Vacations were magical as a child. My Dad would take the family to his parents' farm in Missouri. They raised chickens, dairy cows, and when Grandpa got older he switched to raising beef cattle. Back in those days, I heard and saw things I never saw in Central Illinois—things like turkey buzzards circling on updrafts like in the Old Westerns, and we heard coyotes. Back in the the 70s there wasn't any turkey buzzards, and coyotes were heard rarely. Not like in Southern Illinois.
Anyway, as I got older vacations meant less about me and my enjoyment and more about others. Where Mom and Dad wanted to go and I, the angst-filled teenager, pulled along in their orbit.
When I married and had three wonderful sons, vacations became about their enjoyment. Vacations are like Kodak Moments frozen in time. You want to save those moments in pictures, videos and memories for all eternity. And although none of us get out of here alive, if we push against our own mortality enough with memories of good times, vacations and graduations (along with birthdays and anniversaries)... Well, then we can stave off thoughts of our demise like Young American settlers using campfire torches to drive off predators lurking in the darkness.
But death is the greatest predator of all. Like wolves it just keeps coming, sniffing, hunting, nibbling at your heels. First it's something in your body. Possibly your eyesight or your dimming memory. Death moving toward the death of a function, like eyesight, hearing, memories. This leads to aching bones. Stiff joints. Takes time standing when you've been sitting too long—the death of youth.
Vacations begin to change again. I remember taking Mom (along with my 3 boys) to the Gulf of Mexico back in 2016. “Gotta' get your feet in the ocean one more time,” I told her.
“Oh, John!” She shook her head. “It's not about me.”
But it was. Because she wouldn't be with us forever.
Last year I took Mom and 2 of my boys and their wives to the Gulf again. We drove. Mom originally objected, but I told her she's going to sit for at least 12 hours per day anyway. Then when she's tired, she could just lower her seat and go to sleep.
But she didn't do that, of course. Too worried about me driving. Too concerned staying awake in case giant Mack truck came veering into our lane and she had to shout out a warning. And what if I feel asleep at the wheel? “I have to stay awake,” that 86 year old saint said. “To keep you alive!”
We lost her April 8th this year. I buried her on Good Friday. Had I been able to tell her ahead of time, Mom would have loved being buried on that day since it had something to do with Jesus. She loved Him so much!
Vacations begin being about yourself, having fun as kids. Then they turn into just hanging around Mom and Dad in your teenage years. Next, comes vacationing for your children (or wife, but mine's been out of the picture since 2004 when I got physical custody of 3 fantastic sons). When children enter your life, vacations take on new meaning. And then, as you get older, vacations transform in meaning and metaphor again, such as when people in the family have ailments or diseases.
“How much time do we have? How long until—?”
And life becomes a race against time trying to check off as many things on that person's bucket list as possible. Until such a time as that bucket list no longer means anything because they themselves have kicked the bucket.
But there is hope in the form of pictures, videos and memories. And this year one of my sons said we need to have a special service just for Grandma (my Mom).
And so we will. Have no idea where that is going. The Bible says to be ready, to have an answer. And I suppose I will have an answer.
Rest in peace, Momma. We love you.