The parson walked to his car. It had been an interesting visit.
Joe had entered the senior facility almost a year ago. His dementia was getting progressively worse and his wife couldn't provide adequately for him. The decision had been painful, but it had been the best one. Joe's wife was, for the first time in almost a decade, able to live without stress, worry, and fear. At first, she visited Joe seven days a week, staying almost every day. Over the course of the year, as his condition grew worse, she settled into a routine of Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On the other days she reclaimed her life by gardening, spending time with grandchildren, and visiting the home bound members of the church.
This particular Monday, she'd not been able to visit Joe. She jumped off a small wall in the yard and sprung her ankle. The parson had volunteered to make her visit for her.
“Do I know you?” Joe had asked as the parson walked into his room.
“You do, Joe. I'm your pastor.”
Joe squinted his eyes. “You're my pastor?”
“I am?”
Joe squinted some more. “How long have you been my pastor.”
“About eight years, Joe.”
“Hmmm,” he still squinted. “You'd think they'd have run you off by now.”
“I'm still hanging around, Joe. Do you mind if I sit down?”
“You don't need my permission,” said Joe.
The parson sat. There was a moment of silence. Joe turned to stare out the window.
“What have you been doing lately, Joe?”
“I've been pondering when to harvest the crops,” Joe said. “Kind of hard to figure out the weather. I'm thinking maybe next week I should start.”
The parson waited a moment. He thought about the time he'd been in Clinical Pastoral Education training. In those days “reality therapy” had been the thing. The parson wasn't much on reality.
“What crops do you have in this year?”
“Corn, got about ten acres of corn. It's that hybrid kind. Supposed to be really resistant. Don't know what got into me but I planted a huge field of watermelons. I think we got just about enough rain. They should be sweet, I mean reaaalll sweet. And I've got the usual, beans, okra, tomatoes. I'm planning to have a little stall up by the strip mall and sell a good bit of the produce. Should bring in a little nest egg for the rest of the year.”
“Sounds like you've been busy.”
“I have. Hey, you wanna see the crops?” Joe rose and headed toward the door while motioning the parson to follow him.
The parson got up from his chair and began to follow. “Where are we going?” the parson asked.
By now they were even with the nurses' station. Joe pointed out the large picture window in the waiting area. “Out there; the farm.”
The parson looked to the nurse. “Just stay in the garden, Parson,” she said. “Don't take him off the property.”
The parson followed Joe. They walked around the circular path of the flower garden now showing its winter drab. “Look at this corn,” Joe said. “Have you ever seen corn stalks this tall. I mean this is going to be a bumper crop.”
They continued walking around the circular path. Joe pointed out all the other parts of his farm, where each vegetable was planted, where the hogs were kept, and the milk cows. The walk lasted the better part of an hour. Finally, the parson suggested they go back inside. Joe agreed and turned toward the door. The parson followed him through the little waiting room, past the nurses' desk, down the hall and into his room.
Joe walked over to the window. He put his hands on the sill and looked out intently. Then he turned his head to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks for walking with me, Parson.”
The parson, startled, started to respond but Joe continued. “I'm not ever going back to the farm, am I?”
The parson sat in the chair. “No, Joe, I don't think you are. I'm sorry.”
Joe turned from the window and sat opposite the parson. He looked at the paper on the side table, picked it up and seemed to be studying one of the articles. A good ten minutes passed with no words spoken. Then Joe folded the paper, placed it back on the table, looked at the parson and said, “Do I know you?”
...thank you....
Posted by: wondering aloud | January 21, 2012 at 03:51 PM