My Grandparents' Farm

Softly woke the world today
in autumn's subtle hue.

And morning breathed so sweet and cool,
she crystallized the dew.

A lazy pond that's vacant now
exhales a misty sigh,

For way off in the distance he can hear
the wild geese cry.

I wrote this poem when I was 17. My grandparents have been in heaven for a few years now, but I think of them often - especially this time of year when I anticipate my favorite holiday with all the smells of Grace from God cooking in the oven - and His love surrounded at our table - brimming over from our hearts. Although they are not with us - I sense them in my mother's mannerisms - her sentimentality -love of words and music - her apron - her Bitner nose - her laugh. She is their legacy, and she is good at it.

My uncle - my mother's brother is dying. I went and sat by his bedside the other day. I must tell you, this was not an easy choice. I am not one compelled to attend to the sick and dying. My heart is fragile and I cry so easily. I have never been close to my uncle. He was big and strong, and an offense to him was felt by all. So even though I remember times he pulled me up on his lap, funny things he said that made me laugh, or even though I remember still - the moment - the chair where he sat - and how I was simply walking past and said, "hello" -... I remember that he told me in that moment - long ago - that I was like a breath of fresh air; such comforting thoughts to carry with me when I was in his presence, but still he scared me most of the time. I, in spite of my fear, felt an urgency to go to see him. I argued with myself that I would not be wanted, and that I would be in the way. But the urgency would not let me rest. I prayed that if God wanted me to have time with Him - then He would have to give me entrance into that ICU, and I would trust he would and move, because I am His daughter.

As I approached the ICU, I could see it maybe 30 feet ahead of me - a nurse was pushing a bed through it's wide open doors. I heard in my heart, "run". And so I did. And when I entered, and turned to go to my uncle's room - there was my aunt, her grandson, and my cousin. She welcomed me - hugged me and told me how to gown up with mask and gloves and know he may sleep - but that I could go and sit with him. My cousin walked me to his glass walled room and even helped me put everything on so that he would be protected from outside germs that I might bring in. And then they were all gone.

It was just he and I - and yet - I knew we were not alone. The presence of God - a holy hush - settled in on my heart, and I was moved to tears as I prayed for this man that I saw - once again - through the eyes of a child that ran and played on his farm - the 18 year-old girl that lived under his roof my senior year of high school, and ate Captain Crunch at his breakfast table while he sipped coffee and a breakfast shake. This is my uncle; he is my grandparents - my mother - my own blood.

Words seemed silly in such a delicaate moment. But I spoke them anyway -fumbling to gather them - while I suppressed my fear of his reaction. He is a powerful man in my memory - and that image holds my respect no matter how frail - how sick he may be. I spoke gently this poem I've shared with you here - and thanked him for ducks, and cows and sheep filled memories of his farm where my brother's and I could play with rabbits, and chase chickens, and feed pigs slop. I thanked him for letting me live in his house - and told him I was sorry I did not thank him more. He smiled. And then the tears would not stop. He turned to me and squeezed my hand. "Don't cry."

I opened my journal and began to read to him. I didn't dare look at his eyes, for fear he would disapprove of the words I spoke with much conviction - and love. John 8:12...John 9:5. John 10:14. John 11:23-25. John 14:6. John 15:1. John 14:22 all the way to "Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid." And then I knelt beside him and prayed for light. He said as I knelt there, "Tell Bonnie to get Jack." I told him she was coming. He repeated it again, "Tell Bonnie to get Jack." "They'll be here," I assured him. Hold I thought. Please hold. I watched his vital signs of green lines and numbers. Life is still in you. There is time to live full life even now, my uncle. Right now we can know full life. I could not stop crying. He looked at me again. I smiled at him. "I want to take this from you," was all I could say. He closed his eyes.

He turned to me and said, "Sit down." I thanked him for inviting me to stay and pulled the chair beside him.I gave him some of the liquid he could have by a spoon. He took two swallows, and closed his eyes again. I lowered my head and continued to pray. He drifted to sleep, and would open his eyes from time to time to see if I was still there. I would say, "I do not want to leave you." And I would say, "I'm just sitting here praying for you. You sleep." And I said, "You're not alone." He responded that time, "I know." He said a little later, "I have to get up. I have to get out of the way." I said, "You have to rest." He smiled.

And as time always does, time urged me to leave. The bus would be coming and my children would be waiting. Life would go on outside that room where he was captive, and I did not want to leave him there. Full life, I thought. You can know full life right here. Right now. I told him I was going to go, but I wanted to see him again - thinking of heaven, but hoping for 8:00 p.m. that night. "I love you," he said. My uncle has never told me he loved me. It is written on my heart forever. "I love you, too, " I said. I have never told my uncle I loved him either.

I left in tears, but comforted by the understanding of grace, of love, of the Spirit that compels me. This was a good day to sit in silence with a man who is dying. This was a good day to grow up beside my uncle. We were not alone.