I love to remember—especially things that spark joy. But memories don’t always hold joy. They can bring tears and sadness just as easily as celebrations and happiness.
Being by my dad’s bedside as he left this world to meet Jesus is a memory that carries both sadness and peace. I know where Dad is, and I know he’s out of pain. But I’m also keenly aware of the suffering he endured—and the void that remains with his passing.
Memories take me back. I like to think they return me to a time that was simpler. While being at my grandparents’ home felt simpler to me as a teenager, I’m confident life was still stressful and complicated for them. They lived on a fixed income. They were poor, with very little extra to spare. My grandmother battled diabetes, and ultimately lost that fight. She had both legs amputated and moved to a nursing home.
Those visits to see her were sweet and special for me. For her, having us there was a welcome break from the daily routine—but also a reminder of where she wasn’t: at home. I miss those visits.
Her cooking was amazing. From fried chicken to smothered pork chops, she was a classic Southern cook. I remember sitting around the table having great conversations—and the smells from that kitchen were unforgettable.
I also remember the sounds. The way the screen door would slam shut. The ringing of their rotary phone interrupting any conversation. And, most of all, laughter. Sitting on their front porch, hearing the same stories for the millionth time, and laughing every single time.
As I look back, it seems people were kinder. We’d drop in unannounced for a cup of coffee, bring over a bag of vegetables from the garden, or simply invite folks over for lunch or dinner. We’d talk about everything and nothing—and we were fine with that.
Work was hard, but that’s what was expected. Church was a weekly ritual. We knew right from wrong, and we tried to live for God and do right by our neighbors.
The music of Southern Gospel takes me back to those days—when a local quartet would visit the church during their annual homecoming. Everyone would bring a dish, a former pastor would return to preach, then we’d share a huge meal before the quartet held a special concert. Those were good days.
I’m thankful for those memories—for they remind me of people and places I long to see again. It would be wonderful if those kinds of days could return. Maybe we can help make it so.
What do you miss? Who do you miss?
Email me at [email protected]—I’ll share some of your answers on an upcoming episode of Gospel Gold, Sunday evenings from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m.
Thankful for the memories,
Brian