PROLOGUE

When I began writing "Down Life's Path" for The Jackson Herald, a weekly newspaper published in Ripley, West Virginia, I told Editor Mike Ruben I wanted my columns to hold a little humor, reflect nature, and inspire. I never dreamed that within five months of that first June 2000 printing, humor would be the farthest thing from my mind, the meaning of nature would change for me forever, and writing my essays would become heartache for a time.

After October 8th, 2000, I wrote to keep readers informed of facts surrounding a personal tragedy. My eighty-six-year-old father, an Alzheimer's patient, wandered away from home that bitterly cold night. It seemed the earth swallowed him up. My grieving mother died unexpectedly and alone, in her back yard, on February 24th, 2001, five months after Dad's disappearance. Away from home, I wasn't aware of her death until two days later. My father's body was discovered on April 19th of that same year. Again, I was away from home at the time.

A friend called one night, during the early days of my trial, to console me. "Nancy," she said, "I can't wait to read a book you've written about your experience." Horrified, I replied, "I could never do that!"

But one night after my father's funeral, the story began forming in my mind. I wrote several pages before stopping. I hope to someday finish and publish the memoir of my tragic episode, as a tribute to my beloved parents. But for now, this little book containing previously written columns, poems, and stories, accompanied by photos will have to do. My pain is too fresh for more.


A Journey I Didn't Want to Take
DOWN LIFE'S PATH Weekly Inspirational Column
Printed in The Jackson Herald, October 18, 2000

Sometimes life takes us down paths we don't want to travel. My eighty-six-year-old father wandered away from home Sunday evening. It is now Friday morning as I write this column, and he hasn't been found. The nights have been so cold, and my heart so heavy thinking about him alone, confused, and hungry. I don't want to think he might be dead.

My three-year-old grandson Stone, told his mother, "Don't worry, Mommy. Jesus will come and put a warm blanket over Pappaw and take care of him." Then he added, "Do you think he'll know Pappaw Gene when he gets there?" Stone was referring to his paternal grandfather who passed away earlier. Stone came to my mother's house last night and told her, "I'm praying to Jesus for Pappaw."
So many are praying. I don't know how we could bear this uncertainty without the outpouring of love from friends, family, and strangers. If my father were here to see it, he would praise the Lord for love and grace, shown through mankind. I do the same.
My parents came to stay with me for a while when my father was recuperating from pneumonia, two strokes, and a heart attack in June of 1998. He and I took a walk one day out my woods path while Mom rested. The sun, sifting like strands of fine golden wheat through tree branches sheltering my path, spattered the green moss floor and shimmered from his full head of white hair. Slowly shuffling, shoulders slumped, Dad looked up at me with bright blue eyes when I removed a fallen limb from his path. He smiled, his face slightly twisted from temporary paralysis.
He stooped and began tossing aside every little twig and branch that obstructed our path. I patiently waited for him, our progress slowed considerably by his task. My father has always been a hardworking man, and I knew he found purpose in this labor of love.
His sudden industry transported me back to childhood, when he encouraged my Christian walk and helped clear my life's path from hindrances. My father hasn't been a perfect man. He told me once that God showed him how reprobate he was, and he determined to learn from that lesson. He learned well. If you looked the world over, you wouldn't find a finer Christian, a more humble and thoughtful man.
Now it seems we are looking the world over for my father. Fliers have been distributed over the state, perhaps beyond. E-mails requesting prayer have been sent worldwide. TV and radio stations have alerted the public. Calls come from miles away, and the Sissonville Volunteer Fire Department has followed up every lead. Search and Rescue dogs and volunteers have combed the hills, creeks, and riverbanks, and state and local police are involved. My mother's home has been filled to overflowing with food, friends, family, and love.
The days have been long and hard, but the evenings when the sun sets are the hardest to bear. I feel the chill creeping in, and I worry about my father. Due to his age and the Coumadin( he takes to thin his blood, he has always been so cold. I want my father home or with Jesus, not wandering out there alone, confused, and freezing. I look for him everywhere. Would you please do the same? And pray for my mother. She and my father have been together for sixty-four years. A part of her is missing.