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| Dorothy (1916-2004) and Ansel Haukness (1911-2008) |
With
the death of my Mother when I was 16, following the death of my Father when I
was 14 (see 4 previous posts), my older brother, Neil, our legal guardian (9
years older than me), and the small community in which I lived, Maddock, N.D.,
faced a decision: where shall the two Erickson boys go (younger brother Alan, then 14, and me).
I have
no idea what kind of discussions went on.
I only know the result: at least
four families in Maddock offered to take us in.
I am also not sure how the final decision was made, but the option chosen made the most sense to me. We
would sell our house and move across the street to the home of Ansel and
Dorothy Haukness, who had been good friends of my parents for nearly twenty
years. They had four children of their
own, but the autumn after my Mother’s death, their youngest, Margaret Ann, was
heading off to college. This left the
entire upstairs empty, including a large bedroom that had been shared by their
three sons. That is where Alan and I
took up residence.
From
that bedroom I could look across the street to our house and home. Almost every night, as I was getting ready for
bed, I would look out that window, filled with that strange melancholy and
nostalgia that was so much a part of my life in those days: longing to be home with Mom and Dad, and yet
grateful to God and the Haukness family that the promise Jesus had made to his
disciples was true for us: “I will not leave you orphaned.” [John 14:18]
From
the beginning Ansel and Dorothy took an insightful and pragmatic approach
towards the Erickson boys. They knew we
had had wonderful parents, and they consciously decided not to try to take
their place. They would provide for us
and welcome us into their home and family, but they would not try to take on
the parenting role.
And
welcome us they did. The Hauknesses
provided not only a home, but also a family.
Steven, Paul, Robert, and Margaret Ann treated us as their
siblings. The Haukness living room
formed a kind of rectangle, with chairs in each corner, and a couch along the
wall. I
remember the whole family gathering there for Christmas Eve, sharing
gifts. I loved the holidays, when as
many of us as could would gather together, telling stories and bantering back
and forth about economics, politics, religion.
Ansel and Dorothy were always such a welcoming couple.
Each new pastor would be invited over for dinner soon after their
arrival. At Thanksgiving the family
table would be joined by one or two widows from town. Ansel and Dorothy and Mom and Dad had a
wonderful circle of friends, and those folks would often stop by. I cherished the many opportunities I had to
sit in that living room, with family and friends, to share what was going on
and to discuss the issues of the day.
Of
course, as in all families, suffering could not be held outside the door. Steven,
the oldest, a classmate of my older brother, got a degree in law and joined
the State Department. He was stationed
in Vietnam, and during the Tet Offensive of February, 1968, was captured. For seven years his wife, Alpha, and their
twin sons, Brad and Brent, along with all of us, would have no idea what happened to him. We prayed that he was a prisoner of war and
would eventually be returned, but that hope was dashed when his remains were
uncovered in March of 1975.
When I
was married to Pauline in May of 1972, Ansel and Dorothy were there as my
parents. They served in that role again,
after Pauline died and I was married to Mary in June of 1984. My two children, of course, would never meet
my parents. However, they had
grandparents on my side of the family as well as Mary’s: it was always Grandpa
Ansel and Grandma Dorothy.
In
their retirement, Ansel and Dorothy spent their summers in North Dakota and
Minnesota, and their winters in Phoenix.
In 2001 I left my call in Fargo, N.D., and took a call in Phoenix. Part of the blessing of that move was being
able to be with Ansel and Dorothy during the last years of their lives. Brian and I played golf with Ansel, and he
was able to see Brian play in a high school golf tournament. Dorothy and Ansel were able to go to Jessi’s
piano recitals. We had the opportunity
to have many meals at their place, and to host them in our home for Thanksgiving and other gatherings.
Dorothy
died in January of 2004. Our family was able to be with her as she was
dying, and to attend her funeral in Sun City West. Ansel died in August of 2008. Our whole family gathered back in Maddock,
and I was able to speak at his funeral, thanking the community, and especially
the Hauknesses, for making us a part of their family at our most desperate
time.
If you
were to wander a half-mile out of Maddock, to the community cemetery, there you
would see buried, side by side, Edrei, Ruth, Ansel, Dorothy and Steven. Not only was I not left orphaned. God gave me two more parents and four more
siblings. The blessings of that large
family continue with me to this day.
