They Were the Refuge

The key goes to the buyer in a few short days. The childhood home can no longer be my refuge. Its time to move on. But oh the memories!  The memories, the many good memories that pour forth from every room, even though the clothing, furniture and dishes are gone. As I move from room to room, I realize that these sweet experiences are now to be stored in my memory to draw upon and shared with my family to learn from.

My Father passed away nearly four years ago and my Mother passed away 3 months ago. My sweet sister and I have been cleaning for days, crying, laughing, and reminiscing. We laughed over the red cup with the micky mouse ears that we all wanted to drink from. We remembered mom's love for roses as we cleaned out the vases, especially the tiny glasses she put her sweetheart roses in. We cried as we found the hospital records at our sisters death over 35 years ago. 

And then there was the similac in a rusty old can pobably over 53 years old. In the family room were the heating vents where we would sit and read and stay warm on snowy days.  The corner bedroom was where Dad would drill us in math or reading facts. The corner of the closet under the coats was where I would hide and read in hopes of not having to do dishes! The old wax paper bags for our sandwiches now look quaint and endearing. The sewing machine with its many bobbin threads tells of many projects that mom did for us and with us. The closet once held the pheasants they caught and forgot about - two of them, filling the home with the smell of rotting birds. The kitchen counters were where we bottled many peaches from our trees. 

But the real value wasn't in those events or things. It was in the love of God and family that permeated everything Mom and Dad did. Everything they touched spoke of creation and love. The tools and crafts in the home created beauty, spoke of industry and provided opportunities for us to work together. This was especially true of gardening and sewing. Dad led out in planting a garden every year. From the faith that goes into planting a seed, to the responsibility of watering and weeding, to harvest and eating was all part of a joyous celebration for him. We didn't feel that way at the time, but his enthusiasm was contagious. Mom helped us choose fabric and patterns and taught us the joy of creativity. There was much of frustration in the learning curve, but her joy was also contagious. 

Most of all, most importantly was the love we felt in every one of the hundreds of times we came back to visit after being married and having eight children. That home was a refuge. No, THEY were the refuge. Their hearts were big enough to take in all of us, feed us pizza, put up tomato juice with us, and just plain listen. Mom was so interested in every thing we were doing and Dad always full of loving concern over our struggles. 

Growing up was good but there were very difficult times as well as relationship struggles. What I find most miraculous is how over time they created this refuge for all their children, grandchildren and greatgrandchildren. Their rough edges became smooth and their example life saving. They grew into it year by year.

So as the home empties and I look at the empty kitchen where the tablel used to be and the thought came to my mind from Les Miserable - "Empty Chairs and Empty Tables." My Dad used to bring up that song. I felt the deep somber part of it today as I looked at that empty room. But my Dad would probably say to me today if he could, "Go enjoy the full tables you have now, Diane, and make those tables full of love and joy. If you learned it, then go live it." 

And if he said that, he'd be right. Everything that matters is in my mind and heart. I want to fill my children's hearts with the goodness and light that permeated every corner of that home. If they can find a refuge in my home and more importantly in me, then I will in part reciprocate what my parents did for me. That is a comforting thought as I prepare to leave that empty home soon, and create fulness in mine.