The days, the months, the years…seemed to fly by. While Daddy’s physical abilities remained mostly intact, cognitively, he was on a gradual but persistent decline.

Rachel married Steve, her young man from Brooklyn, and after the birth of two daughters they accepted our offer of a small acreage (my inheritance of the home place included about 14 acres of land) beside us to build a home. Benjamin married Jessica in 2000 and they moved to Springfield, Missouri so she could pursue a degree in vocal performance at Evangel University. In July 2001, Amy married Hoyt, a young man she had met at church. She was now a registered nurse and they moved to Raleigh where Hoyt was attending N.C. State University. Emily was still home.

Rachel and Emily helped me immensely; so much, in fact, that I decided to work part-time, first as a substitute teacher and then as the administrative assistant in a sexual assault resource center. This was good for all of us. It gave me a change of scenery; I could afford to pay my daughters for their assistance; and Daddy benefitted from having several doting caregivers.

One afternoon, I came home from my job at the usual time, about one o’clock. As I walked into the kitchen I was alarmed to see Daddy seated in his sturdy dining chair – one with arms which we had bought when he started having difficulty standing up from the armless one. The problem was the chair had tipped over backwards and he and the chair were supine on the floor. Emily and Rachel were standing on either side and immediately responded to my gasp with a calming concert: “He’s okay, he’s okay.”

They explained that when he started to get up after eating lunch, he had leaned back too far in his chair and tipped over. After insuring he was okay, they placed a pillow under his head and waited, knowing I would be home in a few minutes and could help lift him. The three of us sat him upright and we all – including Daddy – laughed about that predicament. 

Daddy and I continued to visit “shut-ins,” go for rides in the country, and enjoy each other’s company. Often, as the sun was going down and the heat of the day abating, Daddy would amble out to the front porch where he would sit in his worn ladder-back chair (with arms, of course) and watch the sporadic traffic on Boyd Wright Road.

Daddy would be amazed to see his road now. Occasionally, even big rigs take the short-cut between Highways 49 and 62. Several housing developments have gone up on the two-mile stretch, and as I write this (2019), carpenters are busy on three new houses going up across the road from our home.

I could have never imagined, growing up with no other house in sight, that someday we would have so many neighbors. When the state finally paved it in 1995, the days of dusty clouds during dry spells and muddy ruts after rain were over. Alas, the huge mess that saw the transition from dirt to black-top occurred at the same time my mom was nearing death. The noisy equipment, detours and muddy conditions were a regrettable necessity to progress. Daddy enjoyed “overseeing” the project from the porch and sometimes ventured down the driveway to consult with the workers. We had come home from Brooklyn for the funeral, and on the morning Mama was to be buried, there was a vigorous knock at the back door. I was in the kitchen with Daddy, and he rushed over to see who had come calling.

“Good morning, Mr. Wright.” The neatly dressed middle-aged man introduced himself as the superintendent of the highway department that was overseeing the transformation of the road. 

First, he expressed his condolences on the loss of “Mrs. Wright” and then he apologized profusely for the condition of the road and the plight it presented for visitors. He appeared sincerely concerned and contrite.

“You couldn’t help it. It’s all right,” Daddy replied equally sincerely as he reached his arms around the gentleman who returned the embrace. They each patted each other on the back a few times before the supervisor turned and went back to his job. 

Memories seemed to flow on those sultry summer evenings on the porch. I would often engage Daddy in conversation, trying to learn as much as I could about this man whom I had lived away from most of my adult life. I was amazed at the incidents he recalled from his younger years; especially since he usually didn’t remember that we had visited Aunt Dorothy in the nursing home that morning. One evening, as the sun set beyond the forest across the road, a furry animal of undetermined species ran out of the tall grass in the field in front of the house, crossed our driveway, then sped down to Boyd Wright Road and into the forest. With a nod to that creature, Daddy divulged, “When I was a boy, we used to eat opossum.”

This was the first time I had ever heard him admit that! “What did it taste like?” I inquired, not really sure I wanted to know.

That shy, closed-lip grin crossed his handsome age-worn face. “Opossum…just opossum.”

We both snickered, then looked up as a big ol’ tractor and combine came rumbling down the road, carrying a hard-working farmer home after a long day in the fields. Daddy seemed to be studying the green monster…was he remembering his farming days? He was such a hard worker for so many years. He had made many friends in our little community; they were always willing to help each other. Daddy never had an abundance of modern farm equipment like many of the neighbors; he did have a nice tractor that he bought new when I was in elementary school. I remember that he taught me to drive it and I was thrilled to be “one of the guys” helping bale hay that summer. Kind farmers would lend their equipment or make arrangements to help out when needed. One rather well-to-do farmer was especially generous in his assistance to Daddy. The day this man passed away (which was before we came to live with Daddy) he had gone to his friend’s house to pay respect. His widow later told me that it had meant so much to have “Mr. Wright visit.” She spoke softly: “He told me he was sorry for my loss, then he just sat on our front porch the rest of the morning, his head bent in his hands. I knew he was praying for me and my family. It was such a comfort to have him there.” 

Yes, Daddy outlived many of his friends – especially the ones who were near his age and older; but he had also outlived many of the younger men who along with Daddy had worked the soil from dawn to dusk for years on end. When Daddy was born in 1911, his life expectancy was about fifty years. Now he had reached the seldom-confirmed title of nonagenarian.  

“With a long life I will satisfy him and let him see My salvation.” Psalm 91:16

It was such an honor to be able to continue the practice that Mama and Daddy had established in their home from the beginning of their marriage – a nightly time of prayer and Bible-reading. Every night after Daddy had changed into his pajamas and removed his false teeth, I (and often other family members) would sit on his bed and read his beloved scriptures. Sometimes he would hold the Bible and attempt to read, but it became increasingly difficult until he no longer tried. He was content to have someone read to him. Then we would take turns praying; Daddy never lost his ability to talk to God. He still used some of the phrases I remembered from childhood: “be with those nearest eternity; keep us from any harm that might befall us; comfort those who have lost loved ones; take care of those serving You at home and across the sea; help us to love you more and serve you better; keep me sweet in my spirit.”

I never considered those requests “vain repetitions” because I knew they came from his heart. He would pray for other specific needs as well. God answered Daddy’s prayers. I will always be thankful that He answered the ones Daddy prayed on my behalf. 

Those nightly devotions with Daddy created some of my best memories. Of course there were difficult moments…even difficult days…but they seem to fade away when I consider the overall experience of taking care of Daddy.

However, I have proof that we dealt with hard days and nights! Recently while cleaning out my desk drawers, I came across a letter I had written (in lieu of a birthday card) to Randy in October 2002. Daddy’s cognitive abilities had continued to deteriorate and I was struggling. Caring for him had become all-consuming and I had little left over for other members of my family. (My sisters were now providing care for Daddy one weekend each month.) 

God had opened the door for Randy to travel to India in 2001. While there he met a young Indian pastor and together they pioneered a missions organization, Vision India, to reach the people in India who had never heard the Gospel. He was preparing for his second trip when I wrote this letter. It is very personal…and honest.

Dear Randy,

Happy birthday! Sorry we didn’t do anything special, but I hope the lemon bars helped a little.

It seems we don’t see too much of each other these days or at least we don’t spend too much time talking. We really should make an appointment with each other or something. I want you to know that I wish it were not that way. I love to spend quality time with you and wish we had much more of it

I never dreamed the situation with Daddy would get like this (maybe I just didn’t think ahead). I certainly never thought he would live this long and be this demanding on my time and emotional energy. He pert’ near drove me wacko this week-end. Sometimes I just don’t know what to do. I’m beginning to feel it’s too much – not because I can’t take care of him – but because it leaves me so little time for you, Emily and the others. What a quandary!

Anyway, I hope we can plan something to do together soon to make up for yesterday; we need to plan my weekend off for the next couple of months.

Enclosed is a little gift for India – wish it could be more – but you of all people know my current financial situation! I want you to know I am proud of you for your dedication to the Indian people and I am glad you are going again. Someday maybe I will be able to go with you.  

Love, Ruth

Remember the three promises God gave me at the Monday morning prayer meeting I had attended just weeks into my caregiving journey?

• I will not give you more than you can handle.
• I will bless you.
• I will restore the time.

Even during trying times, God continued to prove Himself faithful.