Week 18: BLESSED
Word Count: 337
By Maggie Robertson
It’s Saturday morning, breakfast time, and my cell phone rings. Normally I don’t answer the phone when making breakfasts for guests, but when I see the name, I answer the call. It is as unusual for Heidi to call on a Saturday morning as it is for me to answer my phone. It is her busy time, too. I figure it is most likely a quick question about a project we’ve both worked on, some urgent matter for which she needs an answer.
I am wrong.
A mutual friend lost her father to a tractor accident the evening before. We don’t know the details, only that he was a revered and respected farmer, much loved by all who knew him, and now he’s gone.
Sadness. My friend has lost her father. He was about the same age as my father is. Tractor accident. Sounds so preventable, so needless. But we all try to make the best decisions we can with the information we have at the moment. I was not there. I do not know what happened.
The rhythm of my world continues with business as usual. Making and serving breakfasts, morning conversations, clearing the table. Children show up for their turn to eat. Housekeeping crew arrives and starts their work.
My friend has lost her father. Her world has stopped, but not the world around her. Farms do not wait. Sickness, accidents, family tragedies; animals still need to be fed and watered, eggs collected, crops watered, vegetables harvested. It is not possible to lock the door and hang up a sign. The farm will not wait.
A wedding today. Chair covers, tablecloths, place settings. Arrival of the caterer, the DJ, the decorators.
My friend has lost her father. Her family is making arrangements, reeling from the disbelief at the traumatic events of the night before. Their community will surround them, will come together, will be there, but I am not able to go to her.
Sunday. Father’s Day. I am blessed to have someone to call.