Dear Mother,
When we last visited you in Gower, MO., Sherry and I decided to drive by her old apartment building in downtown Des Moines on the way home. So we took the Keosaqua exit and moved toward 7th street... only to encounter a world that I'd never seen before. We found the Commission for the Blind and we were excited because we knew that Sherry's old, rundown apartment was just a block away. But it was gone! It was completely gone, and I realized that there wasn't a soul in town who even knew that it existed! I was a stranger on the streets I thought were meant for me, and it was the last thing I needed in the week you died.
I loved you dearly, even with the "demons" that led you to believe that love was a zero-sum game, and despite the voices that told you that you would be nothing if you didn't grab center stage. You and I both knew that my home life was not the stuff of fairy tales. We both knew that conflict could break out at any moment, but there were good times too. I remember how often you played games with me and my friends, and how frequently you took us over to your mother's house, which gave me the chance to hangout with my Uncle Bill and my cousins- Del Jr. and "Butchy." Those were great times, but peace was hard to find. Hard for dad to find. Hard for me to find. Hard for you or my brothers to find. I also remember the conversation we had after one of my Mother's Day sermons at Arcadia Avenue Presbyterian Church. I mentioned that a Mother's loves comes as near to God's love as anything else on earth and I wished you a Happy Mother's Day from the pulpit. Afterwards, in a private moment, you told me how much you wished that things would've been better for my brothers and me. I told you that I did too, but that I was absolutely convinced that you did the best you could... and with tears in your eyes, you said, "Considering the circumstances, I suppose you're right."
O yes, mother, I knew that you wanted to be your best self. You are gone now, and Mother's Day has come again. You and dad are buried in the plot you picked out, within easy walking distance of your own mother's grave. Things have been good for your family since you passed away. Sherry's still holding her cancer at bay, and our girls are doing well. Brooke is about to have a baby, which will make us great-grandparents again. Larry's family is doing well in Texas. Wade and Erica have another son and Jayme got married recently. Sean and Tnette moved to Florida and Amanda is now married. Your brother, Bill, and his family are doing well, and your sister is still getting by. I'm still preaching, writing, and grateful to be in the ministry. Sherry and I plan on being at the Shedenhelm reunion in Belle Plaine this year and I intend to attend the Shedenhelm reunion in Ottumwa as well.
The river of life keeps flowing... but from time to time, my thoughts go back to a ranch house on Shawnee Place in Des Moines. I can see Larry and Randy in my mind's eye. I can see dad and I can see you. At times, I can almost hear your voices and I want to take this opportunity to thank you for doing the best you could. Your son, Kenn.
When we last visited you in Gower, MO., Sherry and I decided to drive by her old apartment building in downtown Des Moines on the way home. So we took the Keosaqua exit and moved toward 7th street... only to encounter a world that I'd never seen before. We found the Commission for the Blind and we were excited because we knew that Sherry's old, rundown apartment was just a block away. But it was gone! It was completely gone, and I realized that there wasn't a soul in town who even knew that it existed! I was a stranger on the streets I thought were meant for me, and it was the last thing I needed in the week you died.
I loved you dearly, even with the "demons" that led you to believe that love was a zero-sum game, and despite the voices that told you that you would be nothing if you didn't grab center stage. You and I both knew that my home life was not the stuff of fairy tales. We both knew that conflict could break out at any moment, but there were good times too. I remember how often you played games with me and my friends, and how frequently you took us over to your mother's house, which gave me the chance to hangout with my Uncle Bill and my cousins- Del Jr. and "Butchy." Those were great times, but peace was hard to find. Hard for dad to find. Hard for me to find. Hard for you or my brothers to find. I also remember the conversation we had after one of my Mother's Day sermons at Arcadia Avenue Presbyterian Church. I mentioned that a Mother's loves comes as near to God's love as anything else on earth and I wished you a Happy Mother's Day from the pulpit. Afterwards, in a private moment, you told me how much you wished that things would've been better for my brothers and me. I told you that I did too, but that I was absolutely convinced that you did the best you could... and with tears in your eyes, you said, "Considering the circumstances, I suppose you're right."
O yes, mother, I knew that you wanted to be your best self. You are gone now, and Mother's Day has come again. You and dad are buried in the plot you picked out, within easy walking distance of your own mother's grave. Things have been good for your family since you passed away. Sherry's still holding her cancer at bay, and our girls are doing well. Brooke is about to have a baby, which will make us great-grandparents again. Larry's family is doing well in Texas. Wade and Erica have another son and Jayme got married recently. Sean and Tnette moved to Florida and Amanda is now married. Your brother, Bill, and his family are doing well, and your sister is still getting by. I'm still preaching, writing, and grateful to be in the ministry. Sherry and I plan on being at the Shedenhelm reunion in Belle Plaine this year and I intend to attend the Shedenhelm reunion in Ottumwa as well.
The river of life keeps flowing... but from time to time, my thoughts go back to a ranch house on Shawnee Place in Des Moines. I can see Larry and Randy in my mind's eye. I can see dad and I can see you. At times, I can almost hear your voices and I want to take this opportunity to thank you for doing the best you could. Your son, Kenn.
