It’s this time of year that I’m looking back and posting the top moments and memories of the prior year.
A 2023 that was pretty epic.
So on and so forth.
But I don’t have a 24 in 2024. There’s only one. And it's not a good one. And then an honorable mention.
It’s also usually the time of year that I’ve prayed and wrestled and settled on a word for the new year. I don’t have one for this year. I don’t even remember what last year’s word was. Looking back in my journal, it seems it might’ve been savor.
Savor (v). Taste and enjoy it completely. To have experience of, to taste or smell with pleasure. To delight in. Enjoy.
My initial reaction to that was there was absolutely nothing about 2024 to savor, delight in or enjoy. As a matter of fact, 2024 is nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth. It makes me want to vomit. I was so relieved when the calendar finally turned the page to 2025. I honestly want nothing more to do with 2024.
My verse for savor was obvious. Psalm 34:8.
Taste and see that the LORD is good. Oh, the joys of those who take refuge in Him! (NLT)
Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who trusts in Him! (NKJV)
Taste and see that the LORD is good. How happy is the person who takes refuge in Him! (CSB)
Is the LORD good? Yes. Even in the midst of the very bad? Yes. Even in 2024? Yes.
Not that I want to, but looking back on it, maybe I did savor it. When my dad received a terminal cancer diagnosis in April, it felt like time stopped and stood still. Or, at least for me it did. Everyone else was still going about their day-to-day lives. Except me. Life had changed and would never be the same as I knew it again. When we were driving home from the hospital, my brother driving with my dad in the front seat, and my mom holding my had in the back seat, I so clearly remember thinking, “I can’t believe this is my life.” And I made a very conscious decision to do whatever it took, to show up as much as I could, to be with my dad during his final days on this earth. We had no idea how long it would be, but we knew it wouldn’t be long, would be much shorter than we wanted it to be. As a matter of fact, I didn’t expect him to be here by Father’s Day. But he was. And then the end of the summer. But he was. And then his earthly birthday on October 1. But he was. I’ve always said the Lord gave us some “bonus” time on this earth together.
It wasn’t the kind of days I wanted, but I spent the entirety of April and some of May in Georgia with my parents. And then a bit in August and September. And then came the phone call at the beginning of October from his hospice CNA. We were just a couple of days away from leaving for a little fall break trip to Arkansas. We went, but I left a day early and drove to Georgia, where I stayed for over a month. I was with my dad the last three weeks of his earthly life, morning, noon and night. I was with him when he finally fell asleep. I was with him when he took his very last breath on this earth. Those days were grueling. I woke up every morning not knowing if it was to be “the day.” I went to bed every evening not knowing if he would make it another tomorrow. My mom, brother and I cared for him and talked with him and laughed with him and cried over him. Those days were the absolute hardest days of my entire life. They were also some of the sweetest. Looking back, I did savor those days, as awful as they were. And there’s not a single thing I would do differently. It was an honor to care for my dad and walk with him to the gates of heaven.
The Lord was so good to us. It was so incredibly humbling to be the recipient of such generosity. The cards, flowers, meals, texts, phone calls. All of it. I’m still receiving cards to this day. We have wanted for absolutely nothing. The Lord has loved us so well through His people, through our family and friends. My dad had the very best medical care and attention. My parents’ home was filled with peace and even joy.
Daddy went HOME on Saturday morning, October 26. His brother and sister showed up with lunch for us, and we all sat around the table and enjoyed that meal together. There’s just something about gathering around the table. Daddy’s family has ALWAYS been so good at that, thanks to Grandmother. And his celebration of life. There were so many people there. So many! Family and friends came from near and far. Some, so very far! We couldn’t even speak to them all because we ran out of time. All of the chairs were filled. Friends were standing in the back. I felt such love that day. So many hugs. So many people I hadn’t seen in the 25 years since I left. Friends from high school, friends from college, friends from my home church growing up, old family friends, extended family. But after it was all over, and the final words had been spoken, the last prayer prayed and we walked down the aisle and out of the church, I was so heartbroken. I wanted to be anywhere but there.
My dad NEVER once complained about his diagnosis or the dying that ensued. He was too worried about us, worried about other friends who were sick or had received a similar diagnosis. But there was one thing he lamented. Many times during those dying months he would look at me and say, "I'm just so weak. I don't have any strength." And that's what I think he hated the most. He couldn't walk. He couldn't lift his legs. We did that for him. It even got to the point that he couldn't lift his arms enough to comb his hair. But you know what? My daddy was the strongest man I've ever known! There's just something about a little girl's daddy that even when she becomes a big girl and gets married, her daddy is still the strongest man she's ever known.
My dad went HOME last year. And when I think about the whole horrid thing, that’s the one word that comes to mind. That’s a word, a concept that I’ve really struggled with over the last 25 years. What is home? Where is home? Those haven’t been easy questions to answer. Is it where I live in Louisiana, even though nothing about it feels like home? Is it where I grew up, even though I haven’t been there in more than two decades? Is it both? And then when your oldest spreads his wings and moves away to college, home, or what is supposed to be home, is just all kinds of different. So, more than a place, home is your people. And where your people are is home.
I think Abraham had it all figured out. I think he understands and explains perfectly my discontent with home.
“By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to the place which he would receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he dwelt in the land of promise as in a foreign country, swelling in tents with Isaac and Jacob, the heirs with him of the same promise; for he waited for the city which has foundations, who builder and maker is God . . . These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off were assured of them, embraced them and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For those who say such things declare plainly that they seek a homeland. And truly if they had called to mind that country from which they had come out, they would have had opportunity to return. But now they desire a better, that is, a heavenly country. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them.” ~Hebrews 11:8-10, 13-16.
That heavenly country, that city that God has prepared for His people, that’s exactly where my dad is. He is HOME. And my certain hope is that I, too, will one day truly be HOME. I will see my dad again. I will be where he is. HOME.
After my dad’s funeral, I stayed another week with my mom because I wanted to be with her on her birthday. Seth flew out the night before, and I picked him up at the airport. We had a little dinner party at my brother’s for her and then Seth drove me back . . . home. It was odd walking through the door after having been gone for so long. Of course, most of that was because I was trying to figure out how much damage had been done, how much needed to be cleaned, how empty the frig and pantry were, how big the pile of laundry was. Really, though, they did good while I was gone. But also when I walked through the door were two eager (no so) little girls waiting to hug their mom. They even had flowers, chocolates and bundtinis for me. And a card.
“You came home.”
And it was good to be . . . home. It's different. Life is just . . . different. It feels so very . . . different. That doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. It's just . . . different.
I don’t want to think about 2024. But, when I do, the first word that comes to mind is HOME. And in the midst of the bad, there are some good memories. And there is a good, good God.
These days I feel like grief is always with me. Grief is hard. Grief is unexpected sometimes. Grief is exhausting. I feel like I’ve been grieving for nearly a year now, and I guess in some ways I have. I grieve my loss, but I’m so very grateful for the over 46 years I had with my dad. It just doesn’t quite seem like enough. I wasn’t expecting it to be over so quickly. It was just so . . . fast. I grieve for my mom. They were married for over 51 years and together for many more years than that. I grieve for my brother. He told me last fall that my dad was his best friend. I grieve for my kids and my nephews. Grandparents are special. I grieve for my aunt and uncle. They lost two brothers so very quickly, so close together.
I’m in the year of “firsts.” I’ve already had the first Thanksgiving and Christmas. A dear friend who lost her mom last fall told me as we were lamenting together the holiday season that we will get through the firsts, and soon we will have some happy firsts. I like that.
So there’s not a 24 in 2024. But 2025 will be a big year for the Bayhams. Mason will celebrate his 20th birthday. No longer a teenager. Ellie will celebrate her 13th birthday, a teenager! Seth and I will celebrate 25 years of marriage. Hannah Kate will begin her senior year in high school and turn 18. And I’m sure there will be many more moments and memories in between. Good ones. Really good ones.
“You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; You have put off my sackcloth and clothes me with gladness, to the end that my glory may sing praise to You and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give thanks to You forever.” ~Psalm 30:11-12