A couple things have me thoughtful today. The death of a friend’s step-dad, the (soon) scattering of the ashes of a man I wish I’d have had as my own Dad, or a neighbor, or as a friend for a whole lot longer.
I used to mark my days by the important things like how many days until the last day of school, how many days of summer vacation, how many days until my birthday, how many days until Christmas. Then I grew up a bit and it became how long until the baby’s born, how many months/years of age is he, how many days until he goes off to college. Now it’s who died, when, and what will I do, how many days until the funeral/service/burial, how many days until Grandma Tia’s Monday.
This is a weekend of ashes. Scattering some, making plans to have others interred, sending condolences to those whose loved one(s) have died. The goodbye part of life.
I’ve been dreaming weird dreams. Bits and pieces of my childhood that weren’t scary, sad, or bad. Things like trips to Wyanoco Lake every summer. I have no idea why we started going but you know the place in Dirty Dancing? kind of like that. Group activities, meals, water, classes, games. The whole thing minus the grinding and back music. I can’t allow my brain to picture Mom and Dad with ‘hungry eyes’ playing in the distance. GEH! We went every year, met up with friends of Moms and Dads.
As childhood travels went, it was good. Every year another road trip in the disfunction mobile, every year another state. And somehow they always knew someone somewhere where we were going and we’d park a night or two in their driveways. Or we’d stay in a State park or KOA campground. We weren’t really safe as kids back then but we thought we were. My brother and I would explore until bedtime and then make a campfire to hand out by. If Mom was still good we’d play Triaminoes or UNO before bed. It was nice. And Mom and Dad never met a museum they didn’t need to tour. I’m pretty sure my love of roadside oddities is ingrained since them. We went where ever the wind or AAA maps would take us.
And even though my inner child is having a fit over my memories, I remember them trying their best at home too. In between Mom’s ‘episodes aka ‘real life Twilight Zone’, there were the good days. That trailer we traveled in was rented out to a family who skiied at Swain. They’d rent it for the ski season so they could have a place to sleep, etc. during the season. This meant it was in our driveway from September – November.
So my birthday, which I hated and my birthday sleepover party, which I loved.. were both at home. I hated the day because it was three days from Mom’s and they were always celebrated together. I call foul on anyone who denies a kid their own special day! My party was always the same, three friends sleeping over. We got the trailer for the night. That’s independent in those days. And as a girl… it wasn’t a tent. Tents would be uncivilized. We’d do the cake thing after dinner and then we were on our own. I can’t remember what we’d do but it probably doesn’t matter “what”, it only mattered “that”. I remember counting down those late-summer days until the first day of school and then my birthday.
This year is a whole different count down, more of a count up. And the trips I’m taking are first and foremost down memory lane. More often when I sleep. Today a friend says goodbye to a man who loved not only this friend’s mom but the whole family. Friday a little bit of one of the greatest men I’ve know returns to a place he loved and shared with his own sons. And every day is another day I count, it’s been eighty one days since my Mom died but my memories are shifting and the clouds that have skewed my view of the past have left me as well. My good memories are surfacing and that makes me lucky.
and it is only forty one days until my birthday. sweet!
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