Snapshots

    The phone call from home at 6:58 a.m. on a Monday morning rang with the intensity of an emergency. My help was needed and it was agreed that I would leave the following morning to go and give my assistance. The really sad part was that I hadn’t been home in over four years, what with starting college at the age of 47, raising my grandson, and coping with a failed 20 year marriage…I just hadn’t been able to squeeze the time out of my hectic schedule. Add to that, the fact that my poor old trusty truck is carrying 343,000 plus miles on her teal green body! Now, I was needed, not merely wanted but desperately needed. Daddy’s voice had belied that feeling. Even though I had seen my family many times since I left, this was different.

            I was calm as I backed out of my driveway and drove the half mile to highway 69, easing out into traffic; I started the two hour trek down south. This road held many memories for me that always pointed back to happier times in my life and marriage. The first 20 miles were smooth…then the memories started their attacks on me. It felt like I was holding a snapshot in my hand as vivid color pictures rained down over my body. There on the left is where a poor dog ran out in front of my truck. I was traveling at 70 miles an hour, headed to the lake (and my husband) for the weekend. Sarina, my daughter, was with me…she fell to tears at the impact and I steered the truck to the side of the road and a safe stop. The once black and white pooch was now covered in sticky red blood. We wrapped it in a towel that I had and pulled it out of the road, not wanting anyone else to desecrate what was left of someone elses pet. We went from house to house looking for the owners and finally we found them.          

A few miles further into my trip on the right hand side of the road was a business that sells wood carvings. They are done with a chainsaw, intricate pieces that are beautiful. Totem poles, busts of Indian chiefs, you name it, they have it. Our son, Patrick, loved these things and one day….my husband and I stopped to shop for one for a Christmas present. Clearly etched in my mind was the shot of us holding hands so lovingly as we searched for the perfect piece. The two of them don’t even speak to each other any longer. My pain was intense, like a fire raging in my brain with the flames trying to lick at the memory and burn the picture away. My tears were ample enough to keep the flames at bay though.

            As I continued on my drive, another picture came to mind. A young man so full of life as he taught me to shoot a bb gun and I, in my haste, shot him in the foot while trying my best to cock the damn thing. He still loved me though and he still continued to teach me…many things. I felt so unbearably bad. Now he needed my help, things were backward. This wasn’t right, it didn’t make sense, and the tears flooded me…

            I finally managed to make it to my destination, home at last…and I cried when I saw all the damage that had been wrought by the badass hurricane that tore up everything it could touch. My old home place looked like a foreign land, my beloved trees where gone, only their bases were left and even at that, they were laying on their sides in my front yard…bereft of all life. Some how, this was fitting with the reason that was bringing me home…life changes whether we want it to or not doesn’t it?

            I pulled into the driveway of my dad’s house and climbed down out of my tired old truck. Knocking on the door brought both anticipation and pain at the same time. Going into the house where I grew up intensified my anxiety yet there was joy there also. With no time to spare, we got in the car and went to the doctors appointment; as I gazed into the back seat more memories and snapshots blew through my mind. He was bent and grayhaired now, it just didn’t seem possible but it was true. When we got to the doctor’s office I went in with him, he needed me to make sure the doctor understood the gravity of this situation. As they x-rayed his curved back and bent legs, I stood there holding his hand and reassuring him that all would be fine; he squeezed my hand back and looked at me with love in his faded brown eyes. My tears now fell only on the inside so that I wouldn’t upset him even more than he already was. His independence was gone, his glory days passed, and it was almost more than I could stand.

            Back home, as we tucked his shriveled body into bed, I was still wondering where all his life went. I kissed the top of his balding head and caressed his fears into sleep, he rested then. I turned to my dad, who was standing behind me, and asked, “how does one accept this, my baby brother looks older than you daddy…”. Daddy looked so worried but he was so thankful that I knew what to do for Kenneth. I told daddy that I would be here as often as I could and to call me anytime. I also told daddy that if need be, I could and would move Kenneth in with me. I would love to have him here.

            On the way back to my home, black and white snapshots of the two of us playing as children played in my head. I remember each one of them as they were taken, so full of promise, life,…so full, now so empty. My tears bled into the pictures and blended them into what I saw today, a collage of memories, of pain, of sadness, and yet…a minute piece of hope. I will find the best doctors for him, the best care…and I will go home more often now.