Which Home?
Longing for Forgotten Homes
My father-in-law Frankie doesn’t talk to us much anymore, at least not the way he used to. Now he speaks from a dementia dreamland. Most of the time, what he says seems to be related to the work he did when he was an able-bodied man of strength, humor, profound faith, and loyalty. “The wash is done.” “Fiberglass.” “What should we do next?” Occasionally, “I love you.”
But recently, he expressed, “I wanna go home!”
I wonder which home Frankie wished for that day? Was he longing for the farm home his parents kept while he was one child among thirteen brothers and sisters? Where screen doors slammed, bare feet raced, and chores kept the time instead of a clock?
Or the one he built with his own family in a rural Kentucky neighborhood where hard work kept the lights on, a hot dinner was always on the table, and constant television noise threaded each day to the next?
Or could it be that he was pining for his heavenly Home, where broken bodies are whole, once blinded eyes behold gone-on beloveds, and Well Done is spoken?
We surround him with things from past homes—photos and decorations—even though he can’t see them now. We hope clean sheets and soft blankets help him feel the comfort of home. We hope dressing him in familiar clothing from earlier times brings back a hint of better-day joy. And yes, we do hope he gets to fly Home to his heavenly Father at just the right moment.
If you’re caring for someone who longs for home—I see you there. You’re not alone in your good struggle to bring home to that person who’s forgotten the way, if only temporarily.
Let’s keep one another company on a journey toward HOME.
Susan you beautifully describe the end of our journey with family members. Without an eternal perspective, where does one look for comfort? We lost a sister on Easter Sunday. Though we long for our heavenly reunion with Christ, it’s difficult to find words to comfort our dear ones who have no such hope. You are the temple of the Lord your father in law comes to for help. We pray for you as you faithfully love and care for him with the fruit of the Spirit dwelling in you. Walk on dear sister. I love you.
Precious Susan, This side of heaven, you'll never know what "home" meant to you, FIL, as you so said, "On that day." It changes all the time.
My Bill would ask on a drive home from the cancer center, "Are we going to the farm?"
At first, I'd try to explain that the farm was in Virginia and we live in SC, until a friend explained what he was really asking was: "Are you taking me where I'll be safe?" In those moments, the best we can do is divert their attention as much as possible and pour out extra love, with prayers to the God of all comfort, to soothe their weary soul and strengthen us to dry our tears and continue to love unconditionally without understanding. The other thing I learned is that it's ok to lie and say things like, "We're on the way." Then stop for ice cream and pray they forget where they wanted to go as they decide on a flavor. Also, make sure the dog greets them when you get home.
I know it's different for everyone, and I pray that what helped me will help you too.