Memory Lane

Imagine for a moment that you're walking down a country lane as soft music plays in the background. The music is neither joyful nor mournful; just bringing a feeling of peace and contentment. Trees line both sides of the lane, their branches gracefully hanging over the path. The path is bathed in the warm glow of the sun as it peeks through the yellow and orange leaves lining the dark branches as leaves gently fall to the ground. There are no sounds besides the tender music and a soft rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze blows through the trees. As you walk, you notice photographs hanging lightly from the tree branches. It’s October in New England and you realize you‘re walking down Memory Lane.

Memory Lane is a beautiful place no matter the season. In winter, twinkling lights line the bare branches of the trees and reflect off the icicles that hang from the branches next to the floating memories. In spring, the icicles melt, giving way to pink and purple blooms that frame the memories as bees flit from one flower to the next. And in summer, the tender music is accompanied softly by a bird's song as the memories blow gently in the warm summer wind. The memories are beautiful as well. No matter the time of year, Memory Lane invites you in for a leisurely walk with promises of a precious time of reminiscence.

As you walk, you pause to peer at the photographs hanging from the branches. There doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to their order and they change from day to day. If anything, it's mainly dependent on what has been on your mind throughout the day and what season of life you are currently in. For myself, the memories focus on my father. As I walk down that lane, lined with the beautiful fall foliage, I see photos of my childhood. In one, my father, sister, and I are picking pumpkins and gourds at the small, local farm just a few minutes from my house. My sister and I giggle as we tell my father how much the gourds look like little geese and ducks. He smiles and leads us over to the cows looking at us from the other end of the property. I always looked forward to that annual outing.

In the next photo, my father has just come home from work. He takes off his suit jacket, loosens his tie, makes a cup of coffee, and joins my sister and I for a bike ride through the neighborhood. We pedal along on our small bicycles as he walks behind us sipping his coffee. My neighbors tell me they remember watching him with us. I think they were amazed that he never took the time to change first. I know I am. My first thought upon getting home from work is to change into more comfortable clothing. He made my sister and I a priority, though. He let us know in that one little action of just taking off his jacket and loosening his tie, that we were special to him. Spending time with us mattered more than being comfortable.

As I walk further down the lane, the years fly by. Soon, the photos reflect memories as a young adult. In one photo, my father and mother stand proudly next to my sister and I as we show off our diplomas. He had just watched us graduate with our Master's degrees. It was a special day considering he had once been told he would not live to see us graduate even with our Bachelor's. In the next hanging memory, we're out in our favorite spot in California. My father stands next to my sister and I in front of an ice skating rink at our favorite hotel on New Year's Eve. He fulfilled my dream of skating by the sea that night.

As I move from one memory to the next, I smile and thank God for the beautiful times He has blessed me with over the years. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes. Tears of joy and pain. Joy for the moments spent with my dad and pain over the realization that no new memories will be made with him, yet to be hung on those graceful branches.

Memory Lane is a beautiful place, but it can be a painful, too. There are dark paths that branch off of that main lane. On these paths, the colors are dulled and the sun can't break through the branches holding more photographs. These ones are all black and white. They are the truly painful memories. For myself, these are the memories of days from my father's final year here on earth. The first is the day they found the spot on his lung. I see myself in the photo, crumpled in despair on the floor. In the next hanging memory, my family is gathered in an examination room at my father's oncologist's office. He's sitting on the edge of the exam table. I'm in a chair next to the table, and my mom and sister are in chairs facing us. We're listening to his doctor explain that his cancer is back. Stage 4.

As I walk down the shadowy path, the photos progress through the timeline of 2018. There were, of course, beautiful memories made that year (all by God's grace), and you can find them hanging on the main lane. But these are all the hard ones. This particular path ends with photos from our time in the hospital with dad. His last ten days on this earth. There are a few that aren't completely black and white. Some are tinged with just a hint of dull color. These are the memories of the love shown to my family during those days. The pictures show friends and family visiting. They're bringing food, clothes, and cash for buying water bottles from the vending machines down the hall from my father's room. They show our pastors and friends pausing to pray with us before they leave. They show members of the body of Christ being His hands and feet to my family and I. I will be forever grateful for how God provided for my family in those final days with my father.

I try not to wander down this path too often. It's a dark and painful walk. There are days, though, when the pull is like a powerful magnet and I can't help but wander down it once again. And it's in those days that I need to remember to hide under the shadow of the Almighty, rather than the shadow of those branches.

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the LORD, 'My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust'...He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler." - Psalm 91.1-2, 4