Life Cycle of a Family

“LIFE CYCLE OF A FAMILY:”

“As Observed by the Fireplace Insert”

The day I was installed I could see I had found a good home. The fireplace was a perfect fit, and the team made certain everything was working properly before they left.

What a warm, inviting house this was! The furniture was plush and new, with a wintry landscape painting above the couch. The floor was hardwood, with large area rugs that complemented the furnishings and décor.

My new owners were a young couple. It was easy to see they were just beginning life together and deeply in love. There was much hand-holding, embracing and tender kissing at the least impulse. Conversations were always respectful and full of mutual admiration.

The woman worked outside of the home, at what I do not know. The man was a writer.

Each day I would see him working long hours over his keyboard, researching, taking notes, and creating new articles and books. Yet as soon as the woman returned he was ready to set it all aside for her.

Through it all, whenever I would feel the walls of the fireplace grow cold I knew the man would fill my hopper from a bucket he always kept loaded on the hearth. Then he would turn on my switches. Within a couple of minutes would come the tinkling of hardwood pellets scuttling down the chute. Another crackling fire would soon reflect on the warm smiles their faces wore.

Soon it was evident her midsection was growing rapidly. Not long after that, with much shouting and confusion they ran out the door together. When they returned it was with a miniature person in their arms. It was a delight for me to see this happen three more times in the next four years.

The little people had such limitations on the start: the man and woman had to do everything for them, but they did not appear to mind. As deep and powerful as the love was between the two of them, there always was more than sufficient to form an umbrella over their young.

The main reason seemed to be the strength they drew from a book they kept on the coffee table, along with two notebooks and pens. Every day before they opened the book they would hold hands, bow their heads and talk to Someone I could not see. For at least a half hour daily they took turns reading aloud from and discussing this book's contents. They enjoyed reading aloud to each other. Every so often their eyes would light up as they excitedly talked and made hasty notes.

One by one in overlapping order the young ones began crawling. Then they moved through unsteady standing to walking, and to running. What a delight for me to keep them cozy as they played on the carpet, and later as they completed school homework. At times other young ones would join them.

Oh, the parties they shared. Every occasion became a celebration: birthdays, anniversaries, New Year's Eve, Thanksgiving, awards, graduations... and my very favorite of all, Christmas. Each year they would go further in decorating their home, making it more festive. They gave me special attention, with deco and stockings. The fragrances of cooking and baking at both Thanksgiving and Christmas blended with my hardwood smoke to form a cacophony of olfactory delight.

The singing, oh, how this family liked to sing, especially songs about the unseen One! The sounds might not always have been in perfect pitch, but always were in perfect joy. The singing helped draw them ever tighter together as a family.

With great attention to detail the man would clean me out after each burning, then re-stock my hopper and the bucket with pellets. Each Autumn he had the team return to ensure everything about me was ready for the next Winter. I could feel the love emanating in everything the couple did.

In what to me was no time at all the young ones grew to the age of the couple when I first saw them. Each in his or her time left our home, to be married or to go off to school. The air thickened with a certain sadness with each parting, then came great happiness when they returned for visits. Later they would be joined on their visits by other young adults, followed by new little ones.

After the last child left our home, things returned in many ways to how they were before. Most of the couple's routines had grown back to the level of time investment they had before she brought home the first small person. None had ever been set aside, merely re-shuffled to accommodate time constraints. The two of them continued having others their age over for food, and to study that treasured book together.

Years passed all too quickly. Although the couple took great care of themselves with what they ate, exercise and such, they gradually began to slow down. Body parts were showing signs of wear and tear, even if at a far slower rate than with others their age who came to visit. Movements were a bit slower, more deliberate. The man struggled a little more to carry in and empty the bags of pellets into my bucket. Both of them started altering their activities, with each taking up the slack where the other no longer was quite as capable as before. Comments of “you're not twenty-five anymore, Darling” became a bit more common.

Through it all the expressions of their love grew stronger, with each striving to out-do the other in being kind, considerate and helpful.

Eventually came the evening I never will forget.

After eating a modest meal together, the man brought in a little tray with two shot glasses of grape juice and two crisp wafers on it. The couple read together from a little booklet, as though they were sharing this tiny meal with that unseen Person.

On this occasion as they took turns reading aloud from the Book, each word had the same sound of reverence and love as when they were talking with the unseen Person. When they finished, they gave each other a warm hug and tender kiss. He laid the open Book on his chest, and they placed their eyeglasses on the tables beside them.

Still holding hands as they had all those years together, they slowly closed their eyes. Joyful, satisfied smiles crossed their faces as each gave out a long sigh. They had seen the invisible One they loved so much at last.

Sometime during the night my system faulted out, as there no longer were pellets in the hopper to feed the flames. By morning's light I had nothing left but a layer of fine ash around my fire pot. The house grew silent and cold, with the only heat being from a furnace that had been turned down. The only low sound was soft music playing on the radio. I was all alone, keeping dutiful watch over those who had cared for me and shared their lives with me for decades.

There was a sadness as they were taken away, then again later as everything in the house was removed by their children. Yet somehow I knew that in the course of time I would see others move into the house and again make it a home. Perhaps the entire cycle would repeat itself, certainly in many ways different yet much the same.

Whoever that would be, I would be there to serve them faithfully and to share their lives for whatever time I might be allowed.