Remembering the way

This past Friday, the afternoon sun broke through the gray Oregon clouds and I couldn't help myself. I seized the moment!

I said, "Children, throw on your foo-foo duds (that's code for jeans and/or tee shirts without holes, stains or raggedy spots), and put on your walking shoes, because we are going to town!"

We had received a small refund from an overpayment to last years escrow account, and that money was burning a hole in my pocket, just as fiercely as the warm afternoon sun was burning away the gray of my winter weary spirit.

As soon as we were all dressed, the Lance family caravan began to wind its way through the neighborhood towards our city's downtown.

Along the way we chatted with our neighbors, and paused to admire the flowering cherry trees and budding bushes. It was a leisurely journey, one we both enjoyed and savored.

As we passed a retirement home in our neighborhood, we could see that the residents there were gathered in the dining room, eating their evening meal. My children waved and smiled as we passed.

We could also see that one elderly woman was all dressed up, as if waiting to leave. She had on her coat, her hat and gloves, and her purse was clenched tightly in hand. When she saw us coming, she began to hurry for the door, but the retirement home is a locked facility and the front door began to rock with the violence of her pushing.

"Oh Mom, what's happening in there?" my youngest son asked. "Why won't they let that lady out?"

"Well," I replied, "that's a locked care facility and people who live there can't just leave whenever they want."

My son looked a little confused, so I added, "Sometimes when we get older, we get confused more easily and we will get lost if we don't have someone with us to help us remember our way."

"Why doesn't anyone help that lady remember her way?" he asked.

"I don't know, son" I replied.

We continued this conversation for a short while and then we all proceeded to enjoy the rest of our walk, our dinner and our evening's entertainment at the locally owned used bookstore (live music, good books, who could ask for more?).

When we walked home, our bellies were full and we had our new used books in hand. We paused several times to gaze up at the stars and in spite of the light pollution, we were able to pick out the little dipper and the constellation Orion.

As we once again passed the retirement home, my youngest son grabbed my hand and said, "Mommy, I'm glad we have each other to help remember our way home."

"Me too." I replied softly. "Me too."

"Maybe we could help that lady remember her way?"

"Maybe we could."

I must admit that the image of that woman desperately trying to break free through the locked doors of her "retirement home", has remained etched in my brain.

For me, it's such a bitterly poignant metaphor for what our society has become.

Too many of us have forgotten how to remember our way through this life. Long before our profusion of memories have crowded our aging brains. Long before the onset of senile dementia or alzheimer's has taken it's toll.....we forget what it's like to be caring, involved members of our own communities.

Too many of us live behind our locked doors.

Many of us are no longer able to remember the way, for ourselves or for one another.

I am troubled by this.

So troubled, that my husband and I are now carefully considering what kind of involvement our family might have in the lives of the residents at our neighborhood's retirement facility. Over the coming spring break, my youngest son and I will be meeting with the activities director to see how the retirement facility staff feel we might best involve ourselves.

If our neighbors cannot break through their own locked doors, then perhaps we can enter in; and maybe, just maybe, we can remember the way for one another and share this life's journey together.