Not too long ago, I went by the home of my grandparents, both of whom have already passed away. Unlike most every other recent time however, I was by myself and didn’t have another place to rush off to. I completed my reason for being there, but as I readied to leave, I felt like there was more to do. I couldn’t simply leave as I felt God silence the busyness of my mind, asking me to stay a while.
I visited each room of the house slowly and methodically…standing or sitting where I had so many times before so many years ago. Everything around me was completely quiet except cars passing by on the road outside, the sound of my breathing and the high pitched buzz of what deafening silence sounds like. As I meandered to each room, I concentrated on allowing the fullness of all five of my senses to access memories that spanned my entire life in this hallowed place. In front of me, these memories came to life, filling my conscience with things just as I had experienced them…the booming laughter of my Mema echoing through the house, the sound of my Papa clearing his throat while tap tap tapping on the keys on his old-fashioned adding machine, the smell of his aftershave in the bedroom as he walked by me with his tank top t-shirt on, the droning on of “Nashville Now” on TV in the living room each Friday night as I pretended to like the soggy Post Toasties given to me as an evening treat at the kitchen table. I re-experienced the flowing movement of the shimmery curtains of the windows next to my bed that danced to the breeze created by the buzzing attic fan in the hall. I marveled at the stove top and oven where Mema created biscuits from scratch and where she brewed strong-smelling coffee whose aroma was mixed with the sound and smell of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs each morning I was there. I revisited the lone fluorescent light shining above the kitchen sink that was a nightlight in the house when I or my siblings were afraid of the dark. I also paused in the living room for a few moments vividly recounting the revelry of legendary Christmas parties, laughter-filled Sunday dinners and intense games of Dominoes, Aggravation and Rook played while eating a bowl of ice cream or small, white powdered cookies my Mema was famous for. It was there too, that my Papa patiently shared his love of college football with me, teaching me the rules and strategies of the game I hold onto so tightly even now as I teach my boys about the game.
Feeling a tightness in my chest and a knot forming in my throat, I made my way out onto the back porch, lovingly visualizing where Mema and Papa used to sit and joyfully recount many of the same stories over and over, each time finishing their tale with resounding laughter erupting from their joyful hearts. The lump in my throat was getting bigger now and tears began to well in my eyes…I walked outside to the backyard…sacred ground that housed many an adventure for me as a boy. As I wandered down to the woods and creek where I often played, God turned over my “boxes” of repression and avoidance, spilling their contents into my freshly shattered heart, which was leaking into the blinding tears falling from my eyes. For what seemed like an eternity, I cried and cried just like a little boy as I stood there.
I sure miss my Papa and I sure miss my Mema. Badly. I have ever since they left this earth to re-join their Savior even though I’ve hidden behind deceivingly solid walls of stoicism and feigned strength as well as the misguided notion that demands my heart and soul remain in check. I left there saddened, but grateful at the time and memories that God brought back to mind as He put my broken heart back together once the tears had faded away.
I look forward to seeing them again one day when I too, arrive back in the presence of God, where I know they will be waiting for me…
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Photo by Cristian Newman via Unsplash.com
