The car turned and nosed its way slowly into the driveway. How many times in the past ten years had I come to visit; looking up and expecting to see someone on the porch or happily opening the back door with a wave, a smile and “Daniel’s got the kettle on”.
The gravel crunched under the tires as I slipped into neutral and turned off the ignition. The car began to roll down the slope in the garden as I suddenly realized I had forgotten to put the hand brake on. I shook myself and pulled it tight bringing the car to an immediate stop. Everything seemed the same and yet different—something was missing, something was waiting. I glanced over at the house hoping to hear the screen door squeak or a voice shout out “hello nana”.
The flower beds too were waiting—flowers along with weeds were trailing outside of the borders and winding along paths no longer visible to the eye but I knew they were there. Flowering bushes gallantly reaching up to show themselves in the midst of the overgrown underbrush—hoping someone would come and clear the ground that they may see and be seen once again.
It was quiet, a peaceful quiet, the woodworking shop looked different somehow—I could see the sunlight shining through the side window lighting the empty shop, gone were the woodchips and sawdust of earlier days—and I remembered. The telephone call, “come quickly Daniel has had an accident”—the saw had slipped and amid the blood and panic fingers were missing. We sat waiting in the hospital waiting room, and when we knew it was his left hand, the hand that deftly found the strings on the violin he loved so well—fresh pain broke your heart as you realized he may never play again—for he was a fine violinist. I rocked you back and forth as if you were a child again, the tears subsided and time healed your heart and Daniel persevered until that day when breathlessly we sat waiting in the pew for the first strain of worship music flowing through the hands we were so afraid would never play again.
I turned taking a path around the trees leading to the potters shed—I could almost hear the swish of the wheel as Kathy sat caressing the vessel and as the potter’s wheel turned she whispered prayers for her heavenly Father to give her a family.
I wasn’t sure why I had been prompted to come—why now—why today? I had thought often that perhaps once a new family had settled in I would come. I didn’t think I could face the sadness of an empty house whose rooms such a short time ago were filled with love and laughter. But the prompting hadn’t left so I came. The door creaked a little as I pulled it open, light spilling into windows on all sides made it look inviting, even though it was empty now of vessels ready for the kiln, how proud she was of her creative work—and I remembered.
She reached up to push back the wisps of hair that curled around her face, using the back of her hand she gingerly tucked it behind her ear trying not to get the clay in her hair but somehow never was successful. Beads of moisture made her face shine, her eyes sparkled more blue as she smiled the smile that I had known and loved since she was a child, it was a smile that lit-up her face even when I knew she was sad or lonely for the child she could never have.
I didn’t enter the house right away but went across the freshly mown lawn to the neighbors, stopping along the way I gazed at the swing seat that we all had enjoyed so much. What wonderful friends the neighbors had been to our little family. It was them that checked the house, opened the windows for fresh air to fill the rooms and mowed the grass. There they were as usual—a happy welcome in their voice. “Hello, come in; sit awhile, how about a cool drink.” Just what I needed in this hot and humid weather. It was cool inside and as I settled into the familiar surroundings we talked of old times, “remember when…” one would say and off they’d go retelling the stories of life and love. How greatly the little family was missed and how good God had been as they found a new home and settled in the far away land of Austria. Their call to missions was changing our lives and influencing so many in its wake.
There’s comfort in shared loss, and moments when a memory is too dear to speak of. Yet there is joy and freedom in realizing that though far away love cannot be lost and is carried in special gift boxes and 21st century technology Skype. We laughed and remembered together the days that seem so long ago.
I knew now why I had come, closure of seasons yes but never closure to those we love, those we thank God for in being part of our life even in the smallest ways. She handed me the key, “it’s the back door”, she called, as I turned to face the empty house.
I move slowly back across the lawn and slipped pass the huge oak trees, glancing once more at the swing I could hear the faint voice of yesterday…”push me nana, push me”.
Coming to the steps I remembered—so little but so curious I couldn’t believe she could back down those steps and in her new found independence say loudly, “ come nana come”. The garden was new territory as off she went to explore. Her little legs flying down the slope of the garden toward the woods and me calling—“Ava Grace wait”. She never seemed to hear but she would stop and wait pointing out the place where Tilly, her loyal playmate and family dog was buried beneath the tree.
As I stand ready to turn the key in the back door her voice rings out again and even the buzz of bees echo around the porch as she bravely says, “Go way bee... go way”. She hadn’t always been with us—but we prayed. The prayers...oh yes, there wasn’t always love and laughter, but days of sorrow, days of wishing, hoping praying—would a family ever come? We believed and God in His infinite wisdom had already picked out Ava Grace—way before time began she was chosen for our family. She was our little miracle kept for the perfect moment and given to her mother and father. A miracle that had woven love into our hearts and joy into our family.
It wasn’t really that long ago—or was it—time has a way of either compressing or stretching itself to fit the moment at hand. Had it really only been three months since they said their last goodbye? Stepping boldly out into the new life they had been given. The house hadn’t sold—the only thing left of the former days. But I must say my goodbyes.
I turned the knob and stepped inside. It was so quiet—that sense again of waiting not the waiting of a house but waiting of home and family. Built to last at a time when slavery was yet to be banished it had stood for over 150 years. And I waited…I waited as I walked slowly through the house, waiting for the sadness, waiting for perhaps sorrow—it did not come, surely grace had weaved it’s power into my heart and I had peace. This was a house, the heart of which was one small family—we shared their joys and their sorrows and our hearts hold fast the memories.
The family times when two young boys were impatient to leave the table but had to wait, the scripture reading that each had to read and share and just hope that someone would know where the scripture could be found in God’s Word besides ‘nana’—and often they did. I remembered the beautifully set table always with a seasonal theme—hopefully I had arrived early enough to iron the tablecloth smooth, the noise of joy, the laughter as someone told of an incident at work or school, the chatter of family the prayers of thanksgiving, nothing is lost but safe in the memory of love.
The lavender room—her room—such love had prepared it—such faith had persevered when all was lost. But they hung on and found favor in the eyes of our Lord. I remember the little face smiling as she awoke from her nap—always happy, always a joy to hold and hug and love.
I came down the stairs again and did as I had always done—one two three, with a stop and a bounce on three—just to hear her giggle. So through the rooms I travelled back through my memories and rejoiced.
As I walked I prayed—for those that had left and those that would come and be blessed as our family had been. I reached out my hand to open the back door and thought—just one more look—and then it was done.
I walked more swiftly now across the lawn to deliver the key, Darrell and Deb were waiting, these wonderful neighbors who were still loving and caring for ‘our family’. We prayed together before I left—she handed me a framed photograph of ‘our family’, we exchanged telephone numbers and turned she to stay and me to leave. Lives that had touched and been touched in such a profound and eternal way.
I sat behind the wheel and gratitude filled my heart as I looked one more time at the beauty of the garden, sensed the sounds and fragrance of autumn moving in and I knew that a season of life had turned and I had peace.
‘Nana’ - August 25th. 2011
