milo E minderbinder's little corner

Home?

I do admit that I have a tendency to always over-analyze things, put them in some sort of perspective, and make sense of the big picture. While things rarely work out so perfectly in the end, I find this sometimes futile process theraputic (and maybe even "self-righteous" -> hey to McLaine and Ficali McDollar!). Ok, so now .... I'm going to get a little serious.

I knew going down to Alabama last week that my grandmother had been sick. High blood pressure, extreme fatigue, loss of appetite, for example, were not normal symptoms of my - believe it or not - extremely healthy 91 year old gradma. She had sounded a little older on the phone, she had the same questions more than once, and she claimed she can't do housework anymore. Milo, being the eternal optimist, chalked this up to "granny talk" and figured she would be good ol' granny when I saw her.

Alas, when we finally went over she was in most ways, good ol' granny. She was dressed up that first day, smiling and laughing, but she didn't get out of the chair. When we left, my dad said that's the best she's looked in a long time.

"Grandson therapy!", I proudly noted in my head. Gets 'em every time.

The next time was different though. She started off strong again, but seemed to get tired quickly. She thought I was my uncle for several minutes, even saying in between sentences that her memory is just not there.

"No granny, I wasn't born when your mom died. That was Uncle Jim," I tried to politely point out.

Then on Thanksgiving day, we were going to my Uncle's for traditional T-day lunch, and when we arrived, I found out that Granny couldn't make it because she didn't feel up to it.

"Wow," I thought, something's not right.

My brothers and I saw her and Grandad a couple more times and she was back and forth. For a few minutes she was in high spirits, and then "Granny" would go away. It was ok though, because I knew she was really enjoying our company. But today, as I came by, alone, for the last time before leaving town, it was different. For the first time since I had been home, she came to the door instead of Grandad. She just walked so damn slow. I swear it took her 20 seconds to walk 10 feet. I could only stay for 10 minutes or so, so it was a quick visit to say goodbye. As I was leaving she started crying and I didn't want to look her in the eye. I didn't want to see what I'm afraid of. So I hugged her and told her to take care of herself, and I'll see them both soon. I hope that comes true.

Ok, going back in time a few minutes - before I came to my grandparents' house to say goodbye - I took a drive by my old house. It's only 2 blocks from my grandparents, so it was an easy detour.

3007 17th Avenue was the house I moved into when I was 11, and that my mom kept until last year. It was the house we grew up in. It was our home. Every time I came home late, drove home from college, or came from the airport - this driveway was the first one I pulled into. Mom was always home and my room was always there. Down the stairs, last door on the right. How ya doin old friend?

When I drove down the hill today though to look at our house, I got a creepy feeling though. I saw someone else in OUR yard doing MY yardwork. They were blowing leaves - just like we used to do. They had tools in the shed - just like we did. And they had the living room blinds open - just like we always did. Except it wasn't us and it was totally different. What could I do though? It now was their house, and I had to get to my grandparents.

So as I left my grandparents' house 15 minutes later I took an extra long look at them on the porch waving goodbye - just in case - and drove towards Florence. And with a tear in my eye, as I turned onto Hatch Boulevard, it hit me ...

Driving down a road I've driven down a million times, leaving the houses I've driven away from my entire life - I realized, or maybe just admitted for the first time, that home wasn't "home" anymore. My mom already left, most of my friends too, and my grandparents will inevitably going soon as well. What was this place? I was just a stranger visiting times I used to know. So then and there came that damn melancholy feeling I can't seem to shake lately.

As I was pondering on the loss of "home" though, I flipped on the radio and tuned it to my old favorite country station. The song that was playing wasn't some lame ass new country tune though. It was a cheesy old country song that came out when I was about 16 years old, and I thought about Brad and I driving in his T-topped yellow Camero, making fun of the lyrics while singing along to every word.

It felt good that I still remembered every word - and it felt great to still sing along.

When I came to the redlight by the empty TVA parking lot, I instinctively remembered the timing and peculiarities of this light, and knew I didn't have to come to a complete stop. And as I coasted through that intersection, singing along to a 12 year old country song, I somehow shook that melancholy albatross for the moment ...

"Hmmm." I sighed.

"It was good to be home."

posted by miLo @ 9:27 AM