Tick Tock... Tick Tock... Tick Tock...
Fast forward thirty years. I was thirty-seven, sick, pregnant with Bethany Joy. It was my fifth pregnancy, so I knew what to expect. I knew how to take care of myself. I knew the nausea would not last forever, but right in the middle of it, feeling so horribly queasy all the time, the clock ticked so slowly. I knew I would be okay in a few weeks. Tick Tock... Tick Tock... Tick Tock...
Ten years later: I am forty-seven. My husband has had a heart attack, and breathed his last breath. We have buried him in a "pine box" casket as he had requested, underneath the frozen soil in a cemetery in South Anchorage. Tick Tock... Tick Tock... I take his clothes out of the closet and prepare to send them to the thrift store. Suddenly I see something white sticking out from under the bed. I reach down and pick it up... It is the white tee shirt he was wearing when he died. The paramedics had cut it off his body and tossed it aside as they were working on him, and it had landed under the bed and not been discovered until this moment. I bury my face in it and breathe in the smell of him... Tick Tock... Tick Tock...
Nine more years. Beth and I have moved to San Diego. She has finished school and attended a year of Christian college. I have a good job in the office of a landscape company. Tick.. Tock.. I am bringing Mama from my sister's home in Kansas out to California to live with me. We have spent the night in a second floor motel room without an elevator, because it was all we could find when it was getting dark. Mama is now a widow in her late eighties and needs the help of a walker to get around. She doesn't do stairs very well. I have packed the van and now all I have to do is get Mama down those stairs safely. Tick.. Tock.. Tick.. Tock..
What seems like a few minutes later, Mama has been living with me four years. Tick.Tock.
She is in the emergency room... Tick. Tock.
She is in the nursing home... Tick. Tock.
I am wheeling her down the hallway to the Sunday afternoon service in the nursing home... Tick.Tock.
Jack Thomas, a minister at the nursing home, is standing in the door of the room where the service was held, looking back at me... Tick.Tock.
Jack and I have now been married almost six years. My friend, Jean P., visits while she is in San Diego. Time keeps ticking...
These days I realize that people my age are dying. Death is what I have to look forward to. That sounds sad, doesn't it? Actually, it is not sad. The moment I leave behind this life and step into eternity with Jesus will be the best moment of all. But all the moments between now and then, however fast they go by, I want to make memories of blessings, saying the good things, encouraging others, sharing life lessons.
Tick! Tock!
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