Sunset in Virginia

Betty Badgett

It’s four PM on a cold day in December. I’m sitting in my daughter’s dining room, surrounded by seven ceiling-to-floor windows. And a sliding glass door leading out to the upper deck, overlooking an acre of grass and barren trees.

The soft, warm, inviting yellow walls and the hardwood floors invite my muse to come in and take a seat at the long, black dining room table and get about the business of telling this story.

Having been recently widowed, my daughter and son-in-law urged me to come and be with them during this holiday season. I didn’t object. The thought of being alone in my home for the holiday with no family around made the decision an easy one.

This morning, I got up, showered, and sat down to enjoy a cup of decaffeinated coffee, brewed in their new Keurig. I heard a slight scratching sound at the door leading to the garage. I shuffled across the beautiful hardwood floors, with my soft, fluffy J C Penney slippers to find Dash, the family dog, standing at attention and looking me straight in the eye as though to say, “I’m ready to go out now.” I bent down and patted his furry head, and walked over to the side door and watched as he scurried out and headed in a hurried pace to the backyard to claim his favorite spot in the sun. Hence the name Dash!

I slowly shuffled back to my chair in the dining room, feeling relaxed and content as I watch Dash wander around in the grass and even lay on his back and kick up his legs as he found happiness for that moment in the sun. I let the warm coffee slowly ease it’s was to the back of my mouth and slide down my throat. Only coffee lovers can enjoy the experience of the taste of that first sip of favorite coffee as it touches the taste buds and then makes room for the next sip. I bask in the sun rays as they pour in through the windows that surround me. I feel God! I’m thankful for another day, and for being here at my daughter’s to enjoy family, even if just for the holidays.

My mother always said, “Be thankful for each day, no matter what it brings. Because tomorrow is not promised to you.” I filed that thought away in a corner of my mind and I try to remember it as often as I can, especially on days when I’m feeling low.

The day went quickly and now it’s evening. I’m back in my seat at the dining room table, and I’m watching the sun go down here in Virginia. I stare through the barren trees and I have a ringside seat to watch the day come to an end and nightfall descend. The final rays of sun are streaming straight through to where I am sitting. At this moment, I’m thankful for the gift of sight. A blind person cannot behold this miracle of God that I get to see every day. I just sit still in my black, leather, high back chair, and I take it all in.

My husband passed two years ago, and I placed my house on the market. Once it sells, I think Virginia is where I’ll make my new home. My family is here. I feel at home here, at peace with my surroundings.

My daughter and son-in-law have been filling me in on the history of Virginia. I don’t let them know, but they had me at “Mom, we want you to move here when the house sells.” One thing I’m enjoying is the weather. It’s winter, but it just started to get cold. There’s no sign of snow in the forecast and the sun has made an appearance every day since I’ve been here.

It’s overwhelming to think of packing up and moving from New York, where I’ve spent all of my life so far. Finding a new place and then putting down roots in another state scares me, yet there’s something exciting about getting a chance to start over and begin a new life in a new state. New places to go, new people to meet, new experiences to encounter.

As I sit here and stare out the window, watching the sun until it’s out of view, I reflect on the years that have gone by. I remember my wedding day, the birth of my daughter, and then seven years later, the birth of my son. I recall when we first got the news that my husband had colon cancer. I remember the long, hard, year-and-a-half we spent battling in the fight of our lives against this silent enemy. Two years ago the battle came to an end. I won’t say cancer won. To say that cancer won would give it too much power. We prayed day and night for a miracle, for healing, and that’s exactly what we got. God took his spirit home to be in paradise with him. He’s totally and wonderfully healed! Now I’m in the process of healing.

A longtime friend once said to me, “Betty, you’re not okay yet, but you are on your way to okay. And someday, you’ll look around and you’ll be there.” I believe those words, and as I sit here looking out the window, watching the orange hues left in the sky as the sun slowly leaves, and glancing at Dash, who’s again frolicking in the backyard, I know that I am on my way to okay as I sit here watching the sunset in Virginia.