It is because of my two nephews, two uncles, two cousins and father-in-law- because of both my grampas, my gram and of course my father who loved a good Army story, that I celebrate the work of veterans. It is for the great-grandfather I never met, and the great, great, great, great-uncle, and for the great, great, great, great, great, great-grandfather, who served this county, even before its inception that I take the time to write. My family members have served in all branches of the military save the Coast Guard, and have served in nearly every major war and police action since the Revolution. My father-in-law used his time in the Navy, after Korea, but long before Vietnam, as his path to citizenship. One grandfather left high school to join the Navy during WWII, and the other was in the Navy for WWII, but would reenlist in the Army for Korea. My father believed the world was ending once, but it was only a test. And my grandmother, she joined during the War because “somebody from the family had to”.
For Gram service to country was as easy as that, barely a second thought. I don’t know that in the entirety of my life I have ever met a person with more patriotism than her. When at her funeral, the service members played taps, folded her flag, and handed it to my grandfather with the thanks of a grateful Nation, I couldn’t help but think that more than the eulogies said by me, or my aunt, or any one of the three ministers who officiated my gram’s service, that this this gesture, this was the most fitting and touching of all the tributes paid to her.
. . .All is well, safely rest,
God is nigh.
Ten days after I got back to MA, ten day after my dad’s memorial service, the message came that Gram was about to pass. And for eight weeks, I had thought I was going to be okay with that message, that after everything we had gone through – I was going to be okay with that message. But I wasn’t, and ten days after I had been home in MA, I was packing up and heading to CT. Again.
-there about fourteen stories I have to tell you in this one post to get to the ending, so please hold on, I’ll get there.
When Papa was in the hospital – I had a lot of new CT area code numbers in my phone. And one day when I meant to dial my mother – I dialed my grandfather. Read the rest of this entry
“Normal things make you feel normal,” my Mom said that to me in the middle of a panic attack one night. I was in Boston, she was home. We were connected through a hundred miles by a phone line. ” ‘Normal things make you feel normal’, Gram said that to me once in the middle of the only panic attack I think I ever had”.
Dinner. Pull out all the stuff, work like the French chefs do. Mise en place. Everything in its place. Pretend that everything isn’t out-of-place. Read the rest of this entry
three inches of snow. yay. temperature at 11:35, 29°
I grew up in many places. Many houses. It is who I am, a woman of a house that was built into a side of a hill, a woman of a small home on a lake, a woman of a lofted apartment, but mostly, I am a woman made out of my grandparents house.
Their house was set on just barely two acres of land born from my great-grandfathers farm. When you stand at the end of the driveway you can imagine, between the cars that travel the highway of route 74, what it was like when the sun set at the farm, how the land must have look in the spring when it smelled of earth and new. Read the rest of this entry