New Beginnings at Ninety

Ever have a week that was literally packed? That was my week.

Day One: We haven’t traveled the 350 miles to see Tom’s mother, Bernadean, since before Covid. We missed a whole year of seeing her—even the big celebration the family planned for her 90th birthday was put on hold. Now the trip was essential.




We arrived at the hospital/rehab center where she has been since mid-January. Only Tom could go in—gloved, masked, and maintaining a 6-foot distance from his mother that he hasn’t seen in 14 months. They are strategizing the move that will happen in two days—from the home she once shared with her beloved husband, to the new condo-like home overlooking the city. It’s not assisted care—it’s independent living in a elder community. We’re here to make sure she gets everything from her home to make her new home feel every bit as good—maybe even better, because it’s easier for her.


We bought boxes and packing paper—spending the next four hours carefully wrapping heirloom glassware. All of these fragile items truly mean something to Bernadean. They are more than glass, they are memories she treasures. This is about saving something valuable to her heart. And her heart matters.




Day Two: We continued packing. Our hope is to bring the most significant pieces of her antique furniture along with the hundreds of fragile items. I became an automated packer: Select ceramic figurines, grab sheet of paper, carefully wrap, place in box. I had lots of time to think. I recalled my many moves in my 20’s. Then I realized Bernadean moved many more times than I ever did. She grew up as a migrant worker—pulling cotton, picking strawberries, hoeing row crops. Where the work was, there her family traveled. So, if she was finally able to settle in one place and be surrounded by the things she enjoyed, no one deserved it more. 




Day Three: Moving day. We got a two-hour head start of the young moving crew we hired to help us. Navigating around the huge boxes and imagining unpacking them later today made me smile and cringe at the same time. The crew showed up and reminded us of what youthful energy really looks like. Their professionalism came with the greatest respect for all the delicate antiques. The movers worked hard and everything moved fast. I moved fast too, until 11:30 pm when I knew I couldn’t unpack one.more.thing.





Day Four: Final preparations for Bernadean’s arrival. Unpacked remaining boxes. Worked frantically as we found out she’d be ready by 1 pm. Per Covid regulations, they brought her to our car parked in the load zone. We hadn’t been together since November 2019. It had rained that morning, but now the sunshine shown brightly. Good thing, because my sunglasses hid my tears.


She loved her new home. We gave her the tour and later the director came to explain the Covid restrictions. Not easy, but this place has had zero infections. 




Day Five: Early start. We loaded up stacks of heavily papered and carefully packed fragile figurines and took them to a newly rented storage unit. Within a month, the rest of what couldn’t go with Bernadean will join the line up of boxes. It’s interesting how you live surrounded by the things you love, and then you slowly let them go. 


Back at the new home we were joined by Becky—who decades ago was her Bible bookstore employee. Now she’s an incredibly faithful friend—the kind of person who “routinely goes above and beyond.” She helped hang pictures and our laughter filled this new home. 




Day Six: Final Day. Sometimes when we’re talking together, Bernadean needs an extra moment to search for the right words. It’s in those moments I thank God she’s been in my life for most of it. Saying goodbye never gets easier.


Sometimes I search for the right words too. But after returning home I've come up with these: love well, live well, end well.


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