Adventures in Paradise     Volume 2    #5


Kia ora, our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts concerning things we may choose to do for the last time. As our departure grows closer and our days here in Salt Lake are numbered, we have become more and more focused not only on what needs to be accomplished, but also on what we wish to experience for the last time. While it's true that we assume that there will be opportunities for continued relationships in our future, our reality is that for now, we are facing a week or so of  "One last times".

There was a sweetness to one last Texas visit with my son, Jared and his wife, Nicole. There will be one last long conversation over lunch with my Salt Lake son, Travis and one last huge Belliston family gathering this weekend. This is where cherished memories are made. Having just mentioned Jared, I am reminded of something he told me long ago when I asked if he owned a camera. He replied that you don't need a camera as that is what memories are for. Often I have watched, fascinated, while someone experiences an entire event while peering through a camera lens, rather than actually seeing. But that, perhaps, is another subject for another blog another time.

Our "One lasts" at this moment are focused on what we would like to experience before leaving our local life for eighteen months. We assume that we will return and be able to pick up just where we left off, but what if that were not the case? What if we really did have a limited time? What if we knew last would really mean last? What direction would we face and how would we choose those things that matter most? Pondering this weighty question has left me thinking a lot about my father and what I learned from him when he truly did have to face his year of  "One lasts".

My father, for his entire adult life, had worked two jobs to support his family . At fifty-eight, he decided to take an early retirement so that he could spend more time with us. In a wonderful coincidence, three of his four children were about to become parents for the first time and we were all over the moon! Working shift-work had sometimes made attending family events difficult, if not impossible while we were growing up and Dad , having missed so much concerning his own children, chose not to have the same experience with the grandchildren that were soon to arrive. So, he turned in his retirement papers, said goodbye to his coworkers and submitted to one last medical exam. He was on his way to a new, slower paced life filled with grandkids and all the possibilities that that particular future held in store for him.

Sadly, that future was not to be. The results of the retirement physical indicated that my father had contracted Leukemia. The test results were grim and my father's new outlook involved coming to terms with news that he never expected to hear. I remember that when I heard those results, I just wanted to take the pain of that knowledge away from him. I wished to shoulder the hurt of his knowing, rather than have him carry that burden himself. His children were devastated and our mother was in shock. The reality was that there was no way that any of us could protect our father from knowing. There was no way that we could make it better. There was no way that we could decide for him how best to experience the time that was left to him. It was ultimately his choice of how to make his last times the most meaningful.

The lesson that I learned from my father is both simple and profound. My dad did not choose one last around-the-world cruise, He did not opt for many of the niceties that some of us long for in our lives. There were no fancy restaurant meals ( we ate together around Mom's kitchen table), no new cars, designer clothes or a bigger, newer home. He did not try to read all of the best-sellers that he hadn't had time to read before. He did do a little duck hunting and I expect, a lot of thinking in those quiet times. My dad chose to live surrounded by his family. He chose to enjoy three beautiful grandchildren. He chose to continue. I would have to check with my siblings. but I don't recall my father ever referring to the last time this would happen or the last time  that would happen. In the end, there was no mad rush to accomplish, there was just a quiet enjoyment and I think, appreciation of the moment. My dad's legacy to me was, in part, to remind me that it's more important to focus on the now than to view that now as the last.

As we were leaving Rarotonga, our dear friends from that mission taught us this lesson in yet another meaningful way. They never say goodbye. They never say that this is the last time that we will be together. They simply say, "See you later". It is the most reassuring thing in the world for me to know that I will see my dad later. I am equally peaceful knowing that I can say the same thing about all of you. There are no "Lasts". There are only "See you laters".

As always, we are happy and working hard towards our departure. We look forward to our new adventure, knowing that this is not our last time or our last communication with you.

Ka kite ano (Maori for see you later)

Love, Ward and Susan   Elder and Sister Belliston, about to be serving in the New Zealand, Hamilton mission

My father was a member of this country's "Greatest Generation"
I love you Dad, and I will see you later.