I hardly ever make it up to the place where I grew up, usually just Christmas time, because weekends aren't what they used to be for us, and besides, my parents mostly come here. I miss it sometimes, but I'm not sure what I really miss because so much of what I remember isn't actually there. Only the three-family apartment building where I was raised and my parents and maternal grandmother, really. And the best junky American-Chinese food I've had in my life - I mean seriously, there's no reason a place that good should exist in the middle of nowhere. Eggrolls to die for. But nostalgia is so tricky. I'm glad I no longer live there, I love my current location, but I like having the option to return at will, even though I usually leave with a lingering smack of sadness.
Two weeks ago this time I was getting excited because my siblings and I were planning to go home for the weekend, just because. We thought maybe we'd be able to visit Memere in the hospital while we were up there, or even at my aunt's house if she was able to be released. And then Thursday night, while my car--packed with Mike and HR--was on its way to retrieve me at work and get on the road, I got the call about Memere. And the tone and length of the visit completely changed.
Being there for so long gave me a chance to get out and about, to see what was really different, and it was an eye-opener. For one, the "downtown" area, with the florist that could barely accommodate our order for the funeral because there were so many concurrent funerals, and not much else besides empty storefronts. There's a rather wonderful and successful new-ish restaurant, and the sports bar that seems to be doing well, but otherwise, just whoa.
Friday night, my sibs and Mike and I left HR with his grandmother and decided to get some food and tiki drinks at the aforementioned Chinese joint. That was when we were all pretty much numb from shock, and just needed something to do, so we did. It was virtually unchanged, and the good food and alcohol and company seemed to be just what we needed. I ran into Niki's mom there too, which was the epitome of bittersweet.
Afterward we hit up the Friday Night Lights, the last home game of the season for the football team, because our dad is the announcer, and I haven't been to a game in I don't know how long. And it was downright shocking to see how few people were there. I know the team's not having the best season, but holy moly, twenty years ago you couldn't get a seat in either team's stands, and walking around the track while the game went on was sort of the thing to do if you were a teenager. Not so much anymore. I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise.
Later in the weekend I went out for a run and was floored by how few sidewalks there were. Didn't there used to be more sidewalks? Did I just never notice because I had no idea there was an alternative? And why in the world was the yearbook from senior year in high school the only reading material in the coffee room of the funeral parlor? At least my cousins got a kick out of that.
Still, even with the weird and depressing parts, even when my parents are able to move on, that place will always feel like home. Maybe the town will recover. Maybe the current population of young families will start to balance out the population in the cemetery. I just don't know. I have so many good memories from my younger days, but even as I was making them, I knew I wasn't meant to stay. It's just a place, and the people in my life are more important, geography be damned. But I can't completely separate myself from where I grew up. It is a part of who I was and who I became. And it's crazy how much power the idea of something can hold, even when held up next to the actual something.
Well. I probably won't be this emo forever. Probably.
Comments