When You Have to Move On

Mother sits in the passenger’s seat of the truck, and I am behind the steering wheel. I had never driven a truck before, but new experiences assault us everywhere, I think as I drive down the driveway. My father is gone. He had been admitted to the hospital for flu symptoms. One minute, he was talking to the nurse and the next minute he collapsed from a heart attack. How could he be gone—and so suddenly? Now, two months later, Mother and I are headed to a nearby town to catch the airport shuttle. The plan is for me to leave the truck in the parking area for my brother when he arrives to organize the estate sale. My task is to see Mother get situated in her retirement apartment in Topeka where I live. How will she react to a new setting one thousand miles away?

It had not been easy to get to this point. Mother wanted to stay in her home, and we tried every way we could to accommodate her wishes. Her health was precarious. In fact, we had expected Mother to be the first to go to heaven. At a recent hospitalization, she told us she heard heavenly music and it seemed to indicate to her that her time on this earth was short. But early on Mother’s Day, she called me and said: “Find me a place, I’m ready to come.” That was a big step.

At the heart of my parents’ lives was their old home. It had history! Charles Crisp served under General Robert E. Lee and was a prisoner during the Civil War for 13 months. After the war, he studied law and set up a law practice in Americus, Georgia. He built a home—their home—in 1876. He later became Speaker of the House of Representatives. If only the walls could talk!

When my father was called to pastor there, my parents drove around to find a home to rent. They had never owned a home because in previous years, the church provided a parsonage. This house had just what they needed. In the back was a large metal shop, covered with towering trees and forsythia, and it was perfect for my dad’s carpentry work. Later, he took up furniture refinishing as a business.

In addition, a few steps away was a child’s playhouse and my creative father made some changes, and it became his study.

That wasn’t all. A few steps from the study were a carport and a summer kitchen. They didn’t know that was what it was called, but later learned the official name for the rustic screened-in kitchen. It became the meeting place for my dad’s group of carpenters and for catfish fries and breakfasts.

In subsequent years, they purchased the home and rented the upstairs apartments to pay the mortgage. We loved our visits each summer. The first time we visited, Laura was five and already a very logical thinker. She couldn’t reconcile the fact that Grandma and Grandpa had a house with more room than they needed and our home, though adequate, didn’t provide any additional space. It just didn’t make sense to her.

On one summer visit when I went by myself, Mother and I sat on the front porch swing, and she shared a book in which she had written her memories. I learned things I didn’t know about her and later I would reflect on what a precious time that was.

I flew to Georgia to get Mother ready for the move and my middle brother, who was staying with Mother, met me at the airport shuttle service. We took time for supper and discussed the move. “I guess we need to hire some movers,” he said. I was aghast that he hadn’t made arrangements. However, through the help of a friend of his in Kansas City, we hired Two Men and a Truck, and the two guys became good friends before the moving day was over.

The final night at home, it was just Mother and me. Gary had returned to Kansas City. Mother and I went out to eat and when we got home to an almost empty house, a friend called to wish us well. I told him what came to me as we talked was the story of the children of Israel and how God had the cloud overhead by day to guide them.

And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way; and by night in a pillar of fire, to give them light; to go by day and night.”

I said: “It looks like The Cloud is lifting and we don’t want to miss God’s Spirit. We need to pick up and move.”

As I got ready for bed, Mother knocked on my door. “Come here,” and she led me to the living room. She asked me to sit, and she opened her piano bench, took out some sheet music, and placed it on the piano. She sat down and proceeded to play the song which is a prayer-- “Bless This House.” The beautiful arrangement took her skillful hands all over the piano. When she finished, she opened the piano bench, placed the music in it, and said to me: “Now, let’s go to bed.”

I realized this was her benediction for this beloved old home. She had loved it, had shared precious years there with my dad, with family members, church people, and neighbors. She had seen the house take on a new life with the improvements Daddy made, and now it was time to move on. Her faith said: “It’s time.”

It’s the next morning and I wonder what her reaction will be. As I drive down the driveway and on past the house, there is for both of us a peace—that truly “passeth understanding.” She is ready to move on.

Written in memory of

Venetta Kirkland

January 15, 1923 – July 16, 2010