Life on the Front Porch

Our Oregon, Idaho, Montana family visited us for the past two weeks and stayed at the house that Jim and I built. While my nieces and sister-in-law JoAnn were here from out west, my nephews arranged a memorial service for my sister-in-law Dinah who passed away on Christmas Day. After the memorial, we held a cousin’s reunion at the park with a big family gathering and tables groaning from the food. In addition, we had several impromptu reunions as various family members came to visit them at the house.

We spent a lot of time on the front porch. Part of the time was visiting, and some of the time was playing music and singing. I jammed with my brother-in-law Terry and my nephew Larry. Ginger, JoAnn, and my nieces joined in the singing. It was a laid-back country style way to spend our evenings. Gathering on the front porch was like stepping into the past. We used to spend a lot of time outside in the evenings when the cooler evening breeze replaced the heat of the day.

 

Jim and I both came from musical families who often played on the front porch or out in the yard. The activities made it feel as if Jim were a mere blink away. It was a balm to my soul to see the house and yard filled with family. What was at one time an every weekend occurrence had been missing for the past fifteen years.

 

While we sat on the front porch, I recalled a few of the stories about Jim when dementia brought about memory failure. I talked about the day I was wrapping a baby shower gift because we were going to Eric’s house for a shower. Jim, as usual, got tired of waiting on me to come outside.

 

I walked outside, gift in hand, to realize the truck was gone, and so was Jim. Ginger was mowing grass and had moved Jim’s truck out of the way, and had left the keys in it so she park it in the normal spot. She was mowing with her back to the truck so she never saw, or heard, Jim leave.

 

Since Jim knew we were going to Eric’s, I figured that was where he was headed. Sure enough, he made the drive without incident. He apparently forgot he no longer had a driver’s license and forgot that I was going too.

 

We laughed about the time Ginger took Jim to the State Fair in his truck. She had to pause to pay for the drinks Jim snagged from the barrels of ice outside vendor booths. After the evening concert, they climbed into the truck, and Ginger couldn’t figure out how to turn on the headlights. After Jim had a good laugh at her expense, he finally reached over and turned on the lights.

 

Jim was seldom seen without his video camera perched on his shoulder, tape rolling as he videotaped special occasions and everyday life. My nieces enjoyed watching the old home videos. One of the tapes showed their entire family at Christmas time. One thing about watching old videos, you may have no recollection of the events unfolding on the screen. When you think of how many fleeting moments that make up the days, months, and years of our lives, it is no wonder that only a few of them remain in your brain vault.

 

Each night when I left the nursing home, I recorded how things were going with Jim and others that I interacted with—residents, staff, and other visitors. When I transcribed the tapes after Jim passed away, I was surprised at how little I remembered. It was almost as if it was someone else’s story.

 

When you spend time on the porch with family, you find time to share memories. Some of the memories we shared were painful, but sharing sad times lessened the burdens on our hearts. Many of the memories we shared brought laughter and joy.

 

I feel blessed to have been born into, and later married into, a large family. The heart connections traverse miles and time. We do have to remember that physical distance should never be a barrier to communication with our beloved family members. We hold dearest those times when we meet in person so that we can hug, laugh, and cry together.

 

Copyright © June 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ