the end of many things
After getting a little lost on my way home and making some very frustrated calls to Married K who google mapped me some new directions, I was on my way. After a brief stop at mi casa to change and repack I was off again, this time with my friend Stac. We headed out to Harrison Twp. to catch up with the rest of the Bachelorette party, and after a painful couple of hours of small talk at my friend Justine’s house we headed out for a night of bar hopping: too much alcohol all around, too much drama—how is it that girls can always cry and pour their hearts out when we are supposed to be having fun?—and a very tired me curled up in the back of the limo bus as the bar was closing. Oh, yes, there were some fun moments in the night but I will leave those shameful stories for my journal.
And of course nights that end on those high notes never end there. We were a motley crew the next morning, stumbling—maybe still a little drunk—into Mickey D’s for a greasy breakfast before we flotsamed and jotsamed ourselves ready for the Bridal Shower. As if I don’t hate Bachelorette parties enough, let’s pair another one of my favorite (insert sarcasm here) wedding themed activities the day after.
Ugh. And my day didn’t end there. After Stac dropped me off at my house I changed again and headed out to my parents house, which is in its last throes as our home—though is a home really ever a home after the heart of it has broken? For a change I watched Monster Niece and Nephew while everyone else packed. Monster Niece and Nephew ran all over the yard and played; blowing dandelion seeds, plucking weeds out of the ground, digging in the dirt and rocks of the driveway. It is amazing how many memories and dreams are wrapped up in something as simple as a yard. How many things you don’t realize that you will miss; the way that the birds sing in the yard, the smell of your road and the wide open spaces; the way that no matter how many trees had fallen over time you can still find the nooks and crannies of the woods were you played as a child, where forts were built, fights were fought and lost and weapons were designed and used in mock battle.
I was unable to look around without seeing the orange lilies I had planted over a decade ago—the original 7 numbering over one hundred flowering plants; my Mom’s rose bushes and my Dad’s miniature evergreens; our sassafras tree whose leaves has been borrowed for school projects and stowed away in books, caught between sheets of wax paper; my Dad ‘s garden which he loved so much, the bed waiting to be churned with the thick heavy blades of the tractor now laying still. I was unable to go to my old bedroom and look out at my old view and not become a little sad. Even after I moved out and my room became the office I still owned that space and always was called to its seasonal views of green and robust spring and summer life, autumnal colors of far away forests and winter piles of soft downy looking snow.
And as we loaded the kids into the car, both Monster Niece and Nephew not wanting to leave “Jammie and Pop’s house,” as they call it, I knew exactly what they meant. I didn’t want to leave it either.