The Coats

We knew there would always be reminders.  Reminders of him and all he means to us and this place.  A place he loved and tended with strong shoulders and calloused hands.  We see him in every tree he planted, every fence post that lines this farm, every rusted metal gate.  He farmed this land, working hard to grow crops and livestock but working harder to insure it would be the home of generations to come.  The grain bins.  The rustic old barn. The weathered shelters with shiny tin roofs.  The long concrete drive.  All of these things are him.  And all of these things will be constant reminders of him.  How blessed are we to have so many tangible memories to ?  Blessed. So very blessed.  And as bittersweet as all seeing all those things may be, they don't leave me shocked, frozen in sadness or grief. Maybe because I am so thankful that every inch of this farm is a gift to us from him.  A place to live and raise little boys that can run wild and free.  A place where children grow up nestled between grandparents and great grandparents, and aunts and uncles who adore them.  A place for Jody to raise cows and fulfill his passion.  A place for our children to make a home of their own one day.  Yes, the sadness of missing him is there, but so is the overwhelming gratitude I feel to him for his years of hard work.  Years of work that would become a gift to each of us, an expression of his love in the purest form.  These little reminders are gifts we are so blessed to enjoy each and every day we greet another morning from this place.  This place he made home.  

He is always here.  In tangible things and spoken words.  In memories Jody shares.  In all the questions Sam, who misses him so, asks us about him as he tries to hang on to his treasured memories of his Papa.  I expect all of these things and am often able to share stories of him with Sam and Jack with smiles, not tears.  Not because I'm not sad, but because the memories are so sweet and so good.  Every single one of them.  But something happened recently that left me speechless, overwhelmed with the grief and the missing.  Missing him, but missing who they were together more. We were all together, sharing a meal over the holidays at Papa's Place.  Pieces of him were everywhere.  In pictures.   In the softball trophies that line the shelves.  At the sink where he washed so many dishes as she cooked.  But it was what caught my eye behind the door, that took my breath away.

Two coats.  One big.  One small.  Neatly hanging side by side, as if they had just peeled them off upon returning from their late afternoon walk to the mailbox.  I walked over to them and as I looked at them closer, it quickly became apparent to me that they had been there quite a while.  I ran my hand along the dusty sleeves of the old, tattered, green Nutrena Feed coat he always wore. And then I gently took the little red coat off the wall. It, too, was covered in dust.  I wiped the dust from the hood with my hand before looking inside.  How had I forgotten this coat?  I am meticulous about carefully packing away and labeling the boys' clothes.  Nearly all of the clothes Will wears were first worn by Sam and Jack.  Sure, this coat was an inexpensive Target purchase, but it I certainly would have handed it down to Jack and Will.  Yet there it was.  Hanging there.  Forgotten.   

I looked inside to find the coat's size.  24 month.  Sam would have worn that size when he was 18 months old or so. Which meant it had been hanging there behind that door for over four years.  After one of their daily walks together, the two of them came inside, removed their coats and hung them behind the door.  How could they have known the last time they took them off that they would hang there, undisturbed for years?  I'm sure that walk wasn't their last walk. It was likely getting warmer outside and their walks wouldn't require a coat any longer.  I'm certain they shared many more morning hikes through the cow pasture and after dinner walks to the barn.  And in many ways, I am happy that I don't know when that last walk took place.  Because if I don't know, the memories of the two of them together, hand in hand, stepping in unison, speaking few words but saying so much, can live on forever.