Pencil sketch of Roscoe Holdaway by Kathleen Holdaway Swain done in 1941 when she was twelve.On her last visit with her father, she tried to spend a lot of time with him, knowing it was unlikely she’d see him again. Overwhelmed with the demands of a large family, she often felt her life was not her own. Most afternoons, she struggled to get both little ones to nap at the same time and used that precious time to catch up on her laundry and whatever she couldn’t get done with them underfoot. She’d come to visit with the intention of staying two weeks, but extended her visit to a third week, trying to get a lifetime of visits in before she lost him.
Up since five-thirty with a teething baby, she finally got both little ones down for a nap after lunch. Though she yearned for a nap herself, she joined her father on the porch. Watching from the open door, she memorized him before going out, think how frail he looked in his wool coat and old felt hat humped over in his straight chair in the brutal, August of the afternoon. He’d laid his paperback Western open-faced on the porch-floor. Inferring he must be heartbroken, knowing he couldn’t live much longer, she took a seat beside him thinking he might have something to say.
“Kat,” he started. “I’ve been watching those ants on the ground down there. Look how they are so busy on their little trail. Some are rushing forward to pick up a load, and some are headed back to the nest all loaded down. Every once in a while, a few of them stop to talk then turn round and round in the trail before getting back in line. Isn’t that something?”
Surprised to hear of his pleasure in the ants, she realized he wasn’t sad at all, just absorbed in their activity. She sat with him till her little ones awoke and called her back to the ant trail of her life.
That was the last time she spent alone with him.
I’ve noticed. I bet she enjoys being able to use her talent. 🙂 — Suzanne
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She does. It gets her high.
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How lovely she was able to spend that time with him. It’s hard to be caught between your children and an aging parent. Your mother had an artistic talent to do that well at twelve. —- Suzanne
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She illustrates my blog, too.
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She was a gifted artist, even at 12. This is such a heartwarming moment for them, and you told it so beautifully. Ant trail, indeed. Love this post. 💕
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I do love it. I’ve heard it so many times and still love it.
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Oh my heart. I felt like I was watching them.
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She was so glad for that time,
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What hardships for someone so young. A fantastic sketch as well. Thanks for sharing this story, LInda.
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Thanks. It meant a lot to me.
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Very true. Many of us are too absorbed by the ‘ant trail of our lives.’ I’m glad that she decided to spend that alone time with her father to realize that he was not unhappy in his last days. It’s the little moments that can mean so much. Touching story.
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She said she realized then she was the one who was missing out. He died three weeks later. She’s always been grateful for that few minutes with him.
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A happy ending!
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Great post. Thanks for sharing.
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You are welcome. He was a good man.
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Aw.
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Lovely. Life is made of the little moments not the big events
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Isn’t that something…to be so mesmerized by the ants. 🙂 Love this!
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Thanks for letting me know.
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This is so beautifully told. I love the sketch. I examined it and realized how gifted your Mother is…
and her gifts passed to you. Your story of her last visit heartbreaking and uplifting.
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I’m glad you enjoyed it. She’s told me that story so many times.
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It’s a touching story. Do you have a recording of her telling it?
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No, but that’s a great idea.
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Yes…I’d love to hear her tell it…which reminds me that U want to sit down and catch up with your YouTube channel.
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