The summer of summers had faded into fall. Trouble was everywhere if I wanted it to be. I was breaking the rules in so many ways as I stepped out of the shoes of a child and into a place where I felt shiny and new.
The winter cold kept me close, and the old steam radiators tapped and banged, producing heat and a cadence, just like they did for the last 68 years. We were mobile again after being stuck for two years. I turned to the nighttime stratosphere to find my friends, and there they were, although it was clear that the times were changing, and the tide was going out.
Our house and the one before it have been a hub for many years now. It was nice to have people around us. It had been four years since we moved to this town nestled in a valley in the northwest hills. In the 1700s, it was called Mast Swamp. In the 1800s, New Orleans Village and Wolcottville. In 1887, the village was incorporated as Torrington, a name given to it back in 1732 after Great Torrington, England. In the 1970s, it was impossible not to have the robust history of this naturally quarantined town seep into your pores.
At first, we did alright, but a year and a half in, the wolves found us. They moved in, coexisting with us, making life somewhat of an amusement park ride. It was bright and fun. I thought I was old enough to understand everything that was going on, but really, I could not. Spending half a decade here implied we would always be here. Nothing else seemed possible.
It was at an age when someone like me had to play the hand I was dealt. The people around me molded me into who I was, who I wanted to be, and who I might become. Tied to a table in the kitchen, taking in the vices of others with a healthy dose of smoke, and living on the wrong side of everything. I was still who I was, and I could say, weren't we all.
We fled in the winter to our third home in the city in the valley. It would be our last one here. It is funny how the world can be so different when you just cross the street. Now childhood was essentially ending. Morning conversations in the presence of a red aluminum percurelator and the sweet kiss of fall, new love, music, and affliction. It all came together like a congealed central explosion of textures.
As the early sun set, I knew my friend would be flying over the houses in the valley in the darkness. I spun the rope of a lasso and pulled her down into the light of my hibernation. I could tell she had aged, too, even though I had considered the whole timeline of her life; our relationship was a small moment. I didn't know this was the swan song of the things I'd taken for granted.
I was understanding everything, or so I thought, but adulteries were burning like little fires all over the perimeter. Some I witnessed painfully, and others were hidden just beyond the lens of my youth.
The winter had been long and hard. The spring in the final year had just begun, but something happened. We were riding high on the wave when something stationary, just below the surface, contacted us, throwing us into the cold depths. The storm troopers knocked on the door and told us it was time to evacuate. There was nowhere to go. We were falling, and there was no rescue.
As I look back on this, I have questions. The one prominent question was: What happened to the foundation of our family that allowed this? There was a relationship happening at this time, a pretty serious one, and yet, we were allowed to fall. It took me 46 years to figure this out. To say I thought I knew is ridiculous.
We stayed tight. A great woman stood up tall with the power of her blood, sweat, and tears. I wish I could tell her today how much that meant to me. So many years had to pass before I could see how incredibly strong she was, and the bravery and tenacity of what she did. I hear echoes on the wind. She was thankful that this was in her power. But I know that she always had this power because it was a flame within her heart she could never extinguish. No matter what the world was or what it could deal, she would do what she needed to do.
It is funny how everything that starts with me or someone else in my family can be traced back to my Grandmother's incredible strength. What a human being she was. Like all of the things we lament today. The world used to be filled with giants. These were wonderful people who always put others first. When they got cuts and callouses from giving themselves fully, they were grateful to be able to do so. I have no words but only to say: Thank you. It really made a difference in our lives. Any success we see today finds its origins in the love you showed.
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