Time To Move On

“You know, Gale,” my friend JoEllen told me in an email a few weeks after dad passed away, “three things came to my mind during your dad's funeral.

“First, friends. I kept hearing that word (whether it was said, sung, or just in my head), and I felt privileged to know that Ralph Russell was indeed my friend.

“Second, Eleanor. It struck me early on and all the rest of the way through the service what an incredible person your mother is.

“Third, at one point near the end of the funeral, I felt as though your dad sat right down by us and said to me, 'Get over to your cabin and be with your family.' I could see his smile and hear him say those words. It felt like, 'OK, time to move on. Your family is important and I want you to always remember that.'”

It was time to move on. It seemed as if time had been on hold for many months while dad was ill. Now it was time to get on with things, and first and fore-most, for all of us, was to take care of family.

I was so proud of mom, she was a trooper. Instead of sitting around feeling lonely she had embarked on the huge task of going through all the old photographs that had accumulated over the past fifty some odd years. She organized and grouped them by family, then mailed them to the people who would be most interested in them.

As for me, when we'd moved to Snowflake, just over a year earlier, we'd planned to build a house of our own west of town. I'd drawn house plans, found contractors, and got bids. Then when dad got sick we kind of put things on hold. Now we had a quandary.

My sister, Sharon, and her husband had been living with mom while they built their own house. By the the time dad died it was nearing completion, and mom asked if we would like to move in with her when Sharon moved out. I suppose that was an answer to my prayers. I wanted to build my own house, but maybe it just wasn't time, yet.

We put the house plans and bids away, packed up our stuff, and moved over to mom's. Not that I stopped dreaming of our own house, I just didn't push it. Mom knew we were still working on it, but once in awhile she would say, “I hope you don't finish your house until I'm gone,” in a kind of joking way. I knew mom was feeling guilty for putting our plans on hold, but it really was OK. For the time being, it felt right that we were supposed to live with mom.