View From a Prairie Home

by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist

It’s early morning. Not yet five, but I tossed and turned. After a while, I decided it would be better to get up. Sit and look at nature and try to calm down. Try to think about all the things I am grateful for. This welcoming, quiet space. On the prairie. With nature all around it.

It might seem strange, but I think houses have souls. Especially older houses. With all the lives that have been lived here. What these walls have seen. More than one hundred years’ worth of comings and goings. Most of these have been ours. Grant and mine. We have now lived here for fifty years. Of course, Grant grew up here and then went away to college and then Norway. But somehow ended back here with me. And since then, it has been us. And our family. As I reflect, look back as old people do and philosophize, I think our kids had a good life here, growing up in an old house with nature all around. They always seemed to be people who, even when they lived in big cities or even other countries, had a core that runs strong and deep. Like the natural world. They have faced challenges and much grief in their lives, which has made them stronger and more compassionate.

And now we have nine grandchildren. All on the cusp of starting their own independent lives. The oldest two are 22 and the youngest 16. So, we have had many milestones these last years.

Milestones are bittersweet for me. They have always been. Without milestones, life would not move forward. When they occur now, the grief always tugs at my heart, because we have lost two young men, fathers, who can’t experience their children’s progress through life. And I so wish it were not so. Grief comes in waves, as I am sure you all know. And the bigger waves always occur when a date or an event happen. But milestones are bittersweet for me also because it means that my grandchildren are no longer children. They are entering a new chapter of their lives and the same people who gave them roots must now let them go and hope their wings are strong enough for all that is ahead. I am glad for them, but also worry. What is ahead? Will they be able to navigate all the challenges that life throws them?

I think of the past, of their lives. Of becoming a grandparent and how happy I was holding a baby in my arms again. How chaotic it was when all of them were five and under. How we would baby sit and enjoy spending time with them without their parents, but also how exhausted we would get after having sole responsibility for a week or even a few days. I think of the difficult times when we all clung together and supported each other and the fun times. I think about seeing them at their meets or games or concerts. How I thought they shone. How I knew that being there was important for them. So, we tried to be at as many events as possible even when it meant flying to DC for a baseball game or dive meet.

Last weekend was hot and muggy and our two granddaughters had their scheduled graduation party. Oddly enough, it was lucky their street had been totally demolished to put in new sewers and waterlines, because this meant my daughter had reserved the church for the event. A big kitchen and fellowship hall. All air conditioned and beautifully decorated by my granddaughters. People came and went and there was plenty of space to sit and socialize. Our whole family was there. It was amazing to just sit and listen and be together. Not a funeral. A graduation. A shining day. A lump in my throat, this is true, but mainly a lump of overwhelming love and gratitude.