From Moment To Memory
By Kimberly Jensen
It rained all day on Memorial Day and spoiled our plans of planting flowers in my parent's flowerbeds. The rain also thwarted plans to drive downtown and visit the graves of my grandparents and Uncle Craig. Instead, we sat inside and made homemade bread while my youngest grabbed an umbrella and squatted on the back patio for a good part of an hour, mezmerized by the raindrops. As I watched the rain it reminded me of our makeshift "memorial day" earlier this year. I had driven with my kids and parents to St. George for a week. On our return home, we were driving the backroads of Fillmore, when my dad asked me to drive him by his childhood home and the graveyard where his grandparents were buried. It was raining that day as we pulled into the cemetary and my dad got out of the car and walked briskly to the back of the cemetary. At this stage in my father's Parkinson's Disease we often wonder where my dad is going and what he is doing. His actions don't always make sense and he often makes unreasonable requests and nonsensical comments. I followed my dad as he led me right to his grandfather's headstone, as if he had walked there a hundred times before. My dad stood there and told me how he would stay overnight at his grandparent's home and wake up to bowl of bread and milk and drizzle it with honey. The rain drizzled down on us as my father shared with me many fond memories of his grandfather. I held his hand and watched my three children stepping gingerly over the headstones and held onto the moment that would soon become just a memory.