To Every "D" There Is a Season
by Beverly A. Kipp

Daring us to keep up, dandelions dance across spring green meadows. While we are dragging out the lawn mower, they turn into dainty white tufts for little tykes to blow into the dazzling blue sky. Before we know it, we are dishing up deviled eggs, hot dogs and double-dip ice cream cones for picnics and parades. Around the corner, the dog days of summer loom, defying us to complain of the heat and the drought, when it was just a few short months ago that the snows of winter and the rains of spring were dampening our spirits.

Season after season as a young wife and mother, I would call my girlfriend Lida and share the ups and downs of the day with her. We were both home raising babies, and we shared the highs of the good days and the lows of the bad days.

The really bad days, we called "D" Days. We would try to outdo each other describing them and our responses to them.

We were Dismal, Dreary, Dreadful, Disenchanted.

Demoralized, Dejected, Disgusted.

Disheartened, Discouraged and just plain Down in the Dumps!

It would make us laugh and together we could turn even the worst moods around and see the light side of measles, marriage and no money.

Recently I was reminded of that when I went to a church discussion about how facing The D's of Divorce, Disease and Death could lead to the D's of Depression and Despair.

All D's that I could identify with . . .

In my twenties, I had been divorced. I was too young at the time for it to be a great trauma for me, but my boys would be raised with the consequences of dissolving a marriage that lasted too few seasons.

In my thirties, remarried and now with four young children, I had been sick with lyme disease. Each year I felt more and more of what I considered to be my essence slipping away as fatigue and physical limitations took over. Not knowing that I would be blessed with a full recovery, there were more and more "D days" and Lida and I had to work harder to make laughter ring out when we talked. I did not know that I would need all of the lessons learned from that season of my life to face the next D.

In my forties, the third D moved in with us. My life, and my children's lives, became a daily walk with dying and death. (Why does everyone say death and dying when it comes in the other order?)

It started when Derek, the child of people who would become dear friends, was diagnosed (another D) with cancer. He was one year old, and he was a delight. Even in illness he brightened every day. Along with helping to care for him, we took on the duties of caring for their barn full of critters. That winter was a long one, but one we dreaded having end as each day brought us a day closer to the end of Derek's life. Still, in the barn, new life filled our days--now made longer by chores that had to be done before daylight and after dark.

Derek died one hot summer day. He had just turned two. The day of his funeral, my husband, Dennis, had a headache. It took only a few weeks for his diagnosis and his destiny to become clear. He too had cancer.

Dennis. A journalist dedicated to educating, entertaining and enlightening the public through his writing, he was a devoted husband, father and son. He loved to dig in the dirt and he would leave a garden full of plants that would divulge his distinct personality.

Now, Dennis and I would learn to share the D's of each day with humor and let laughter guide us along the way as his disease progressed. He greeted each full moon with gratitude. Dennis was determined to make the phrase "dying with dignity" a reality. He did. Another hot summer day, twelve full moons after Derek, Dennis was gone. I was forty-seven when he died. So was he.

My own father, who I never stopped calling Daddy, wept openly at the funeral. It was less than a year later that we were weeping at his.

Daddy. A Decorated Soldier, a man with a daunting depth of knowledge who could discuss the Big Dipper, the Blue Danube or DNA, had lived in Dallas, and in the deserts of Dubai. He was devoted to his wife, his children and a lifetime of learning. A woodsman and an archer, hunting season set the rhythm of his life. He taught his boys how to hunt. He also taught them, and me, the importance of eating that venison together around a dinner table. I was fortunate to be his daughter. And I knew as I faced the people gathered to pay their respects that it was in part his tutelage that had shown me that there is more to D than Depression and Despair.

He, and my mother, had shown me a world full of D's.

Daffodils, Dahlias, and Day Lilies.

Daisies.

Ducks, Dogs, Dolphins and Donkeys.

Dancing, Dates, Daydreams and Dilly-dallying.

Dulcimers and Dictionaries.

Dragons and Dinosaurs.

Duct Tape.

Dawn , Dew Drops, Daylight, Dusk, Darkness.

Polka Dots, Onion Dip, Blood Donors.

Doughnuts, Dumplings, Dessert.

Diamonds. In the sky , on your finger, in the rough.

Decisive, Deliberate. Devout.

Diligent. Dextrous. Daring.

Discipline.

Drive, Determination, Desire.

Duty.

Delicious, Delectable, Delightful,

And Divine. For me, the most important D of all.

I did not know what D's my fifties would bring.

I did not know that it would be the Devastation of war, that I would have a son preparing to face that war as his grandfather before him had faced war.

Or that Divorce would once again have affected our lives. That I would have a grandchild who, like his father, would not remember living with two natural parents in the same home. That his father would be devoted and determined to make this little tyke's life better by standing up for what he believed. Even though it would mean more separation from his son. That it would also mean that my daughters and I would be faced with the fear of his departure and perhaps even his death.

But at fifty-two, I do know this. that depression and despair will always be knocking at my door trying to come in, that every season of life, like every season of nature, will bring both sorrow and joy. That every single day will be a journey of finding the balance between the good D's and the bad D's.

That for me, my faith will leave me, even on the very worst D day, feeling blessed.

Blessed to live and work in a community and a country where I can freely express my faith in a Divine God and share how it gets me through the day. Blessed to live where my sons and daughters can choose to join the gatherings in the center of our small hometown, each standing on a different corner waving a flag expressing differing views. Blessed to know that they can vote and pray and enjoy all the freedoms that we as Americans are blessed with and can so easily lose sight of when faced with the daunting task of living.

I think that M. Scott Peck says it best in the very first line of his book The Road Less Traveled: "Life is difficult." And certainly I can testify to that, but it is not just my life, or my children's lives, that are difficult. Life, by its very nature, is difficult.

But, I remember hearing Daddy say, often followed by a peal of laughter, "The difficult we do right away, the impossible takes a little longer."

I will always be grateful that my time with Daddy and Dennis and Derek taught me not just to withstand the difficult D's but to look to the Divine to help me embrace a life chock full of D's.

Gotta go. If I want Dill and Delphinium and Datura (one of my very favorite D's) instead of those Darned weeds, it's time to get Down on my knees and Dig in that Dirt.