How It Came To Be: Or When the Bear Challenged Me

Going Home

Subtle shifts occurring on the Rockford home front.  Instead of going to my parents first we went straight to the farm. 

True, the event we were coming in for was as the farm to celebrate the farm being in Kristi's family for 133 years.  But still we usually show up early and hang with Mom and Dad first.

I was glad to avert the pit stop in Rockford.  Something about that place makes me sad.  

Mostly to know that my parent's will spend the majority of what's left of their life in that house.  

I hate that awful house as much as I love it. It's been HOME since I was 12. Everything pivotal occurred from there - 

In that house - I questioned authority.

In that house - I discovered the lurid power of secrets and shame.

In that house - I witnessed the passing of my youth, my grandparents. 

When I return to that house finally, I will have to dismantle it.  And that fact looms. The reality of aging and loss seep through every seam and crevice of that damn stupid suburban ranch. Worse, I can never shake the ghost rattle of June's spirit.

So yeah, for this one trip -- we ditched Mom's.  We blithely called and said "Meet us there!!"

Of course, the irony is that when we walked up to the gathering in Davis Junction in front of the barn, I realized that my Grandmother's sister, my Aunt Marjorie, was sitting there.   

I almost jumped out of my skin.

Marjorie looks, sounds, breathes, and exudes so many similarities to June that it is damn near made me choke on the spot.  

I sat with her and marveled at the age spots on her arms; the tiny watchband. I would have cried except I knew she's have slapped or given me such a withering look. This tiny woman who buried her spouse of 60 years: months ago.

I simply sat and talked with her and her son as much as I could -- knowing it was a gift.  

  

Holy Fuck - Marjorie and June are almost the same person.  She stubbornly hauled her own chair as the party shifted and they asked us to move towards the tent. 87 and in 90 degree heat - she's have none it. "I can do it myself."   

Don't kid yourself.  Your gene pool lives on.  

But it is fleeting.

I am dumbfounded by the portal of time and history.  

I think there will be a journey home to Freeport in August.

It's time to rip open some of the mystery of why June and Marjorie had such a rift. 

I never saw my Mom hug June the way that she hugged Marjorie good-bye yesterday.

My Mom held her.  My mom is not a touchy/hugging type.  

It broke my heart to see them hold on to each other.  Uncle Jim gone.  Aunt Carole gone.

The last two Shoemaker women at 87 and 74, standing there in front of me.