My Field Days

When an old man dies the community comes together to pay their respects.  Family and friends gather.  People who never knew the man, but know his grandchildren.  People who work where the man used to work.  Great-grandchildren who saw him on holidays when they came to town, and know him through the three or four favorite stories passed down through the generations.  Many of his peers have already passed on.  Others live still, but are too frail to attend the memorial.

Photos are shown from a black and white, by-gone era… as if from a dream world.  Music is soothing.  Tears are healing.  The final chapter complete, the bittersweet sigh of sadness and relief.  When an old man dies.

When a young man dies his family and friends come together to make it through the moment.  People who knew him well.  People who shared a meal with him only days ago.  People who were laughing and making memories only hours before his passing. 

The photos aren’t dreamy… they’re from our life.  Our faces.  Our clothing.  Our celebrations.  The stories are fresh.  Emotions are choking.  His life is shared through vivid and recent stories.  Lives are forever changed.  When a young man dies.

~

She’s three years old, so she talks all the time, but you have to listen carefully to catch all the words.  She lives hundreds of miles away from here, and only comes to my home a couple of times a year.  In her tiny life, there are plenty of big things to remember about visiting. 

I have a cat that lets children pet her.  I have luckily had snow on the ground for her two Christmas visits.  I live in a barn, so it’s easy to spot.  But when I was having an animated conversation with my great-niece about coming to see me in the summer, and what all we would do, she told me she would play with Peter Pan.  I had to think for a second to figure that out.

Oh yes!  I have a Peter Pan doll.  He lives in a bag of very old toys in the closet under the stairs.  A gift from an old friend who hoped the children in my life might enjoy playing with them.  Obviously, the old toys are treasures… not just to me, but to the little ones.  I just love thoughtful people!  Thank you, Mr. Dunsworth.

~

She arrived one day in April, but her name is Summer Day.  She’s as light as a feather floating on a breeze, and her little fur is as soft as soft can be.

It was a sad winter for my mom.  Her beloved boy Dusty, her “fine young man”, my darling little brother  passed away after a very long and wonderful life.

If you have a little dog, if you have a big dog, if you have a cat… well, you know.  They are precious babies in our lives.  Delightful companions.  Part of the family.

So we are happily welcoming this baby sister into our lives.  Will she be able to speak Spanish?  We’re not sure yet.  Will she learn how to drive a Jeep?  Probably.  Will she fill our hearts with joy?  Without a doubt!

Here’s the link to something I wrote about my Pobrecito Dusty when he was still with us.  I hope you’ll enjoy it too.  Sweet Dusty… My “Little Brother”.

~