Welcome Home

Dear Friends,

Two months ago, Bert (my wife’s dad) moved to Park Village Pines. His short –term memory is severely limited and it is not safe for him to live alone in his house anymore. His house. The one he built with his own hands along with his father after World War II for his new bride, Grace; the house where he raised four children, put them through Christian school and college; the house that he shared with Grace for 20 years after retirement until she died from cancer. He remembers his house in detail but not the name of his new home, Park Village Pines. “Is this a hotel? Who’s taking care of the house? Is my car in the garage?” “No, Dad, this is your home now.” Bert, a special man after God’s own heart is trying to make the best of things.

This past week, my mom, Tena moved to Quail Park. She shared in the decision to move since the neurologist told her that her brain is shrinking. This talented woman, this matriarch, this composer and musician, this woman of faith can’t drive anymore because she gets lost. She forgets that she put a pot to boil on the stove. She takes her once-a-day medication three times. She knows this and wants to find a place to call home that will provide safety, dignity and quality of life. But she must leave her house, her piano, her keepsakes, the bed she shared with Bart for almost 50 years, the avocado tree. She is giving up her independence.

Where is our home? Father Bert and Mother Tena would tell you that there is a mansion prepared for us. They see the door. They yearn to hear Jesus say, “Welcome home!”

B.J. Huizenga