I'm writing to you from a campground just off I-5 in Red Bluff, California. My parents lived not far from here, in the small Sierra foothill town of Grass Valley. I'd often drive from Seattle to see them, typically twice a year. It's about 750 miles. I'll visit them this trip, too, but, sadly, it will be in the cemetery where they rest. They both died in 2008.
It's a funny thing how our minds operate. Driving yesterday down I-5, as I have so many times before enroute to Grass Valley, I would feel at times like I was on my way to visit my parents who in my mind were somehow still alive. Of course I knew better. Crazy!
My visits always started the same. My father would keep his eye out for me as I got closer to his home. If I were in my motorhome he would direct me into a parking spot he had proudly created in his back yard. Then we would go into the house, where he, my mother and I would visit in the living room. My mother would always sit on the big couch and my father to her side in a blue, reclining easy chair. I would sit across the room on a smaller couch. It was special being with them. I could assume my role as "son." I know it made them happy to have me there.
As you know if you have lost your parents, their passing leaves a big void in your life that cannot be filled.
Yesterday, my mind kept tricking me, making me feel sort of warm and fuzzy at the idea of being with my folks. Maybe, even after six years, I am still in denial about them being gone. Perhaps you know the feeling.
In a couple of hours I will head back down I-5 to Sacramento to visit with friends from when I lived there. I'll drive to Grass Valley two or three days later to visit my parents' graves. I'll drive by their house, too, where there will be a strange vehicle in the driveway. My father's yard, which he would spend every spare minute tending to, will look run down compared to when he was there to tend it. I always drive away feeling a little sad, but I always drive by the house anyway.
You are lucky if you still have your parents. Treasure them. Have them tell you family stories. I have so many questions these days about my past that only my mother or father could answer. Sometimes I get mad at myself for not asking them more questions. But then I guess you can't think of everything, can you?
I so appreciated this essay, and know the feeling. I too always go by our home where we grew up, and it does feel odd to have strangers living there. My parents lived in the same house in Iowa all their married life (a home my dad built).60 some years, and I often wonder how they would view our "full time" RV lifestyle. Very different from their life, but very rewarding.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Chuck.
I use Google Earth to see the house where I grew up. My dad has been gone ten years now and I see the new owners have built a fence and keep the front yard nice. A tree that my former husband and I rescued from his front yard when the town was about to raze the block where he lived (we literally dug it up and hauled it over in the back seat of the Corvair convertible in 1968) and replanted in the hard caliche of West Texas, is still growing in the back corner of my childhood home. That little house brings back lots of memories, both good and bad...but seeing it always makes me miss my parents.
ReplyDeleteChuck, I remember you writing about your visits while your parents were still alive. As a young married couple who lived next to my parents I would anxiously watch for their return driving up from Rancho Mirage, CA every May in their Pinto station wagon or older Cadillac. One year I couldn't wait to show off our new daughter. My Mom hated to leave come Oct. and that beautiful baby. But my Dad couldn't wait to get back to the warmth of CA. We lived in Redondo, WA just south of Seattle. I like to picture them driving up.
ReplyDeleteOh, how this touched my heart. Just last week I visited my mom and dad's resting place to trim and place a Christmas cross. I had a good conversation with them and felt better - never thought, how dumb! Then I drove past our farm half expecting my dad to be standing at his workshop door in the old red barn. For the first time, the large front doors were missing and one end of the barn was starting to sag. I could see the old hay bales in the mow, half disintegrated. Talk about sad, I drove away crying. I sure miss the days when my mom and dad seemed to have magical powers to make everything alright! I thought about the applesauce that came from the apple trees still there, the persimmon pudding from the trees still there, the pawpaws from the trees still there; and I hope some little children are now experiencing the same - I hope.
ReplyDeleteMy parents died in 2007 and 2012. It took my sister and me a couple years to clean out their house of 50 years. Too many memories to toss away quickly. I too wished I had asked more questions years ago. My kids and grandkids are following the same path and too busy with their lives. So, I'm writing my life story now for them to read when the time is right . . . on their schedule.
ReplyDeleteGood article! I'm so glad someone else feels the same about parents who are gone..but not forgotten! I was fortunate enough to have my Mom with us for her last few years. We had such fun, traveling and seeing things through her eyes. And we talked, about everything we could think of. I asked questions about things that had always puzzled me and got answers. That made all the difference when her time came to go on to the next life. She is in Heaven with her parents & maybe my dad but that's not for certain. She left as she wanted to go, with family all around. And it was alright. I still miss her tremendously and wish I could pick up the phone & talk to her. Thanks for your journal post.
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