Life in Transition

Boxes, tape secured over the seams, line the garage of my parents home, the result of the decision to rent the home we grew up in now that my dad is gone and my mom lives in a private care facility.
As I walk through the yard and the halls of the only home my parents ever owned I can hear the echos of the days long gone. Christmas mornings, waiting for everyone to get up so we can open our presents, evenings at the dinner table where we broke bread as a family, sharing the couch to watch TV together. Laughter, tears, anger, fear, love, hope, and faith all emanate from these walls now painted and ready for a new young family who will love our home as much as we and our parents did.

It took me a week to take the first batch of boxes out of my truck and look inside. The wonderful family moving into our home took great care to box things up and label them based on who the items belonged to or which items had been spoken for. I chose to have all of the items related to my father’s love of flying boxed up for me. Now looking at the near complete model airplane he planned to fly, takes me back to the times when we went along on the days he would gather with his buddies, all with a love of flying, to watch those planes take off, land, and often crash. I had to unload it all, there were more things to transport. The transition was not over.

As my friend and I broke down the concrete table and benches from my parents back yard to load and transport to it’s next home under the great live oak tree in my back yard I couldn’t decide whether to leave the concrete base, that had been poured right there in the yard, behind. I had decided I could create a new base but I took one last look. As I stared down at that perfectly square piece of concrete, I saw the initials JJM and the date 5/2006 scrawled in the concrete. This was my dad's work, the  signature of his labor and his love for my mom. This will live on in my backyard where I will always be reminded of him and how much he means to us.

It seems that after all is said and done, this is how a life transitions. Boxes, wrapped with tape, labeled and divided and distributed. But what I realized in it all, is that the boxes are simply vessels to carry things that represent memories of our loved ones. It is up to us to keep the memories alive, every day. I plan to sit at the really cool concrete table, listen to the birds, and have a coffee with my dad.

Peace - TLP