Tuesday morning, 2:00 AM. Leaving the radio station, the moon is a full circle casting a broad halo in the hazy sky. Closer to the horizon, clouds reflect the lights of Stevens Point, twenty-some miles away to the east; a smaller streak to the west pinpoints Blenker. The air is moist but apart from the high haze, there is no fog. The car thermometer reads 63 degrees. Sixty-three degrees in the middle of the night in the latter half of October. Amazing. Trundling in from the west, the Canadian National locomotive whistles in the dark, a long and lonesome sound.
I have the highway almost to myself; only a few semis heading east cut the darkness with their headlights. The highway still shows signs of the earlier rain, but the brisk southerly wind is rapidly drying the concrete. Despite the lonesome sound of the train, I’m not lonely. Although tired, somehow I am alert and feeling as though I could drive for hours more. Hmm…three hours…I would be knocking on my sister Carole’s door just after 5:00 AM…would probably scare her out of three years growth…and at 76, that wouldn’t be a good idea. Four hours would take me to my sister Sue’s house – the sun still wouldn’t be up at 6:00, but they’re early risers. No. As much as the wild temptation to pursue the adventure, the practical side of my nature…and the quarter-tank of gas in the car rule otherwise.
Instead, I take advantage of the mild night air to sit on my front stoop and contemplate the night. October. It’s such a significant month. The day after tomorrow is my father’s birthday. He would be 107. One hundred and seven. Scientists who study such things as telomeres, the cells in our bodies that determine how long we will live, say that optimally, they are designed to last about 120 years, but damage from free radicals shortens them…and shortens our lives. 120 years. Interesting. When God brought Noah out of the ark, He said, “I will no longer contend with man forever. His years shall be 120.” Well, Dad’s been gone for 38 years. That’s more than 60% of my life. And then Friday is Mom’s birthday. She would have been 100. It is amazing that through them, I can reach back and touch the history of more than a century ago. And last week marked the fifth anniversary of my brother Ken’s passing. Like Dad, he was 68…much too young for this day and age. Still, there are positive days in this month. Sister Sue is turning 71 on the 28th.
Even though I’ve lived more than half my life without him, Dad still casts a long shadow. I remember the half dozen times I rode his city bus route with him until he got off work at midnight. I remember the stories he told, his rich baritone voice singing “Blue Skirt Waltz” and “Minnie Was a Moocher.” Picking wild strawberries in the woods near home and blueberries in the boggy stretches of the Chequamegon National Forest. I remember the frightening times when his heart gave out and he turned grey as we waited forever for the ambulance to arrive or racing out to Sue’s at 80 miles per hour to pick up Mom so she could meet the ambulance at the Emergency Room. I remember his laughter…and his rages. A long shadow indeed.
And then there was Mom. The eight years she has been gone seem barely a heartbeat or two…and yet seem forever. It’s a grand story…born in a log cabin 100 years ago without benefit of midwife or doctor. A century of tragedy…lost babies, a handicapped son, early widowhood, physical challenges. Yet it is also a century of triumph…six children living to adulthood, the love and respect of just about everyone who knew her, creating a home where all were welcomed, making one scrawny chicken feed eight people for half a week, overcoming a heart-stopping – quite literally – delivery of her youngest, outliving her cardiac surgeon’s long term prognosis by ten years. Oh, not earth-shaking victories but rather the quiet persistence of a woman of deep faith.
And Ken? Too many questions there. His last wishes unfulfilled because he ran out of time. He was scheduled to see his lawyer…and a judge…the day after he died. It’s a reminder to all of us…we like to think we have time, all the time in the world…but we don’t.
October night…or rather morning…musings. I’ve been here before…when the night wraps its arms around my city and the world downshifts to a slower pace. The wind is picking up and there’s a slight change to its direction bringing a whiff of chill air…a reminder the seasons are changing. Winter is just around the corner and this Indian Summer will soon be ending. It’s a reminder too, that a century is a long time, yet sometimes not long enough and time is ever advancing and just when we think we have all the time in the world…we don’t. Well…speaking of time…time now for bed. See you in the morning.
Kathy Kexel 