The Final Drive Home

The family chooses the funeral Mass readings from a selection.
The Gospel passage we liked said: Amen, amen, I say to you,
unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.
Lovely wheat image from khalilpakistan.com

How many days did Dad drive home to 187 Bedford in Dumont after work? Almost every weekday [except vacations] from 1957 until he retired in about 1990. And through those 33 years and another 17, he also pulled in--home again--when returning from the Bronx, Manhattan, my house in Montclair, Sis's in Connecticut, ShopRite, the post office, St. Mary's, the Cape, my grandparents' apartment in Dumont, CVS, the bank, the cemetery [he went to see Mom a lot there] and friends' houses. Many, many return trips. Today was the last, and he wasn't nosing his car into the driveway, just coasting by.

The funeral director asked Sis if there was any place we wanted the procession to pass on the way to the cemetery. Sis gave our home address. Dad would have liked that. In some ways, his house was his pride and joy.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow
Sadly, though, our house looks rundown, unkept. Dad sold it about 3 years ago, and in that time, it has changed. I've driven by periodically, but today, it was dramatically different. He had a stunning flock of irises in front [H. and I got him the bulbs from the historic Presby Memorial Iris Gardens in Montclair]--now it's just mowed over. He had two hydrangeas, and shrubs, and trees. Today, the big tree out front [a maple, I think] was nowhere to be found. The lawn looked bare and awful. The back steps are in desperate need of a paint job.

Dad was pretty careful about his house. He and my mother were the first owners. He trimmed, mowed, tarred and retarred. Retouched paint, cleaned gutters. Those living in the house apparently do not have the same keen eye, commitment--or time.

You can't take it with you, I thought again and again. You can't take your garden, your paint job, your tools, your family. You can't fix it all and be it all. You can just be your best and do your best and embrace the good while you can. In the moment. That is truly all we have.

Because the final drive home is one we all eventually have to take.

This post below from January 8 seems like it was forecasting my future, my fear of losing Dad, who had been a steady steering force in my life for so long:

http://insearchoftruthandbeauty.blogspot.com/2011/01/need-little-angel-sitting-on-my.html.

Good night. Brighter days ahead for all of us, I trust.