The sun sank lower in the western sky and the heat of the summer day lessened. A glorious sunset turned jet trails and cirrus clouds ablaze in several shades of orange. Although the sky would be light for hours to come, the shadows in the farmyard lengthened. My 77-year-old father and I walked on the lawn around the garden, orchard and flowerbeds. I was his youngest child, born the year he celebrated his 45th birthday.
Daddy had spent his entire life working hard as a farmer, having taken over running the farm from Grandpa in his teens. Instead of retiring as many people do, he chose to continue doing farm work, despite having sold the farm to my brother 12 years before. He looked tired and every bit of his age. He didn’t feel well. In fact, he hadn’t felt well for a long time. The invention of treatment for his medical complaint was still several years away.
The shaggy orchard grass felt pleasantly cool as it brushed against my ankles. Our conversation took a sad turn when Daddy commented, “I’m ready to die.”
I was horrified that he felt that way. Being 32 years old and the mother of two very young children made it impossible for me to understand how he felt, so I instinctively exclaimed, “Oh, no!”
Daddy calmly explained, “I’m sorry, but many of my friends have died already, and I don’t feel good anymore. I’m ready.”
Troubled, I questioned, “Do you wish you could start over and be young again?”
His prompt answer surprised me. He declared without hesitation, “No.” My heart dropped. I couldn’t understand why he felt that way, and why he was so adamant.
I always thought that having a second chance was a good thing. As a young adult, I looked forward to all the possibilities that lie ahead.
Life Lines 