My Grandmother's House: A Trip to the Past
BY JUDITH FRASER, MA, MFT
Judith is a licensed family therapist in private practice and specializes in creative, holistic therapy with individuals and couples. You can reach her by e-mail or at (323) 656-9800.
Grandmothers provide fodder for stories, quotes and jokes.
"Do you know where Grove Avenue in Petersburg is?," the lost me asked a scowling store clerk at a buy-everything-fast kind of store a few miles out of that Virginia city.
I had driven from Washington D. C. so I could visit my late Grandmother's house. Even though all of her family died years ago, a voice in my dreams kept prompting me back.
Aunt Margaret, my mother's sister, had taken me on a train ride from Detroit, Michigan, to stay with my Grandmother's sister, Great Aunt Mary, when I was ten years old. Fifty years ago. Half a Century. It was the first time I realized there was a world beyond the suburbs of Detroit.
"I'm from Los Angeles," I said, still waiting for his answer. " I only have today."
As a child we had moved from Michigan, to Oklahoma, Texas, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and finally California. Our roots were spread thin.
"Don't go to Petersburg," the man behind the counter cautioned, finally breaking his silence. I've lived here 13 years. I don't like people there. It's dangerous."
Do I need a gun ? A knife? Pepper Spray? Is there a war going on in that mysterious city that keeps calling me back? Are the thirty thousand rebels buried at Blandford Cemetery arising from their graves to protect their families from the North? Am I from the North now? Or still considered of Virginia stock?
My hands reached deeply into the pockets of my warm coat. Nothing was there to protect me but a loose safety pin. Something I try to keep for emergencies, like a torn seam, not an attacking villain. I spied a map of the city above some candy bars. Took $1.35 out of my purse. And quickly put it on the counter.
I headed back towards the city. Alerted by the storekeeper's words, I locked the doors and put myself into my hyper-alert mode.
Visitors Center, a sign read as I neared the middle of town. 1815. "Kin ah hep you?" A friendly voice called out as I walked in.
Startled, I looked straight into the eyes of a dark skinned young woman. She wasn't wearing a gun, or wielding anything dangerous, other than a warm smile. I spread my map out on the counter in front of her and asked if she could help me find my way. She knew where everything was in Petersburg and easily pointed me in the right direction. Strange, how getting the right person for the right question can make such a difference.
I parked the car in the 200 block and began to walk slowly toward my Grandmother's house. I wondered how many times she and her family had stepped on the same bricks that lay underneath my feet.
The houses were a mishmash of different styles. Some were big, some small. Some had signs above the windows. Combination home-shops. I pressed my nose against the empty shop windows, one at a time, trying to peer in, to catch a glimpse of what used to be. Did my Grandmother buy bread at this grocery store? Did Aunt Mary have meat cut at this Butcher Shop?
"278," stood quietly across the street. It too was empty. Boarded up. I had hoped to talk to the present owners, revisit the rooms and find something that felt incomplete inside of me. But, now, I was locked out. "Oh, Gramma, how could I have not known that our time together would come and go so quickly," I whispered to the wind. "I have so many questions and no one to ask." The front porch was a shambles of broken wood and fallen brick. My breath stopped. I swallowed hard. A black dog started to bark. He paced nervously back and forth in front of the vacant house. A protector of the dead. Cautiously, I moved forward. The dog retreated.
"It looks like you've been empty a long time," I said, reaching down to run my hand over one of the loose bricks that lay beside the cracked boards on the front porch. Slowly, I walked to the side of the house and looked up at the second floor window. "It had a feather bed," I said to the wind, enjoying the sparks of memory exploding inside of me. "I felt like,The Princess and the Pea. Only there wasn't a pea. There wasn't anything hard under the mattress or in any other part of the house."
Suddenly, I was there. Back in time. Ten years old. Sinking into that big, feather bed. "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight." I closed my eyes real tight, like I always did when trying to make something come true, and beamed my wish up to that first star. "Make this trip last forever."
I rubbed my hands together till I could feel the friction. Brought them up to my mouth. And blew out . When I'd gathered enough heat, I crossed them over my chest. And folded the memory into my heart. I walked around to the back yard. My old playground. It was filled with tall, green grass. I ran my hand across the top of the thin blades. Then breathed in the sweet smell.
"Ready, steady, go!" A child's voice yelled, at the far end of the lawn. I looked up to see ten year old me dig her toes into the Earth and race towards a turning jump rope.
"One, two, three, O'Larry; four, five, six, O'Larry," the children on each end of the rope sang as they made circles in the sky. "I'm here," I whispered. "All around here. But, I'm the same age I was on my childhood visit."
"Super's ready, yall," Aunt Mary called from the back porch. "Yall, come in now, ya heah?" I walked toward the back door. Climbed up the two short steps onto the porch. Reached out my hand for Aunt Mary. But, she was gone. I pushed my shoulder against the door. It was locked.
"Dangerous," the man at the store had said. "It's dangerous in Petersburg." A cool breeze brushed my cheeks. I looked up to see if the trees were blowing in the wind. They were still. I crossed my arms over my chest and quickly took in a few shallow breaths. "We're still heah," a voice called out. I shook my head. Looked around to see if someone else had walked into the yard. Hoping that there was some reason for the voices. Something logical.
A Crow flew out from one of the trees nearby. Someone once told me that Crows gather together, like family. They continue to meet on the same tree limb for generations. My eyes followed the flight of the Crow. At the far end of the yard, something started to move. Shadows of light and dark shimmered through the air like waves of electricity.
It was . . . my Petersburg family. Gramma, Aunt Mary, Uncle Tom, and some others I didn't even know . I stood frozen. Unable to move. Watching. Listening. Wondering what all this was about. Why is this happening to me?
Light drops of rain started to fall from the sky. I could see them gently making their way from the clouds, down to Earth. I opened my mouth. Wet, sweet, ageless water landed on my tongue. Then it came. The answer. Like a bolt of thunder.
"You're right. A part of you has been stuck here. A part of you is us. All of us who settled this land long before you were born. All of us who came after. We've been holding the only part we knew of you, the ten year old, waiting for you to come back."
"You want me to stay here?" I whispered as I slowly turned one way, then another. Searching for the face that would match the voice.
"No, we want you to take us with you."
"How do I do that?" I mumbled.
"Put us in your heart. Know your connection."
I stood still. Listening. Waiting. Confused, and clear. Quiet, but filled with words. Apprehensive, but willing.
Slowly. One by one. They walked into me. My Grandmother. My Great Aunt Mary. My Uncle Tom. And others I'd never even seen before. Young faces and old, dark and light, all became a part of me. Love caressed my skin. Courage shot through my veins. Strength flowed into my hands. Compassion streamed into my soul.
Then, I knew. I knew why I had been drawn back to this place. The man at the store was right. It was dangerous. But, only for those who would pull away from the gift of their personal history.
I drove to Blandford Cemetery. The rain was falling harder than before. I watched as it washed the dust from some of the old headstones.
"Thank you," I said. "For living and dying. And building a path, for me."
As I walked away I knew that no matter where I went. Or what I did. I was not alone. A whole tribe went with me. I had gotten my childhood wish. This trip to my Grandmother's house was going to last forever.
©2002, Judith Fraser, MA, MFT |
