Going Home Again or Finally Going Home
Herndon , Va. is my husband's home town. When his parents were alive every trip home was another opportunity for Steve to share his memories of growing up in Herndon across the street from the only school he ever attended before college. Our family grew and soon I as well as the four children shared in Steve's fountain of memories. We heard about the lawns he cut and the papers he delivered as well as the weeds he didn't want to pull.
Years passed. His big sister who had given him his first Bible died unexpectedly. Little did we know that as his dad grieved over her, his prostate cancer was returning and about a year later he too was gone. The fact that he was not a young man at 89 did not make his death any easier to bear.
We moved to Steve's home state. The years had taken their toll on his mom and soon she was living in a home near by. The joy of her nearness was dimmed by the sadness of witnessing less clarity in her thinking. The day came when she too was gone. Like her husband she also was 89 at her death. In a few short years half of Steve's family was gone.
Time has passed and two of our children have married and three grandchildren have been born with a fourth on the way. With the business of our lives we had not made it back to Herndon or to the cemetery where my in-laws are buried.
We were both happy when Steve made arrangements to meet a couple for lunch who were looking at the possibility of renting a home in Herndon. While consuming our Mexican entrees, we enjoyed catching up on each others lives. As we left the restaurant Steve quickly became the local tour guide pointing out what markers remained of the small town he had known and loved as well as pointing to the empty space where a resort hotel had stood many decades ago. Even though more things have changed than stayed the same, Steve's words put us in touch with the town that is no more.
Our friends had to leave and we made our way to the local cemetery. As we drove to the path that he thought would lead him to the right markers he spied other headstones. Steve would read off the names and say "I delivered their papers" or "I cut their grass". He saw many markers with long names but no markers that had the three letters D-O-E forming a clear simple memorial on gray stone.
Our time we could be in Herndon was growing short. Spending more time with our son, his wife and two grandsons seemed far more pressing than wandering past all those tombstones until we would finally find the right ones. We have no doubt that the remains of both Does are still in that cemetery. Remains seems to be the key word. That is all that remains on this earth of two once vibrant people who demonstrated the love of God as they lived their lives. They were the ones who truly made Herndon home. Instead of going back to where memories abound as we were doing that day in Herndon, Libby and Harry Doe went to the home they had never seen. Home is where experiencing the joy and glory of the Lord never ends. What is finding a couple of grave sites compared to this truth?
Years passed. His big sister who had given him his first Bible died unexpectedly. Little did we know that as his dad grieved over her, his prostate cancer was returning and about a year later he too was gone. The fact that he was not a young man at 89 did not make his death any easier to bear.
We moved to Steve's home state. The years had taken their toll on his mom and soon she was living in a home near by. The joy of her nearness was dimmed by the sadness of witnessing less clarity in her thinking. The day came when she too was gone. Like her husband she also was 89 at her death. In a few short years half of Steve's family was gone.
Time has passed and two of our children have married and three grandchildren have been born with a fourth on the way. With the business of our lives we had not made it back to Herndon or to the cemetery where my in-laws are buried.
We were both happy when Steve made arrangements to meet a couple for lunch who were looking at the possibility of renting a home in Herndon. While consuming our Mexican entrees, we enjoyed catching up on each others lives. As we left the restaurant Steve quickly became the local tour guide pointing out what markers remained of the small town he had known and loved as well as pointing to the empty space where a resort hotel had stood many decades ago. Even though more things have changed than stayed the same, Steve's words put us in touch with the town that is no more.
Our friends had to leave and we made our way to the local cemetery. As we drove to the path that he thought would lead him to the right markers he spied other headstones. Steve would read off the names and say "I delivered their papers" or "I cut their grass". He saw many markers with long names but no markers that had the three letters D-O-E forming a clear simple memorial on gray stone.
Our time we could be in Herndon was growing short. Spending more time with our son, his wife and two grandsons seemed far more pressing than wandering past all those tombstones until we would finally find the right ones. We have no doubt that the remains of both Does are still in that cemetery. Remains seems to be the key word. That is all that remains on this earth of two once vibrant people who demonstrated the love of God as they lived their lives. They were the ones who truly made Herndon home. Instead of going back to where memories abound as we were doing that day in Herndon, Libby and Harry Doe went to the home they had never seen. Home is where experiencing the joy and glory of the Lord never ends. What is finding a couple of grave sites compared to this truth?
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