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| Old Holy Trinity Church, Duquesne, PA |
Just the other day my husband and I were drawn to an
old church majestically towering atop the hill overlooking the Monongahela River
and the former site of the once-thriving steel mill. Closer examination revealed that this was the
old Holy Trinity church which was replaced by a newer model during my
childhood. In fact, my sister and I grew up a few yards from the Holy Trinity
Cemetery with its lush, green, rolling hills speckled with yellow buttercup
flowers. I was terribly disappointed
when the new church and parking lot were placed in the cemetery, because all
the modernization did away with the buttercups.
No more could we hold the little yellow flower under our chin to see its
reflection and recite, “Buttercup, Buttercup, do you like butter? Let me see.
If you like butter, then you like me!”
But, everything is subject to change over time. Currently
my dad is in the McKeesport Hospital, just across the river. He suffered a stroke three weeks ago and is
still undergoing rehabilitation. My
husband and I are staying with my mother to help her through this stressful
time. She hobbles when she walks and
complains of bad knees; just a few years ago she was walking several miles a
day. Both parents officially became
octogenarians on their most recent birthdays and have already outlived all of
their parents thanks to societal changes for the better.
Interestingly enough, I am struck by the fact that
my parents seem to have a lot in common with the old church on the hill. Old age has crept upon my parents like the
weeds and vines slowly enveloping the strong brick fortress of the church. Like the broken windows, their eyes no longer
reflect vitality, and their perceptions have been clouded over, needing lenses
from outside to help them clearly see the path before them. Their squeaky hinges have trouble functioning
and need the assistance of walkers and wheelchairs and a whole lot of love to
keep them in good working order.
When I first noticed the church, I was awed by its
strength and beautiful architecture. The
broken windows and gutted interior went unnoticed as I envisioned the magnificence
of the edifice as it must have looked a century ago. Similarly, I find joy when
I look past the aging bodies of my parents and see them for who they once were
in the prime of their lives, living life to its fullest and contributing to
society in their own unique ways.
The winds of change blow through our lives, sometimes
as balmy breezes other times as chilling gusts. Buildings, bodies and buttercups do not last
forever. Let’s remember to appreciate
the buttercups in our lives before they drift away and are gone.
