The Unspoken

The Flower Shop lady came in the front door with her grandson and a large vase of flowers.  She told me they were for me.  I'm sure I covered my heart with my right hand.  I know I winced.  "They're gonna make me cry, aren't they?"  She nodded in agreement.  We were both right.

The card read "You are often in our thoughts and prayers.  We just wanted to honor your son this week".  Love....  It's so nice to feel loved.

It was a tough week with the light at the end of the tunnel illuminating the metal chairs carefully set for celebration. 

The plan was in place.  Mrs. Wilkins told me "you gotta have a plan".

Each graduate held a string full of hope, love and sadness.  The remembrance represented with a color he loved.  As if coming full circle with their loss, they looked towards the mass of balloons as they were quickly airborne.  Their unspoken thoughts, still unspoken.

The words-formed in the cleft of my soul.  Unable to form at the tip of my tongue.  Those words stuck in my throat and faded like a sunset over Big Meadows.  What I wanted to say, unspoken.

What I felt was:

My son should have been on this stage tonight. 

He should have received awards that showed his talent, his love for learning. 

His grin should have beamed and made this momma's heart swell.

Sawyer should have been there.

And this is what I wanted to say:

The same God Sawyer loved and worshipped is the same God who has gotten me through each and every day since our loss. 

 

If you knew my son, you aren't likely to forget him.  Sawyer's ability to light up a room with just a smile will be missed forever. 

 

I thank the Lord that I have hope.  Hope for eternity and a knowing that our family will be together again in Heaven.

 

But instead, I decided that all my words were better left unspoken.  Or better yet, spoken by a tall, handsome man.  Tanner.  He was the man.  And yes, he covered the family through his well spoken way of representing.  Proud.  This momma's heart swelled.  Same emotion I thought I missed.

 

 



 

 

 

 

Barn Art

The sounds heard in the early summer morning air could possibly be the most precious on earth. 

• The chorus of calves calling to their mommas due to the separation that must happen in the weaning process. 
• The return call of the deeper momma voice like it comes from the depths of her soul. 
• The inconsistent chirp of birds in flight looking for that sunny spot to perch in anticipation of a busy day of grubbing food for their wee ones back in their carefully constructed nest. 
• The choral of the Ladies in exclamation that they have fulfilled their purpose and the cockiness of the rooster as he chimes in with great pride. 

 But mostly there is the stillness of the time of year when things automatically slow down because hurrying about makes no sense.  The hurriedness of seeking the warmth of home-foregone.  The coolness of the morning air, embraced for the time it lingers.  It's almost like Island Time. 

Last evening we were in the barn.  This is no ordinary barn.  It is old and it is large.  When you walk in the door, first instinct is to look up and make sure there isn't a large barn owl above, lying in wait to make you his next target.  Once you decide the coast is clear, the entrance opens to a whole new world.  The light that shines through the separations in the barn boards on the south side gives a glimpse of the scenery beyond the old. 



The construction of this merry ol' barn is told by the lack of hardware.  The lack of iron to hold it together.  Hand hewn.  There is a picture in my minds eye of horses bringing large timbers.  Skidded and molded for a perfect fit.

The many cows who have stood in the stanchions, waiting to be relieved of the heaviness of their utters.  At the mercy of the milker.  The hay gleaned from the fields and stacked to the beams.  There are many memories in this old barn.  Many generations of family who hold these memories close to the heart.



I recall a Easter Sunday when the rain came down in unforgiving sheets of coolness.  Because the tradition was hunting eggs in the calf pasture, we felt the need to regroup.  We headed for the barn.  The rain on the huge roof was loud and adventure began.  No one will forget the cat that was found.  It had gotten caught while scaling one of the tall walls in the interior.  We found the skeleton. 



Last night as we opened the barn door into the milking side, I noticed something never seen before in these shaded parts.  Barn Art. 

As if to tell a story, the pictures whisper truth.  Truth about much family and the silent echoing of the big barn that could tell more stories than Grampi Gene.



Thank you Bishop Family for being a part of this old barn's never ending history. 

Life is a Wash

In the early morning hours we stood shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen window.  With a knowing, we stood in silence.  At almost a mumble, we talked about what it will be like to close this chapter in our lives.  The financial piece of our life, coming around.  Full circle.  "Life is just a Wash" was my comment.  We looked at each other.  "Yep" seemed like an accurate statement.  Reflecting that you go out of this world with as much as you have upon arrival.  Now there's a wash. 

I've spent some time today pondering the statement. Is it true? Is it negative?    Is it heavy with emotion? I think about the rain as it washes, beginning in the clouds high above, cascading down, washing impurities from the air and off trees in a downward spiral.  All the pollen, washed.  All the leaves, cleaned to freshness.  Hoping for saturation and enjoying the brief but relentless rain.

The day, uneven in mood and even more unpredictable.  The happiness--seniors of the class of 2014, who have finished all their requirements, save the senior project day.  The hurriedness of those students who are still working toward the "goal" that is within reach.  The emotions of students with goals left on the table, frustration, with slumped shoulders. 

The rain.  It finally came.  The rain, bouncing on the cement slab out the back doors.  The metal roof, calling loudly to the gray skies above as if heavy with a thankful heart.  I follow a blog of a woman in Canada.  Today her blog read " Storms can come out of nowhere —- pain out of nowhere."  It seems as though there are days when the cloudless sky is meaningless.  When the sun can shine but the storm can rage.  Those are the days for much preparation.  Preparing for the storm comes from His word, His voice.  Easy?  Not even.  Necessary.  Most definitely.

"All sun can kill us and there are storms that bring the rains we need to survive."   Aaaarrrggg.  I'm still waiting for those results.  The thankfulness after the storm I can see.  The thankfulness for the storm.....that is going to take time.