ONE WAS MISSING

Last week marked a big day in my immediate family's existence.  My dad celebrated his ninetieth birthday.  It was a miracle that he reached this point in life.  It was indeed a day for celebration.

The celebration was to be held in the small town of Camden, Alabama where my folks now live as my sister cares for them in the most unselfish and loving way.  Many people came to share in the celebration, mostly family and loved ones.  My little brother traveled from South Dakota.  My uncle came down from St. Louis.  My Aunt (Dad's sister) and my cousins came in from Colorado and Kansas. Dad had grandchildren and great grand children as well as great great grandchildren arrive from north Alabama and as far away as the other side of Atlanta, Georgia.  My Aunt and Uncle came down from Muscle Shoals, my niece and my nephew as well as myself traveled from Kansas City, Missouri.

The celebration started Thursday night when my little brother and myself arrived, continued into Friday night with the main party being held on Saturday.  It was a time of joy and happiness as we gathered for this special day.  Cards and well wishes were sent from family and loved ones from Kansas, Missouri, South Caroline, and Georgia.

As family connections were reunited and the talk among the throng ranged from topics as diverse as to the miracle that we have been allowed to have our dad with us all these years, to baseball, to spirited discussions between Tigers and Jayhawks.  It was crowded.  It was noisy.  It was happy and joyous.  It was  a day that I, and those that were there, will never forget.

As I took some time on Saturday and listened to all the different conversations going on, as I watched my dad look in wonderment at all the people that showed up, my mind began to wander a bit.

I noticed that my dad had morphed through the years.  He is quite a man, someone to be admired and respected, that is for sure.  He has changed though.  His knees are not what they once were.  He needs a walker to navigate his way around.  His mind is not quite as sharp as it once was in his younger days.  He forgets things easily and tires easily after short periods of time.  He still watches baseball constantly, but often he can't remember who he is watching play or what the score is.  He is getting old and his age is showing.

I noticed all of the people who had come.  Pictures were being taken with phones.  Dad was in the role that he had never really been comfortable with, that being the center of attention.  He seemed to be enjoying it though and he smiled a lot when people would come up to talk to him.  I know it was a long weekend for him, but he soldiered through it and actually, I think he really enjoyed it.

Later, when I was on my way home and stopping over in Dyersburg, Tennessee, I sat and looked at the pictures that were popping up on the internet of my dad's celebration.  I saw pictures of everyone.  I saw pictures of families who don't gather all together very often.   I saw a picture of Dad and mom with my sister, little brother and myself.  I stopped on that picture and paused to study it.

Mom and dad looked aged but alert and smiling.  My sister and brother and myself looked very good although you could see the signs of aging in our faces.  Five people that formed a family that was started in 1950 when mom and dad got married.  It didn't look right though.

You see, our little family grew up as six, not five.  My eldest sister, Carol, passed away just a little over two years before this grand celebration.  Carol was not there and I felt her absence deeply.  We all felt her absence.  Everyone of us wished that she were there.  There seemed to be a hole where Carol should have been.

Yes, it was a great celebration.  It was a celebration that was warranted.  It was indeed a joyous, happy and wonderful celebration and everyone of us were very aware of how lucky our lives have been to have been blessed with the presence of my father through all these years and none of us would trade it for the world.

Still, through all of the joy, all of the happiness and laughter, one was missing.  I can say, and I think I speak for all the family, that she was greatly missed by every one of us on that day.  I couldn't help but hear this small voice in my head saying "You should have been there Carol ... you would have enjoyed it so very much and would have completed the picture."

I love you Carol.  I miss you.

Front row: Dad's sister Aunt Velma, Dad and Mom  Second row: my brother Bob, myself and my sister Elaine

My sister Carol with her grand-daughter Haylee

AS TIME GOES BY

I've been aware of the time going by
They say in the end it's the wink of an eye
When the morning light comes streaming in
You'll get up and do it again
Amen.

"The Pretender"  -Jackson Browne- 

A few weeks ago in a gastronomical clinic I lay on a gurney awaiting my turn to be taken into the procedure room for my colonoscopy.  I noticed the pattern on the curtains that protected my privacy, I listened to the chatter between the nurses on the other side of that curtain and I looked about the little room.  I looked down at my left wrist and noticed the plastic bracelet that had been placed there with all my information needed so they would know for sure who they were doing the procedure on, which is a pretty good idea I think.

I looked at and read all of the information that was contained on that band.  As I read who I was my eyes landed on the last line of text that was written there.  "Age: 61 years".  Maybe it was being by myself with nothing to distract me, I am not sure, but seeing that number "61" suddenly brought to my mind the question of where the time had gone.

I have always heard that as you age the time seems to go by faster and faster and seeing my age printed out brought it all home to me.  They are right, the time does start to fly by as you age.  When I was a boy it seemed like a decade between Christmas' and over the last few years it feels like there is only a month or two between each Christmas.  Time is flying by and nothing I can do will slow it down.

One summer day, I was working in the garden with my Grandpa Hill when he suddenly stopped and looked up into the sky with a far away look in his eye.  He was quiet for a few seconds before telling me that if he could choose anytime in which to live, he would choose the time in which he had lived.  During those seconds of gazing into the hot summer sky, I suppose he was looking back on his life, where he had been, what he had done and where life had taken him.  He went on to explain that his time here on earth had allowed him to see horse and buggy days turn into seeing a man walk on the moon.  He had gone from working on steam engines to diesel locomotives.  His main source of news had gone from newspapers and radio to television and on to not just television, but color television.  I have thought about that afternoon often over the years.  This July will mark the 110th anniversary of his birth.

As I lay there seeing my age in print, I thought of that day once again.  I wonder how old Grandpa was on that summer day.  I imagine he probably wasn't much older then than I am now.  Grandpa passed away at the age of 82 in July of 1990, twenty eight years ago.  He was only twenty one years older than I am now.  I think back to the day we laid him to rest on that hot July day.  I remember the thoughts that went through my mind as I contemplated a future without the old man to go visit at least once a week throughout the year.  I remember that day so very clear and as I think back on it, it does not seem like it has been even close to twenty eight years ago.  The first year without him seemed like forever but now, July first and July tenth come around so very quickly anymore and this July seems to be approaching much fast than last July did.

This weekend members of the family will gather in Alabama to celebrate my father's ninetieth birthday.  Ninety years.  For my dad to reach the age of ninety is almost a miracle.  No, it is a miracle.  To understand why I say this I encourage you to read my entry My Dad: A Special Life .  It is a long complicated story of which I have written a few times and so I won't go into the details here.  Suffice it to say that dad has lived around sixty years past what they thought he would.  Our sixty one years as father and son have, well let's say, had some rocky times, some very rocky times.  But as each of us has grown over the years and we notice the years going by, I think both of us have come to realize what a special relationship we do have together.  The times are not rocky any more, not at all these days.  I feel there is a mutual respect and love for one another that we had a little trouble expressing when I was younger.  That isn't to say we didn't have great times as well.  Over the last sixty one years, me and my dad have had more good times than bad.  Looking back over the years I can easily and honestly say there were many more good , if not great, times than rocky ones.

I remember a photograph that use to be in mom and dad's house.  I must have been about fourteen, maybe a little younger.  It was a picture of a baseball game taken at Jay Allard's ball fields.  A game was being played that I remember very well.  It was kind of a father/son game.  The picture shows me at bat in mid swing.  I was a fairly good hitter and the form that is depicted in this picture shows why.  Not to brag or anything, but I always thought my form shown in that picture looked like a young right handed George Brett or Carl Yastrzemski (I know... dreamer.  I can almost see my dad, Uncle Jim and Jay Allard rolling their eyes at this description of my swing).  Back foot planted solid, front foot stepping into the pitch and straight with the arms extended, the bat level and my head down looking at the ball.  Beautiful form.  Of course, I don't know if I actually hit the ball or totally missed it when that picture was taken.  The special part of that picture though is not the perfect swing of the bat by me, but rather squatting behind me, trusting me not to bash in his head with the bat, is my father.  He is also in perfect form, just as he had taught my little brother to do when he was catching.  Glove is stretched out towards the plate, the ungloved hand is fisted, and his head is tilted down a bit with his eye spot on the ball.  It was just a moment in time but as I look back all those years ago, what a special moment it was. A dad and his son, playing the great American game on a dusty dirty ball field in the middle of a pasture.

That picture was taken so many years ago.  If I was fourteen or so, dad would have been early forties.  Could it really have been forty five or fifty years ago that picture was taken?  It is times like that when you realize how fast time does go by.

So what have I learned as time continues to speed up?  Time is so very precious.  Time is wasted all too easily.  People I have loved for a lifetime are gone and all I have are memories of the time spent with them.  Grandparents, Uncles. Aunts, Siblings, Cousins, Nieces and Nephews are special people.  They are family and one of the most important commodities we have in our lives are our families. Friends, close friends are the same way.  Some friends are so close and you have spent so many years being friends that they are just as important as family.  They pass away eventually and once they are gone, you are out of time to let them know how important they are to you.  We shouldn't think that we have an eternity to let them know because although time is infinite, time in the form of life is very short and finite.

Time will go by fast.  That is a given.  The trick is to take advantage of that time.