Visiting Hours

Mom's only brother passed away. He had been treated for prostate cancer, but apparently it spread, and the treatments were causing as much problem as the disease. I am sorry to lose him. An era is coming to an end, and my Mom is now the only one left. She was the youngest (my Dad the oldest, and Loran and his wife Esther - after whom I am named - in between agewise).

I am concerned that this will throw Mom back into a deep depression, and though I had planned to be in Milwaukee to study for my comps and orals, I realize how important it is for me to be at Loran's funeral. So today, on a holy day, Sunday, I am driving out to the Albany area. I will stay at Mom's former home which is being prepared for selling - probably for the last time. It is a weekend of farewells.

I arrive in time to ride with Jan down to Clifton Park for the visiting hours. I am shocked at the emptiness of Mom's home. It saddens me to think how much work and love went into building this house, of how many hours our family spent here, and now some stranger will live there who will not know of Dad or his dreams or his work. The house has been stripped of their personalities, seems almost like some vacation cabin in the Adirondacks. Is this what they have come to? Wiped out of memory and time before even Mom has passed?

At Loran's wake I speak with his sons who are now alone in this world. They are holding up well, have not changed much and yet are total strangers, their children and grandchildren unknown to me. I look at the pictures selected to represent Loran's life. He was a National Soap Box Derby winner, in the Navy, involved in ASHRAE (American Society of Heating, Refrigerating and Air Conditioning Engineers), successful businessman and entrepreneur who in his wife's final days became nursemaid and chief cook.

I once worked during a summer for him as a secretary in their home office, his wife Esther training me. Tedious paperwork, but pleasant surroundings. Their yard overflowed with flowers and wildlife including everything from hummingbirds to foxes and deer.

The generation is slipping away. I try to hold on to memories, find ways to pass them along to my children and grandchildren. It is like trying to keep water in your cupped hands. Yet the life water gives does affect each succeeding generation perhaps more than we will know. Farewell, Loran. Thank you for being part of my life. May you find peace.