One of My Doors

We all have doors that have meaning for us. Our front door to our home where we live, and all the real life that happens behind those doors. Our bedroom door where we enter to find respite from the cares of the day and a good night sleep. Doors to our past that are sometimes hard to open, and sometimes we just keep them shut. Then there are doors to our closets filled with skeletons that we hope no one finds out about (of course this may be more of an issue for some more so than for others!)

The door that is on my mind is the front door to my grandparents house. Oh did I ever love going to visit my paternal grandparents. It was the best feeling walking up excitedly to their house and being greeted with warm hugs and loving smiles from their sweet faces. I was some what timid when I would hear their dogs barking, until I had the reassurance from them their dogs were more bark and no bite! I loved walking through my grandmas door and smelling her sweet baking, usually my favorite coffee cake!

My grandfather has advanced Alzheimer’s disease. This disease has become quite bad over the last couple years, and he is now in a nursing home. There isn’t anymore baking being done in my grandmothers kitchen because she spends her days at the nursing home with my grandfather. Last Christmas my grandmother didn’t set out all of her decorations because she was too depressed about being alone for the holidays. The door that I remember walking through as a child will never be the same. My grandfather won’t be sitting at the kitchen table tinkering with some doodad. The happy faces that would greet me when I would visit have been replaced with tired and worn out souls that are living one day at a time.

They say when one door closes another one opens. In this case that really is not true. The door to the past, and all the memories is just that-simply memories. There isn’t another door that could hold those same sacred memories for me. I hold these times dear to my heart because I know I won’t be able to experience them again. I wish I would have appreciated them more as a child. I wish I would have taken a picture of those small moments so I could have them to look back on now. I wish I would have savored each and every time my grandfather would open the door to their house with the most amazing smile, because he doesn’t do that any longer. I don’t even know how much time he has left to live some days.

While we have these doors that we enter each and every single day, or the ones we pass through for holidays and special events, let us try to savor the time that we have to pass through those thresholds. Let us take a moment to appreciate the smiling faces that greet us and are happy we are entering in through their doors. We never know when may be the last time we have those moments, and before we know it they could all just be memories.

The Story Behind a Door


One thought on “One of My Doors

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