I was digging through my stash of keepsakes looking for a wedding program for a friend when I found this letter I had written to Mom and Dad. I had forgotten doing it. It was just a flow of thoughts while out on a walk that I'd wanted to capture, so it wasn't complete or polished. but I had just decided to send it to them anyway...and I'm SO glad I did!
I went out for my walk along the creek yesterday, and as I walked I was thinking about the two of you and how profoundly you touched my life--as a couple and as unique individuals. I also determined that I was going to tell you all of these thoughts personally. I didn't want to wait to say them at a funeral. It's important to me that you know this now. You're the only ones I desire to hear this anyway. It's not that I expect you to die anytime soon either. Why should I want to wait until you're gone anyway?
I also realize that my relationship with you is uniquely my own. My brothers and sister would have their own unique perspective, too, which is the beauty of this experience we call life.
As I walked along, it struck me that I was blessed not to have been raised as a member of any organized church. I remember (person's name) remarking on my having a relationship with God when I wasn't even a church-going member. He was impressed, but I know he also couldn't quite fathom how I could ever understand the concept of praying. I hadn't read the Bible at that time, yet I was drawing pictures of kids praying. Mom, I know I've told you this many times before, but this is for the record: I'll always remember you telling me not to judge someone until I've walked a mile in their moccasins. I don't even know whether you were preaching it to me either. In my mind, I see it mostly as a philosophy you lived by, and it made a whole lot of sense to me.
Thank you both for not having me baptized because it caused me to question the validity of that ritual. When other people's kids told me they were worried about me going to hell because I wasn't sprinkled with "holy" water, I had decided that a god who was as petty as all that wasn't my god.
Dad, you challenged me to not believe everything I read or saw until I had run it through my own experience.
Mom, you encouraged me to read and grow. You both stressed being the best at whatever I chose to do--mostly by example and not by preaching--but you never stressed doing it for good grades or for how it might make you appear.
Dad, you never were much of one who liked going to musical concerts--thanks for the ones you did suffer through--but you were ALWAYS there for me when I needed you. I remember calling home sometime around midnight the night I graduated when (person's name) and I got the car stuck. I wasn't afraid to call you and I never felt as though I had to keep my party attendance a secret from either you or Mom. You trusted me first--and that has had quite an impact on me. When your parents perceive you as responsible, you perceive yourself that way, too.
When I called home crying about college, you drove all night and were there the following morning to take me home.
And when my boyfriend died you were with him as close as you could be, and you and Mom were there to hold me the moment I got home. Probably one of my greatest memories of you is the morning you drove me all over the countryside to find wildflowers in the middle of July to be made into a bouquet for Arlen. The word "thanks" just doesn't quite do that one justice.
As a kid, the moments I hold dear to me now are when you were sitting on the couch with your arm around me as we watched TV (an episode of Loveboat comes to mind). And of course, there were all those times you carried me into the house as I pretended to be asleep. I remember the tickle of your whisker rubs on my hand, and getting a sip of your beer and tomato juice when you'd come home from work. Heck, even blowing out your match that lighted your cigarette was a treat! You're still one of my most favorite dancing partners. Whenever I play Steve's song, It's Just Life, or my lullaby I think of dancing with you--they're both waltzes.
I remember standing up for Show & Tell in the second grade and telling my class that my dad was the president of NFO (National Farmers Organization). I don't even know if that was true, but I thought it was at the time. I saw you as someone concerned with the welfare of not just his own family, but of the world and future generations. Kids are taught to think "global" in today's classrooms, but it was ingrained in me in my home. You were gone quite a bit, but I understood it was important for you to do that, and I'm glad you followed what you believed. I perceived you as doing something important and good, not just for me, but for a lot of other little kids out there. I missed you and was always happy to have you home, however.
I remember a trail of people through our home--from strippers to combiners to business associates and longtime friends. I remember laughter of a good kind and acceptance and an openness to hear other people's stories. I always admired your ability to converse with total strangers, especially because I was so shy in those circumstances. It didn't matter who they were--everyone was worthy of having a conversation with. You loved people and it showed. We've all kidded you about your seeming attraction to Gene's and the Gateway, but I loved you for it and I wouldn't have had you any other way. I watch the continual rotation of people through that restaurant booth and I can't help but marvel.
I also remember (name of a young friend) asking me to ask you for some gum. Every kid who knew you knew about the gum in your shirt pocket. Juicy Fruit made it big because of you.
I remember being carsick from riding with you over those hills and around those curves on the way to Newell or Belle Fourche, and to Woody's. I remember long trips with stops along the way to buy an assortment of candy bars.
I remember you drawing pictures for me--the camel off your cigarette package, for one. I also remember being in such awe of the portraits you drew of Mom. I so wanted to draw with the talent I saw in you.
Mom, when I think of you I recall a woman of great courage, patience, generosity and quiet faith. I see a human being who's grown so much, and who's flowed with the changing times with a grace I hope to embrace as my own. You're so much more than a great cook and caregiver. You're an intelligent and strong and capable, loving, gentle woman who has my utmost respect. You're one of my dearest girlfriends and trusted confidantes.
As a child, I remember you reading me stories before our naps.
And hiding the Easter eggs so cunningly the Easter I was sick with the mumps.
I remember sledding with you, and climbing over huge snowdrifts searching for posts to use for firewood when the power was out.
Every time I plant a garden I recall all the gardens I "helped" you plant and harvest and can.
You were also a terrific neighbor, and I loved going for coffee with you.
You also are so creative, and you have the eyes of an artist. I feel my love of sunsets comes from you.
