No answer. Not at the front door, not at the back door. And the place looked a little lifeless.
The Preacher frowned. "That's funny. You told them the right day, didn't you?"
"Of course!" I said. "Besides, I just talked with them earlier today."
We hadn't visited Aunt Alma and Uncle "Legs," as I sometimes call my mother's youngest brother, Bill, for some time. But a year earlier, when we'd arrived at their house, four hours north of ours, Uncle Bill had met us with a hug at the door. Swept us into his memorabilia-filled mud room off the entry. Showed us into our usual guest room. Aunt Alma's crocheted dolls sat smiling on the bed. The sewing machine waited in the corner. A vintage plug-in clock on the wall measured time.
Visiting cherished relatives sits sweet in the heart. Almost as sweet as going home. They'd had a meal ready on that visit; one they'd prepared together in their large kitchen. On the table waited perogies and salad, and their staple deer sausage stir-fry. Uncle Bill, still hunting back then, had bagged the deer himself. I'd teased him (again) about his smooth legs (poor man, he can't grow hair) and he'd teased back. Again.
But the Preacher and I worried about them after that visit. They both had significant health challenges; made even more so by their efforts to keep their large house and yard to their usual impeccable standards.
We hadn't been in touch often in the last year. Now, standing on their front porch, I wondered what we'd find when - if - the door opened. Did they get the time mixed up? Had they stepped out? Were they sleeping, perhaps? I dialed their number on the cell phone. Uncle Bill answered immediately. "Hey, Uncle Legs," I said. "Did you remember we were coming?"
He paused long. "Where are you?"
"At your door. You must not have heard the bell."
He paused longer. "Kathleen, didn't we tell you? We moved a month ago."
I stood gap-mouthed, with a sudden understanding of how that little boy felt - the one who supposedly returned from camp to find his parents had moved and left no forwarding address.
He continued. "We haven't gone far. I can see our old house from our deck." Minutes later, just around the corner and a little higher up, they welcomed us into their tidy, third-floor senior's apartment.
Uncle Bill doesn't hunt anymore. Instead, he's taken up art - and loves it. Aunt Alma still crochets and enjoys baking. They just do those things in a different home - and life is better.
When you find yourself standing beside the hollow shell of a beloved; when you get the news that they've moved beyond reach, don't despair. God has prepared a place for those who love him. A place to enjoy life as never before. A place sweeter than home - just around the corner and a little higher up.
They'll watch and wait for you. Be there.
