~and I plan to live life~

I love bucket lists.

Having already gone through two lengthy ones and thinking there was nothing else that I wished to do in life that was extraordinary or special, I took a break from the idea.  In the past ten years I've gone on the Bike Across Kansas (twice), power parachuted (twice), driven all the way to Maine and back in the search for the Portland Head Light lighthouse, learned to swim well enough to save my own life (well kind of/sort of), seen the most beautiful sunrise and sunset in the world (many times as a matter of fact), visited the quaint and picturesque village of Owego, New York (twice), planned my own funeral and gravestone (haven't used that one yet),  and the list goes on and on and on.

I've actually had a pretty good life. 
All things considered, I wouldn't change one blooming thing.
Yet I wonder, is there anything left that I wouldn't like to try and do?

Yesterday I was looking at the age calculator on the social security website.  It's a sobering place to visit if you haven't already done so.  There you will find the best guesstimate as to how long a person born on any given date has yet to live.  I knew mine was going to pop up sooner or later, but it takes quite a while to scroll down to the mid 1950's.  There I was and the answer I was looking for kind of smacked me in the face a couple of dozen times.

It should have been of no surprise to me.  I'm going to be 62 very soon and if I was looking for another 6 decades of life, I was searching in the wrong place.  The number made me pause to think and reflect several times during the day, so much so that Mike and I had a conversation about it as we traveled back home from Altus.

Mike is very good at detecting when something is on my mind.  We have only been married 4 1/2 years but when it comes to people, he's a very quick learner.  So when he asked me what I was thinking, I admitted I had been pondering what life remains for me.

"Mike, the social security age calculator says I have only 24.6 years left to live.  Can you believe that?  Not even 25 years."

It didn't take long for him to shoot back a response.

"Well you better start a new bucket list then."
And he is right, like always.  I guess I better start a new one.

Not really sure what it is yet that I would wish to do but I'll be thinking about it the days ahead and perhaps by my birthday at October's end, I will have a plan.  With the good Lord above willing and for however many days are yet ahead of me, I still continue to strive to do one thing each day.

I plan to live life.
How about you?

I rode this bike on the Bike Across Kansas of 2011.  In August of that very year, I had the bike accident that changed my life forever.  It was my #1 thing to do on the very first bucket list I ever had.  (ride on the BAK, NOT crash my bike)

Power parachuting was another item on the first and second bucket lists I had.  Now THIS is something I'd consider doing again.  

One ill fated item on the original bucket list of 2011 was to take a plane ride to Medicine Lodge, Kansas.  Shortly after this picture was taken, the pilot realized that the battery was failing.  I like to look at it as an omen or something.

Although it wasn't on any bucket list, I was glad for the day when "old lefty" returned to its new normal after my accident.  It took nearly a year after this picture was taken in the fall of 2011 before I could turn both of my palms straight up.  The scars tell the story.

Jumping the curb that August morning while riding my bicycle was not the smartest thing that I've ever done.  The x-rays didn't lie.  I really messed up things.  When a 55-year old women rides like a careless 9-year old, it is bound to happen.

~it was about much bigger things than money~

It seems like only a couple of days ago that we were turning the calendar pages towards September.  Now for all intents and purposes, it is time to do the same for the sweet month of October.  Where did it go and why didn't I see it happen?

Time.
Fleeting at best.

October is a lovely month and I welcome it as always with open arms.  It's my birthday month and as each year has come and gone, I acknowledge the gift that another year always brings for us.  As one of the last 3 surviving siblings out of a family of 7 kids, I cherish this year even more.  Not everyone gets the chance to say "I'm 62 years old."  Come towards the last of this month, I do.

That's not too shabby of an accomplishment for a little farm girl from the Midwest.

Last week I was able to talk at length with a friend who wanted to know how things were going for me these days.  She asked me what I saw myself doing next year at this time and before I could even answer, that lifelong friend of mine answered the question herself.

"Don't even tell me.  I can already guess.  It will be the same thing you are doing right now!"
Kathryn knows me very well.

I always said that if I could just make it to 40 years of being a teacher and still remain effective in the classroom, that I would be glad to call it "good" and enter back into retirement.  On paper and in practice it seemed to be a wise choice.  Yet after receiving a new school assignment this year in the second grade at the elementary school in Grandfield, Oklahoma I have begun to imagine staying for a few more additional years.  My health is reasonably very well with few if any issues to be concerned about.  My spirit about being with kids each day has not changed, not even wavered one little bit in all of 40 years.  I was meant to be a teacher and even though the pay in the state of Oklahoma is pretty dismal in comparison to the rest of the nation, it matters not to me.

I didn't get into it for the money to begin with.
It was about much bigger things than money.
It was about kids.  

So if the good Lord is willing, I'm going to hang around in the classroom for a few more years.  If I don't, I might miss the chance to meet some more amazing young people like, well let's say Carson for example.  

I first met Carson when I was his language arts and homeroom teacher back in Petrolia, Texas during the course of the 2015-2016 school year.  He's a precious young man with a heart of gold and gentle spirit.  And oh yeah, he likes to raise up and show pigs.  I got the invite to come out and see his latest ones just this past week.  I was so glad to see him once again and surprised to learn that now he is at least a full head taller than his former very short teacher.  Take a look at that young man.  Some day he may be the vet you call to take care of your sick animals or the ag teacher who shows your grandchildren how to look for the best show pig or sheep.  Mark my words here.  It will happen.

Back in 2016 when I first went out to visit Carson and his show animals at the Petrolia ag barn, it was the first time I had actually been this close to a pig.  Growing up on a farm I was used to them being around but I never did really like them because I always thought they were going to bite me.  Carson told me that they would not.  His gentle reassurance gave me the courage to move one footstep closer.  

If you can believe charts and tables like ones found on the age calculator of the social security site, my latest guess of years left remaining for me on this earth is 24.4 which would put me at the ripe old age of 86 years and 3 months old.  Although I don't plan to be teaching in the classroom until my last day on earth, I'm ok with saying I will stay a few more years if I am needed.  Why wouldn't I?

The opportunities are endless as a teacher.  I'd be a fool to miss out on any of them.

~in the journey from here to there~

The end of the day has come about and outside the darkness has already fallen.  A load of clothes is tossing about in the dryer and our bed is still filled with all the stuff we have unloaded from the car.  Mike helped me to quickly bake a batch of strawberry cheesecake muffins for the kids to enjoy at break time tomorrow.  Even though the evening was getting later and later, I knew that we couldn't disappoint them.  Once they finish cooling off, I'll slip them into a container and ready them for the trip to school tomorrow morning.

You can't fill a child's mind with knowledge when their bellies are on empty.  Sometimes kids get hungry.  It happens.

We had a lovely trip home to Kansas this past weekend with my brother-in-law Wes joining us.  It was a time planned to honor the dead who have gone on before us and we kept our promise to do just that.  Saturday morning we attended the ALS walk on the Waterfront in Wichita, Kansas to honor the memory of my brother who has passed away from it as well as be of support to all those who have lost family members to the illness more commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease.  It was a sea of folks, all there because of that one thing that we all had in common.  

ALS is progressive and saddest of all, it is always fatal.

About 2/3 of the way into the mile long walk, I found his sign and stopped to take my picture by it as I always have done before.  The placards were so many and each person's name represented a life lost far too soon.  10 years ago, my brother was one of them.

I was so thankful that I was joined for the morning by Mike and Wes.  It only took about 2 hours in all for the walk and what a beautiful day to be in Wichita! 

Afterwards we headed to the cemetery at Haven to stop by and visit the grave of my sister Sherry.  She would have been so happy to have been able to go on the walk with us.  She and Mike were very close to one another.  Last year, we both made the journey to Kansas to do the 2016 ALS walk but Sherry fell quite ill and was rushed to the ICU at a local hospital.  Our intent was to do the 2017 walk together but that plan was destined to fail.  So this year I walked for the both of us and when I found her grave at Laurel Cemetery, I whispered to her in my heart that I had kept our promise and made good on walking.

I think she would have been happy.

I am so thankful that she is now at peace and enjoying a life in Heaven.  I know I will see her once again when my time comes to go "home".

The clothes in the dryer are finally finished now and once I get them folded up, it will be time to get to bed.  Tomorrow is a new day and there are 10 second graders who need me to come and be with them at school.  I have missed those kids and I can't wait to tell them all about my trip home to Kansas.

I really had nothing profound to say tonight, except for one thing.  
I'm glad for the life that I have been given.  
I wouldn't change a thing in the journey from here to there.

~you can call this a message from Sherry and I~

Every once in a while, I go through my old blog posts and clean out all of the drafts of stories that I sometimes start and then for one reason or another don't finish.   I came across 3 of them that I had not taken care of, one of which was written in the first weeks of June this summer shortly after I'd gotten the call that my sister Sherry had been rushed back to the hospital for yet another time.  As it turned out, it would be the last one I would receive about going to the hospital.  She would be gone in one week more.

As I read the words that I wrote once again, I was reminded of the reason why Sherry is no longer here in the first place.  I seldom even mention it, but for some reason today I feel compelled to say something.  

Over 50 years of cigarette smoking killed my beloved sister and now I remain behind to tell her story.  All of us carry the crosses of many bad habits that one can acquire in a lifetime.  Smoking, excessive drinking, overeating, overspending, too much worry, and many more are out there.  I carry my own share of vices, that's the honest truth,  yet I am so thankful that smoking was one bad habit I never picked up.  Thank you God!

My thoughts are shown below, ones that I wrote after I got the call from the rehab hospital.  It's what I was thinking as I waited to hear whether or not I should even try to get to the city hospital where she was taken or not.  It was 30 minutes that seemed liked 30 hours as I waited for the word if she was even alive.

Or not.

I'm not sure why I didn't just delete this partially started blogpost shown below.  I had not even seen it in over 3 months.  Call it a message from Sherry if you would like, but I can't help but think that maybe one person who reads it might be just the one who needed to see it in the first place.

From that night, this past summer in June of 2017~
For what it is worth.......
Waiting has never been easy for me and as a matter of fact, it's been downright tough all of my life.  I'm not patient and never will be.  It's especially difficult right now.  I'm waiting on news about my sister, the woman who turned out to be the very best friend I could have asked for in this life.  

Her name is Sherry.
She's been a teacher for a long, long time.
She is just like me and now one thing is for certain.
She's dying.

If Sherry were well and could give a message to any of you out there who are hooked on the cigarette habit, I think it would be this.

"Smoking is taking my life.  I wish I would have never started it."

Sherry smoked for well over 5 decades and now that nicotine habit is snuffing out what little ability her very frail lungs had left in them to do their job of breathing.  Being tethered to an oxygen machine sucks, big time.  It's the way her life has been for the past several months.  COPD is a horrible way to leave this earth.

I saw her this afternoon when I went to visit her in the rehab hospital she went to yesterday. We had a good visit and talked about so many different things.  It was an effort for her to talk but of course she insisted on doing it.  The conversation turned to the subject of how our lives will some day end.  She looked at me and in the clearest voice ever told me that she wanted to be buried back home in Haven, Kansas.  I said that I thought it would be wonderful because that was where I too wanted to be taken when I die.  So we made a pact to be neighbors there and even share the same headstone together.  

It was the sweetest time I remember talking to her and believe me, we have talked so much.

I spoke with her earlier this evening and I told Sherry that I was glad that I had visited her today. She sounded better and told me that she had just finished her shower and that her nightgown was on.  I promised to get in touch with her before bedtime but when I sent her a text saying good night to her, there was no response.

The ambulance had been called when her O2 sats had dropped into the 60's and she went into respiratory distress.
And now I wait.
Impatiently.

~forever 17~

It was inevitable that sooner or later it would be asked of me, and I was prepared with the answer just as soon as I heard the sweet voice of a little 8-year old ask me the question at school last week.

"Mrs. Renfro, how old are you anyways?"
I used to have kids guess when they were so inquisitive that they just had to know their teacher's age.  Their answers were usually innocent enough with some giving me numbers that were a couple of decades either side of my real age.  But in my later years as a teacher, I have found myself giving the answer straight up, just like I did last Tuesday at school.

"As a matter of fact, I'm going to turn 62 on my birthday this October 26th."
There is always a look of surprise and shock on the face of at least one kid in the group.  This year was no exception.

You know, as a teacher I have never minded telling children how old I was.  I mean really, what's the big secret in it all?  They are curious and when they ask me in the naive way that children barely out of the womb will ask, I always respond with an answer.  Yet there is even more to my doing so than that.

I feel blessed to have lived this long a life and I celebrate that fact every single day.  I was born into a Kansas farming family with 7 little children in it.  For many years, we all stuck around on this earth living lives that were meant to be for us.  Then one by one, the people in my family went away through one means or another.  My older sister was killed in a car accident in 1969 at the very young age of 27.  In 2007, my older brother died of ALS.  Just this year alone two of my older sisters have passed away within 6 weeks of one another, leaving only myself and two other siblings back home in Kansas.  Our parents are gone now as well.  It is unusually strange right now to realize that I may be a member of the "last man standing" club in the future.  

Yet at least I am here still.
And you think it would bother me to tell someone my age?

My plan is to embrace 62 and give it a big hug all year long.  I'm going to pack a whole lot into those 365 days that shall be given to me before I turn 63.  If for some reason 62 is the last birthday I should celebrate, then I will not have wanted to waste one single moment of any of those given days.  

Time takes its toll on the human body.  Eyesight dims and hearing falters.  Our skin becomes wrinkled and paper thin to the touch.  Where once were locks of dark auburn hair, grey strands have now made an appearance.  I am finding myself ever more careful of how I walk about, paying attention so I don't fall.  

So far.  
So good.

One thing that the years cannot take away from is my spirit and the heart that goes with it.  Mine will be forever 17 and with all that I have in me, I have made the decision to keep it that way until the bitter end.

How about you dear friends?
Can the same be said for you.
I hope so.

Children are the reason my spirit is well these days.  Working with them, no matter how challenging it may be at times, is the only life I have ever known.  Oh how the good Lord has blessed me over the past 40 years!

Perhaps I shall grow to be as old as my sweet Aunt Rebecca was.  It would be a lofty goal!  
Peggy Renfro at 103~imagine that!

~going is what I plan to do~

I promised my sister Sherry a whole lot of things in the days right before she died.  From her hospital bed she asked me to watch over her grandkids and to check in on her two daughters to be sure they were doing ok.  I vowed that Mike and I would always stay in contact with Wes and provide help to him anytime that we could.  My message to her was straight forward and quite simple.

"Don't worry.  Everything and everyone will be ok."
A couple of days before she died, Sherry finally entered that deep sleep that prepares us all for our journey to Heaven.  She finally quit worrying and on June 16th, she slipped away.

Last year just about this time, Sherry and I had decided we would travel to Kansas together and go on the ALS walk in Wichita, Kansas.  Each year folks who have lost family members to that awful and always fatal illness that most of us know as "Lou Gehrig's" disease, gather at the Waterfront in Wichita.  Hundreds of walkers make the one mile journey around the beautiful waterway and remember in celebration the lives of those who have gone on or are still fighting the battle with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.  Signs that display the pictures of family members who have been affected by the disease, dot the area around the path.  Our brother, Mike Scott, is one of those people whose picture is affixed to a sign.

He died of ALS in November of 2007.

We headed for home in Kansas on a Friday afternoon last year, with Wes at the wheel for the journey to go back through OKC and straight north into Wichita.  I noticed that Sherry was very tired but she insisted she would be fine and had made plans to try out a brand new scooter that had just been purchased for her to get around with more ease.  By the time we made it to Wichita and settled into our hotel room for the night, her weariness had gotten much worse.  In the middle of the night, after having fallen twice in the hotel room, I had a feeling the walk would be a "no go" for the two of us.

An ambulance ride in the early morning hours whisked her away to Wesley Medical Center only a few blocks away from where we were staying.  Her COPD and additional health issues were starting to take their toll.  A nearly 17 day stint in the ICU before being dismissed to go home to Altus, was the beginning of her trip down the very slippery slope.  She was so disappointed that she could not walk for Mike and upset with herself that I made the choice to stay with her there in the ICU rather than join the others.  I made her a promise before I came back to Texas without her for the first time ever in my life, that in 2017 we would try again and this time everything would be ok.

She didn't make it that long.

So in 8 days more, I once again will keep a promise for her as I travel the very same route we did together back in 2016 in order to walk in the memory of our brother Mike.  It won't be quite the same as the original plan was but if Sherry can be there in spirit, I know she will be.  Going on the walk alone is just one more thing I have to get used to without her being here.  It's sad to think of but even sadder yet would be the idea that I would choose not to go at all.

Going is what Sherry would want.
Going is what I plan to do. 

The end of the walk during our first one together.  It was an honor to do so for a brother who meant the world to me.

April of 2010-Two silly girls who thought they were done with being teachers made plans to enter retirement together.  That didn't last for either of us.  Thank you God!

The day that we walked for our brother~

~a birthday in Heaven~

It would have been Mom's 97th birthday today.  Kind of seems strange to think of it that way.  She's been gone ten years now, having passed away two weeks after her 87th trip around the sun celebration back in 2007.  On that last birthday, now a decade ago, I wasn't even sure what to get her.  I mean when you stop to think about it, what do you get for someone living in a nursing home who basically had just about anything she could have possibly needed?

I settled on a nice purple chrysanthemum, one that she could keep on her desk there at Good Samaritan in Hutch.  If I recollect rightly, I found it at the local garden store for under $10 but it really was kind of pretty and fit just perfectly in the small space in her room.

Mom watched it grow and bloom for several days, and then one morning she called to say that it was time to come and pick it up.  I was surprised she was ready for me to take it home, and when I arrived she had a smile on her face as she told me that it was time for me to plant it in my own garden.  She wanted me to take care of it and remember her by.

Two weeks later, we kids decided to call hospice in to help Mom in what would end up being her last hours on earth.  In the two weeks since her birthday, both kidneys had decided to give it up and her congestive heart failure made life become pretty miserable.  It was time.

We knew it and the truth is this.
So did Mom.

I remember so well the last 24 hours of her life.  What a blessing it was to be there with her during a time that isn't the most pleasant and funnest of ones to go through.  My little sister Cindy and I made the decision to stay with her there at Good Samaritan.  Our children arrived one by one.  For the first time in many months, Mom rested in bed rather than in her old blue lift chair.  It seemed strange to see her comfortable lying down instead of sitting upright to try and sleep.  

My sister Sherry and her husband Wes took out from their home in Altus, Oklahoma early in the afternoon of the 24th of September.  I remember calling her and saying they needed to get home and to not mess around getting here.  She knew what I meant.  As the day progressed and afternoon turned into evening, I kept calling Sherry to check and see where they were at.  Whenever Mom would awaken, I'd give her a report on how much longer it would be until they got there.  As my other brothers and their families arrived, the hours seemed to drag and fly by at record speed, all at the same time.

About 8 in the evening when Sherry and Wes finally arrived, Mom woke up for just a tiny bit of time.  The "good drugs" that hospice administers for pain and suffering had not fully put her to sleep.  I sat cross legged at the end of her bed just to be near her.  I will always remember and never forget what the last coherent thing she said to me was.  With eyes wide open and full of acknowledgment for who I was, Mom said to me.

"You are a good girl, Peggy Ann."
And then she closed her eyes and fell into deep sleep.
I wanted to cry.

Mom slipped through the stages of getting ready to go rather quickly that evening.  By midnight and the end of that first day, she stopped trying to wake up and I realized that I would never be able to speak to her again.  I remember the hopeless feeling and found myself crawling up into her bed and lying down beside her.  I put my arms around her and buried my face into her chest, sobbing like a young child.  I didn't want to let go of her, but it was inevitable.

In 4 hours she would be gone.

So much has happened since that September back in 2007.  I have moved, gotten married, became a mother-in-law and grandmother, retired once from teaching, and returned back again for an additional 8 years and counting.  I am now nearly 62 years old, the very same age that Mom was when she became a widow after my father's death in 1982.  

Mom no longer has panic attacks, frequent trips to the bathroom, anxiety, sleepless nights, or reason to mourn.  She is in that better place, her own Heavenly home.  Since she has passed away, we have lost a brother and two sisters as well.  The table up there is full of Scott family members and some day, I too hope to join them.

Today is Mom's birthday.  I'm not sure how they celebrate in a place where folks walk "streets of gold".  However they do it, I can only imagine how wonderful and glorious it is.  In 25 more years I will be the same age as she was when she passed away.  Yet no matter how old I find myself to be, one thing I know of for sure is this.

I still miss my mom.  I will always love her and wish I could give her one more hug and kiss.  
I was fortunate to be her daughter.
God knew just what to do.
He always has.  He always will.

                                                That little tiny baby is me.

                This was always one of my favorite pictures of Mom, taken in 2000.

Mom and I in 2005 when I bought her old house and made it my own for 10 years.  Mom only came to visit one time.  She told me that she wanted me to make that house mine.  I did.

~and it was upon the subject of reading~

In 40 years of being a teacher, I've only disagreed with an administrator one time.  That's a pretty good record considering the many administrators and school districts in 4 different states now that I've worked in as a teacher.  It doesn't really matter who it was, or where it was, or even why it was that I disagreed with someone's point of view. The person in question has long ago left the field of education.  All that matters to me as a teacher is the fact that I felt deep in my heart that the right answer to something was not the one being shown to me.

And it was on the subject of reading.

We were sitting at an early inservice, the kind that teachers go to in the days prior to the start of school each year.  The subject came up about using every moment of the school day to its fullest and not wasting precious time doing things that wouldn't reflect in scores on the "end of the year" state assessments.  Somehow or another the subject of "read to self" time came up and one teacher talked about how important it was once in a while for kids to see their teachers read a good book alongside the kids.  You know how it would go.  The teacher would bring one of their favorite books from home and while the kids were having their silent reading time, the teacher would sit amongst them reading their own personal favorite.  It was a once in a while thing, not every day and surely not every week, but enough times scattered throughout the school year that the kids could see that the adult who was teaching them to read and enjoy great literature was actually enjoying their own good books as well.  It made perfect sense to me.

I'll never forget what that particular administrator said to us all.

"Those kids already know that the adult in the room knows how to read.  That's a waste of time."

And so the practice stopped.

I thought of that notion in the years to come and sadly even though I had practiced that reading ritual myself with the kids every once in a while, I felt like perhaps I should give it up.  I had really enjoyed sitting down with my students and cracking open my favorite book for my own personal "read to self" time.  Now, maybe I didn't know best after all.  

And so it went.

Today was National Read a Book Day and in my classroom at Grandfield, we did just that.  The 9 second graders each chose a special book to read and for 20 minutes they read to their hearts content.  And oh yeah.... so did I.  Before I left home for school this morning, I went into the spare bedroom and picked up a book that I'd been meaning to read for months now but just never found a spare minute to do so.  

It was National Read a Book Day and I wasn't going to pass up the chance.

Not this time.

Not today.

My book choice was one about the famous Kansas aviatrix, Amelia Earhart and one of the many theories of what happened to her and her navigator Fred Noonan.  In the early morning time at school, I told the kids that when I was their age, I first learned of Amelia Earhart from my own second grade teacher.  Miss Irene Thompson really planted a seed of interest and curiosity that morning back in 1962 when she read our class Amelia's story.  I was intrigued by what had happened, even at that young age.  Over the years I'd read many accounts of her life and disappearance.  Now 55 years later and at the age of 62, I still find an interest in her life and what happened to her on that infamous last flight.  Today I was going to read about it when the kids were reading their books silently.

And so I did.

It was about 20 minutes out of our school day.  What once someone told me was wasted time, in my opinion was the best thing I could have been doing for the blossoming readers that I have in my care each and every school day.  Sure they know that I can read.  That's a given.  But when they watched me today stop doing everything else that I could have been doing while they were in their own "read to self" time, they saw a grown up who was practicing what she preaches to them always.

And the word that is daily being preached is this.

Reading is sure fun!

Even when you are not a kid any more.

Amen~

And it is sights like this that make my teacher's heart feel full of joy and delight.  Somewhere long ago, a teacher who loved reading and wasn't afraid to show it by reading their own books in front of children, taught a little boy named Mike to love the printed word.  Now he is a grown up who reads.

~and because some day I know~

In the kitchen sink right now some muskmelon seeds rest in the strainer, still covered by the stringy orange colored membrane that held them together in the first place.  They are soon to be rinsed off, laid on a paper towel to dry overnight, and then placed inside a glass jar until the planting season returns next spring.  

They are special seeds.
They were once lain in the ground by my sister Sherry.

Back in the springtime during one of Sherry's better spells of health, I was over at her house in Altus one Saturday afternoon.  We were on our own that day and one of the things that we both wanted to do was to get her garden started in the north east corner of the backyard.  She had the seeds in her hand and I watched her carefully place them in the little hole that we had made to start them in.  It took quite a bit of effort and I could tell that her oxygen level was more than likely dropping, yet that did not deter her.

Sherry planted them anyways.

The weather was fairly warm, and the sky was a pretty shade of robin's egg blue with just a smattering of puffy clouds in the sky.  She rested back in her wheelchair and we talked a bit about how wonderful food from the garden tastes, promising that we'd enjoy that muskmelon together later on in the summer.

That didn't happen

On the way back into the house, we realized that her wheelchair wouldn't make it over the lip of the sliding glass door.  She said not to worry, that she'd just get up and walk in, holding onto to her walker once inside.  Sherry had the best of intentions but unfortunately that wasn't exactly how it went over.  Two steps into the house, down she went onto the floor.  It took a while to get her back up again, but I managed to after much trial and error.  

I'm sure she could sense how worried I was, but I will remember always the smile on her face. She said not to be concerned, just give her a minute and she could pull herself up by holding onto the coffee table.  It took more than a minute, as a matter of fact five minutes into it I remember grabbing a pillow for her head to rest on and take a break before trying again.  10 minutes that really seemed like an hour later, she was back on her feet once again.

That was April and by mid June she was gone.  I had forgotten all about planting the seeds until my brother in law asked where those melons growing in the backyard could have come from.  

I knew.
They had come from Sherry.

Today Mike and I got to sample the very last one to be picked from the vine and did it ever taste good!  I diced it into cubes and sprinkled the top with cracked pepper, just like Sherry always liked hers too.  I enjoyed every taste of it before I placed the empty bowl into the dishwasher.  I thought for a moment how wonderful it would have been if only she had been able to stay long enough to try a bite of it herself before the time came for her to go back home.  

That was not to be.

So today I savored the fruits of our early springtime labor for the both of us.  I sprinkled an extra dash of pepper on for Sherry and gave thanks to her for planting it when I was done.  I needn't really have been concerned that she wasn't here to sample it.  In her Heavenly home, she experiences things far more glorious than fresh garden produce.

And the most awesome thing is this.
Someday I know that I will see her smiling face once again.