A Road Less Travelled

Prologue here.

We had about forty-eight hours notice of Grandpa’s funeral. James was out of town, and scheduled to get home late that night. That left one day for traveling, and only twenty-four hours or so to make plans and preparations, including a night’s sleep. We quickly narrowed our options to driving out, either the whole family, or just Theresa, Moriah, Margary and me. We couldn’t make a final desicion until Theresa talked to James, but we needed to start planning now because we were short on time as it was. So naturally, I pulled out a pad of paper and started making a list.

Theresa and I managed to determine that either way we needed to pack, go grocery shopping, and make sure laundry was caught up. We made a list of food that would be suitable for children’s snacks whether they were in the car or at home with James, and decided to hardboil some eggs. Theresa left for a pre-scheduled visit with a friend and to go grocery shopping. I called Gabrielle.

I dumped on Gabrielle that we were trying to plan a trip to my grandfather’s funeral without knowing what was going on, that I was tired of thinking about death, and that I dreaded having to travel again when I’d thought that the trips were finally, finally, finally over for the year. Gabrielle listened, and prayed with me, and made me laugh over potty-training stories. I hung up feeling better, if not exactly exuberant.

The day blurred past quickly as we determined that the whole family would go and tried to squeeze weeks of travel prep into half a day. I hardboiled eggs, which we ended up forgetting in the refrigerator. I packed my suitcase, trying to find sufficient purple that looked respectable. I’d wavered over the purple, not sure what that side of the family would think I didn’t wear black, but decided it was important that I stick with purple. I checked to cooler to makes sure it was clean. I think somewhere in there I crashed and fell asleep for a while. I made bacon sandwiches. James made it home despite a canceled flight, and in fact arrived home an hour earlier than we’d planned.

We got up early the next day, and got on the road a lot earlier than we usually manage to, even if it was a tad later than our planned departure time. We traveled. There’s not much else to say. It was time in the car again, with little time for stopping. We traveled almost a thousand miles between 7:30 AM Friday and 1:30 AM Saturday.

During that time we tried to figure out the best way to get my parents up for the funeral. My father’s job schedule (and no vacation days provided by the company) didn’t leave any leeway in scheduling their trip. In the end, the short notice made plane tickets extremely impractical, and they drove through the night Friday, not arriving until about 7:30 Friday morning.

I suspect that Theresa and I got a minor case of food poisoning because we were both up several times that night (or rather, early morning) with gastrointestinal issues. (Theresa was also up with Margary, who apparently decided it must be morning when we got there.)

I spent most of the morning with my stomach throwing a royal fit about something or other. It never got around to telling me what the problem was, it just didn’t like it at all. I ate half a slice of bannana bread for breakfast, couldn’t decide if that helped or made my stomach worse, and never got around to eating any more. So there I was, on the morning of my grandfather’s funeral, running on something less than six hours of sleep, with moderate stomach pain, and greeting relatives I hadn’t seen in several years…

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 Last night we got back from a trip to Pennsylvania for my grandfather’s funeral. I decided there were enough different things I wanted to say about the trip and the funeral that I should break it up into several posts. This post sets the stage for the rest.

Early last week I was thinking about some friends I haven’t been in touch with for a while. They were a homeschool family with two boys–probably the first boys I ever actually made friends with. We’d read all the same books, which at the age of eight or so was the only thing that would have compelled me to attempt a conversation with boys my age. A few years later we left the state of Pennsylvania in something of a rush, as some of you already know. While several people slipped out of contact with us, their mother wrote my sister and me on a regular basis for several months, even occasionally sending us boxes of books. I saw them once more when we went back to Pennsylvania. We played Clue and, I’m sure, discussed our favorite books once more.

A year or two ago the son who was my age died in a car accident. I sent them a card and tried to remember to pray for them. Months later I wrote another note, but it didn’t get sent for several weeks, and due to one thing and another in my crazy life, I didn’t write again. So last week I was thinking I really should send them another note. Just let them know that I still pray for them when I think of them, because it doesn’t really get better by the time everyone’s forgotten to send cards.

A couple of days later, a family in our church had a miscarriage. This sounds painfully obvious, but I really, really wanted their baby to live. It was okay, because God is in control, and He knows what He’s doing. But it still hurt.

The next day my grandfather died.

We’d been expecting it, though not necessarily this soon. I didn’t see Grandpa Rhodes that often, or really know him that well. When I first heard that he’d died my first reaction was something like, “Oh. Well, that’s it then. It’s over.” I felt like I should cry, but I didn’t at first. I just felt heavy and really tired of thinking about death. I didn’t want him to be dead. I didn’t want him to be sick. I really just wanted life to keep going, and the strawberry farm to still be there, and my grandparent’s house to be full of cousins who chased each other in endless circles around the main stairs.

So I put on my purple lipstick and went to listen to A Far Country. And then I cried. I cried for my grandpa, and for a little baby I wasn’t going to meet in May like I’d hoped I would, and other little babies I remembered wanting to meet, and for all the other people I wouldn’t see until heaven. I cried because even though I don’t want to go Home yet, and there’s so much here I want to do first, there are days when Home sounds really, really good.

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Last week was a really bad week. I was tired and cranky through the whole week, Crystal was gone a lot and we were really busy. I agreed to walk a neighbor’s dog for her on Saturday and so got up early after staying up late the night before. And when I got to her house I realized there had been a misunderstanding and she’d meant Sunday. So then I go and stay up too late on Saturday night because I want to be able to do stuff without children swarming me and I have to get up and get out the door on Sunday morning to walk a barky little dog. And I am off caffeine for a few days so right when a cup of coffee would be really nice and helpful I can’t have one. But this post isn’t actually about me and my difficult week. That was just the background for what comes next.

I sat at the back of the sanctuary during worship with Justice. He hadn’t slept well either so we were both out of sorts. His out of sorts looked like being excessively wiggly and whiny and my out of sorts looked like being excessively irritable and whiny. I was joined on the couch in the back by a woman I have had some good conversations with and her baby who threw up at me and then smiled. Our pastor said something about being dissatisfied with your lot and complaining and I looked over at Christy and said that that was me all right. She seemed to understand.

After worship we eat lunch together each week. I feel like I wandered from conversation to conversation bringing my tired crabbiness with me where ever I went. I bumped into a woman I had had one in-depth conversation with before. She asked me how I was and I told her. It was so helpful. She listened and she nodded at all the right parts; she commiserated and encouraged and reminded me that this was good training for me if I want to be a wife and mom. And then, right when I ran out of words and was done talking about myself, she changed the subject. We chatted about home improvement and why we both despise wallpaper. And when we were about to run out of conversation one of her daughters came up and said she needed to go to the bathroom. We said bye and I wandered off.

Right before I left I ran into Christy again and her baby threw up at me again. Really, it was very funny. And then she asked me what I was going to do differently this week so I wasn’t so tired and crabby. I hoed and I hummed stupidly and then said that there probably wasn’t much I could change. She asked what time the kids went to bed. I said Arianna goes to bed at nine. So, she said, at least one night this week you better get your fanny into bed at nine. Then she said that a minute of sleep before midnight is worth four minutes after midnight. So every minute I stay up past midnight is four minutes of sleep lost. She even figured out how I could get up before the children and still get eight hours of sleep. I had to leave then so I said goodbye. As I was walking away she yelled “Four times as much sleep!” I laughed. It was so nice to be bossed around.

I don’t want this post to sound like a pity party for me. That was just the background these women could be helpful and encouraging in front of. It was nice to have someone notice and listen and then tell me what to do in no uncertain terms. It was even delightful to be puked at consistently. It was community, the kind that picks you up and builds you up. It was beautiful and it made my day so much better.

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