Hold My Memories Dear

“One more trip downhill to the barn and then I can take a rest.”

I’d managed to haul most of the boxes down to the barn and stash them away up in the loft where I knew they’d be safe. Each box had pictures and memorabilia collected over the years we had lived in the farmhouse. Each box held special memories made with family and dear friends.

I knew I needed to wrap up my efforts before the folks started to arrive and overtake the house. From a quick look into the sky, I figured they had to have just finished the service and were sitting down for the potluck. There would be a little bit of talk around the tables, but most of them would want to move the conversation to the house over coffee and dessert. Maybe only about 30 minutes or so before the first car appeared on the horizon.

There was no doubt in my mind that the barn was the perfect place to store away these boxes. Over the years, it had witnessed so many of my adventures (and misadventures) … and had held my secrets safe all this time.

My earliest memory of the barn was when I was 6 and made a legitimate attempt at skipping school. Now in all fairness, I had a really good reason for skipping first grade that day and hiding out in the barn instead. Wouldn’t that be the natural reaction of any 6 year old who was dead convinced that their teacher was a witch? Not figuratively, but literally, a witch. I was so sure that her Halloween costume was not a costume at all. It could have been due to the fact that either she used her regular clothes to make up her costume, that her black cat sits on her porch every day and stares at the kids walking to and from school, or that she had a big bump on her chin. Regardless, my parents were fuming mad when they heard from the school that I had failed to appear that morning. They didn’t even let me finish the turkey sandwich from my lunch box before pulling me down from the loft and grounding me for one whole month!

And, my dearest memory of the barn was the night that I proposed to my high school sweetheart Mary. I had told her that I was going to take her out of town for a fancy dinner. She had no idea that I had cooked dinner for her and set up a table with candles and the works in the barn. I had even strung Christmas lights across the ceiling to give it that magical ambiance. I can’t say that the food turned out great (or even edible), but that night was one of the best of my life.

Of course, not all memories can be sweet. It was only thirty short years later when I was rushing down to the barn to get the truck and take my poor wife to the hospital. Mary had collapsed in the kitchen while cooking up my favorite chili and never really came back to me again. Thankfully, our kids and their families were able to make it to see my dearest Mary … my precious Marigold … one last time before she passed. And, each year since then, I had planted marigolds under the shade of the pear tree that sat right in front of the barn.

So, it was safe to say that from my 6 year old efforts to skip school and hide in the loft, to my first and last nights with my dear wife … the barn had seen it all.

And, now, today … it would see the end of my story. Because when the family and friends begin to return from my funeral, the barn will be here to see them all drive down the road to the house and past this old building with its marigolds planted out front. And this old barn will hold me and my dear memories forever.