Mysterious Ways: Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was...

slatten49 Loc: Lake Whitney, Texas

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

woodguru

My wife got really pissed off when I told her that her dad didn't want to live anymore, that he was lonely and missed his wife of 60 years.

He didn't care anymore, he even told his sister at his wife's funeral that he just wanted to join her. This is what hurt my wife's feelings, that he didn't care about his kids enough to want to live. I told her a dozen times in different ways that this isn't how it was. He wasn't adequately taking care of himself, so he was going to move in with us or live with whichever of us he wanted to. He was hospitalized with severe dehydration and never left the hospital. Disposing of the house all of their kids had grown up in was very hard.

eden

woodguru wrote:

My wife got really pissed off when I told her that... (show quote)

I have just gone through this with my parents.
They are both in a rest home now and in their nineties and it has fallen to me and my brother to clean out their house and decide what to keep and what to give away or throw away.
It’s an emotional wrench because the objects are the milestones of their life and ours over the span of all of our lives. Life has a beginning and an end. A birth and eventually a final death, but in between there are “little” deaths; leaving home, divorce, loss of a relationship, loss of a job, loss of ones health. This experience has been a little death too...

lindajoy Loc: right here with you....

slatten49 wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)

Hits a cord!!! Messages and miracles come in special ways ...❤️

lindajoy Loc: right here with you....

woodguru wrote:

My wife got really pissed off when I told her that... (show quote)

Sixty years is a life time~~ He lost part of himself and just wanted her back..Not uncommon to see one pass and the other shortly after..

I hope your wife has accepted it was from love he had to go and has found her peace...

Loosing our parents is never easy, even knowing it is coming...

lindajoy Loc: right here with you....

eden wrote:

I have just gone through this with my parents. br ... (show quote)

Went through similar.. Cared for my mother the last 18 months of her life..Difficult emotionally knowing it was just a matter of time, but I would not change a thing about it..

I figure she brought me into the world and I got to hold her in my arms when she left it.. The most beautiful feeling of love ever to feel..

You will feel it to Eden... Having all the responsibilty of what you are doing keeps you busy I am sure!!! It is a very difficult task but you are strong or you wouldn’t be doing it all..

Having lived your plight now I sincerely wish you peace in this final chapter of their long lives..

bahmer

slatten49 wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)

Good one thanks.

Peewee Loc: San Antonio, TX

Thanks, Slat!

eden

lindajoy wrote:

Went through similar.. Cared for my mother the las... (show quote)

Thank you.

lindajoy Loc: right here with you....

eden wrote:

Thank you.

Your Welcome~~~

teabag09

GOD bless them and you and yours. Mike

slatten49 wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)