In the Blink of an Eye

Have you ever felt sometimes you can say a prayer so many times and in so many ways that it fails to have any true meaning behind it? A prayer that becomes just rote words that you feel you have to say because, quite frankly, that's what you've always done? Any long term request can easily fall into that category. Yet every once in awhile a prayer has such special meaning that it holds as much of your heart many years later as it did the first time you dared to utter the words. I've had a prayer request that I have said so often that I don't have to think twice about the words. They flow easily off my tongue and out through the lips into the air with a piece of my heart - to be carried far, far away to a God who hopefully is tuned in to hear them. And I pray that on that day that those words be heard loud and clear and dare I say - answered.

In order to understand this particular special prayer request, I really need to explain to you a bit of the story behind it. That way you'll understand the motivation and heart that has fueled it for so long. Like most, not all, prayer requests, this one was birthed from pain. Not a particular physical pain but a deep down emotional pain that I just didn't understand at the time. My mother and father separated and divorced back when I was five years old. My prayers at that time were the usual, bring them back together. I never truly had that expectation because I didn't understand the reasons behind the two of them being apart. I said the words because that's what I thought I was supposed to say. As time went on, my prayers for my mother changed. They became about finding her a companion - a man, if you will. Not just any man, but a special one. Her prayer was the same so we thought we were on to something. In January 1967, a man did come into the picture and a scant month later, the two were married in a quiet ceremony in the chapel at the Methodist Church in town. It's funny how different prayers can tie together. Now that this prayer for my mom had been answered, it coincided with my older brother's prayer to move on with his own life and join the Army. A week later he was heading off to boot camp and the beginning of the rest of his life. My urgent prayers became ones to keep him safe and bring him home in one piece.

For four years they worked like a charm. He had a pretty easy assignment in Germany - far from the bullets flying in Viet Nam. Not that the assignment was without danger or intrigue but he didn't have to worry too much about the constant whizzing of artillery passing by his head. News of his every day life was scant at best. Our only means of communication was a piece of paper with familiar handwriting, folded in thirds and stuffed in a red, white and blue envelope with Por Avion printed on the front and a lot of stamps with varying sizes and illustrations. While the envelope itself was impressive it was what was inside that held the biggest prize for me. Nothing compared to the feeling of anticipation as I'd open the envelope and unfold the paper to see the handwriting in blue ink with the slight tilt to the left of a south paw. I'd read and hang on every word as if some magic meaning was buried in there for only me to figure it out.

That probably happened because in between those letters I spent a lot of time reading. I had become hooked on Nancy Drew mysteries and felt that those books were the manual to life. Of course Dick had to hide some message in those letters and I had to figure them out - I was sure of it. I'd pore over and hang on each word, period and comma. Most of the times the content was the same - "I'm fine" - "how are you?" - "write back". And I would. I'd tell him how our younger brother, Kenny, tried to feed the goldfish toast with jelly and it went belly up and no matter how much salt Mom sprinkled on his little body, he wasn't coming back to life. I'd fill him in on other mundane happenings from around the house and what was going on for me at school. Just little sister to her missed big brother chat. The letters really were few and far between. Each day I'd stand by the mailbox waiting for the mailman to come by and let me know if "today was the day". Most days, I'd turn and walk back to the house with nothing more than bills addressed to my mother. The next day I'd be at my post again with shorts, t-shirt and flip flops in the summer and a pea coat, scarf, gloves, hat and boots in the winter. Fall and Spring had their own special attire. Each day a McPrayer thrown up asking that today be the day that one of those special envelopes appeared in the pile. This continued for almost 5 years.

The last letter I received from him was at Christmastime in 1971. In that letter he had said that he was finally going to be coming home either the end of January or the beginning of February. My mother, Kenny and I were ecstatic. We readied his room for him and mom stocked up on his favorite foods. The freezer was full for the first time in I don't know how long. All awaiting the imminent arrival of our king. He had even told me, his little sister who idolized him, that he wanted to take me out to dinner for my 16th birthday on March 1st I envisioned going to one of the restaurants like the one he used to work at - The Brass Rail - where there were linen napkins and real, white, starched tablecloths. Coffee was served in porcelain cups and the cream came in the cutest little white pitchers. A place where the menu had items that you could barely pronounce made by chefs with accents that couldn't be distinguished. I imagined and we waited.

January 1972 was a cold one. We kept warm by sharing thoughts and ideas of what we'd do when Dick finally got home. I pulled out the Monopoly and Scrabble games and made sure all pieces were clean and accounted for. Dick and I had used to love to stay up late into the night playing those two board games. We'd laugh and talk and have such a good time until Mom would finally come in and shoo us off to bed. Those were some good times and the most cherished memories of my childhood. I could barely wait to get those feelings back.

By the time February came around, we began to get concerned. Every noise we'd hear outside we thought for sure was a cab door closing and that any moment he'd come waltzing through the door, duffel bag in hand, and ((hugs)) ready to pass around. We'd look out the window only to find one of the neighbors coming home from a late night out with friends. No Dick. Though Mom tried to hide it, her concern became more noticeable. Where was her precious older son? It was not like him to say he would be somewhere and then not show up. By the time my birthday rolled around on March 1st, Mom was in the hospital and we both shared a glance that only we could interpret - something was wrong. I didn't get to go out to the fancy dinner with my brother as planned but I had a nice one all the same. One of our youth group leaders at church made a wonderful sheet cake and brought it to our youth meeting that night and made me feel special. My mom had bought the cutest little red, white and blue culotte outfit (hey, it was a stylin' piece at the time) for me off the traveling gift cart at the hospital. I felt like a princess. Unconventional sixteenth birthday party? Yes, but it's a day I'll never forget. Happy and sad all mixed in together - not for the first time in my life and certainly not for the last. By mid March we had written several letters to the last known address we had for him and they all went unanswered. Mom decided it was time to call the police, although not really believing that they could or would do anything. She was right, they neither could nor would. They rationalized that he was a 25 year old who had been gone, out of the country, for five years. He probably just didn't want to come home. But why wouldn't he let us know that? That was the question that started the pain. We'd understand. We'd be hurt, no doubt, but we'd understand.

Wondering what happened to Dick played heavy on my mom's health. My prayers for my mother now focused on her health. Her heart was broken both physically and emotionally. They had been very close as had Dick and I. Oh they'd had their falling outs through the years but Dick was very protective of her and she was so proud of the young man he had become. Surely he wouldn't knowingly put her through such pain without so much as a word. We tried contacting the army but since he had been discharged, they couldn't help. I personally contacted the American Embassy and German Counselate in Germany to no avail. No police department in the states would help because, quite frankly, we couldn't prove he'd ever come home from Germany. It was brick wall after brick wall. As my mom's health deteriorated, I tried even harder to get someone, anyone, to help me try and locate him. Nobody would answer the neurotic rantings of a lunatic teenager and her ailing mom. Kenny just concentrated on his school work and really didn't seem to care one way or another. He had that Buchanan male gene of indifference that had been passed down through the generations. We somehow thought that it had skipped Dick because he was the concerned, compassionate one of the males in the bloodline - a bone of contention between him and the patriarch of our family - our dad.

I continued studying in school and working at Goldblatt's department store to help make ends meet. Since mom was so sick and she had been denied disability, the burden of having to make sure the electric stayed on fell squarely on my shoulders, as well as her every day emotional, physical and medical needs. I spun many plates and wore many hats and handled it all quite well. My grades fell from A's to B's but not bad considering how busy I was and how little time I had to think about homework let alone do any. This pace continued until the light at the proverbial end of the tunnel drew closer - graduation day. My mom was exceptionally ill that week and my urgent prayers included making sure she lived until my graduation day. That was important to her - that I graduate. On that Sunday night, a few days before graduation, she had been taken to the ER by ambulance and sent back home a few hours later saying there was nothing they could do. On Thursday I got up and headed out to graduation practice. It was my graduation day - a cold, yet sunny, end of January day. I kissed her good-bye and headed to the door. Just before walking out, I turned and told her I loved her and she said the same back to me. Out the door I went and gently closed the door so as not to shake the house. A few hours later I came back from graduation practice to find my mom had peacefully headed out of this world and on to the next phase of her journey. A quick call to the paramedics and a confirmation from them that she had indeed died, a trip to the hospital to fill out paperwork and then back home to break the news to Ken when he came home from school - all the while trying to calm an hysterical aunt who couldn't believe her baby sister was gone. Despite the busy day, I did go to graduation that night, but truthfully don't remember a lot of the details. I do know I got my diploma and that I had graduated from much more than high school that day.

For the next year and half, we had investigators trying to find Dick. Every turn and every lead came up empty. Finally with the cash reserve being exhausted and the house being stuck in limbo because we couldn't sell it without his signature, we had to call off the blood hounds, no closer to finding Dick than I had been when I had tried on my own. Oh they found plenty of Dick Buchanan's who came sniffing around trying to get a piece of an inheritance but none of them could answer basic questions that my true brother would know the answer to. I felt so alone.

For years I had kept saying the same prayer - Where is Dick and wherever he is, if he is still alive and not with you, please keep him safe and bring him home to us. The words might have changed through the years but the heart felt sentiment was always the same. For over forty years, EVERY prayer I dared to utter ended with that simple request. For the past few years, especially after being diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis, I added that I would like to know while I was still alive but I had also come to accept the fact that I might not have my answers in this lifetime.

Over the next several days, I'll be blogging on all the scenarios and possibilities that we tossed around through the years as to what might have happened. It wasn't always the highlighted topic of discussion but it pretty much came up anytime any of our extended family crossed paths. I was constantly asked if I ever heard anything from Dick. I would just smile and say "no" while trying to keep my stomach from tying itself in yet another knot.

Forty years - a long time. The Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. I can relate. If I were to ask Oliver, he'd have it all broken down into how many hours and minutes forty years would add up to. He's good at numbers like that. I just know it is a long time of wondering, waiting, arguing with God about, and resigning myself to the fact that I might never, ever know and finding some peace with no answer being an answer.

Then in the blink of an eye, it all changed. A simple email and a picture on a website was all it took for 40 years to just condense into the time equivalent of one day. After all these years, a private investigator, who happens to be the cousin of a friend I went to high school with, took pity on my story and agreed to try and help me out. Within 24 hours he accomplished what countless other investigators couldn't for years - he tracked down Dick and gave him a call. He told Dick I was looking for him and gave him my email, phone number, address, etc and then left the ball in his court. Dick did not hold the ball long before sending off a quick email letting me know he was alive and well. The next blog I'll tell you all about how that felt.

For this one, I want to emphasize how important it is to never give up on hope or your dreams or your prayers. Forty years - an extraordinarily long time to hold on to the same prayer request but oh so fulfilling when the answer finally comes through. My simple, heartfelt forty year old prayer request was not only heard by God but literally answered in the blink of an eye. How cool is that? God Bless...