Homecomings, and lots and lots of people

I’m on the slippery side of the hill now, and reminiscing seems to be an occupational hazard.  After we lost my dad, three aunts, and two uncles in less than a year starting in November, 2004 (Aunt Irene) and ending with Uncle Sam (September, 2005), I started making a concerted effort to see the aunts and uncles that were still alive.  It’s not something I try to lord over anyone (except for including it in this story and bringing it up more times than people care to hear!), it’s more of a penance.  When Aunt Irene died, I could not remember the last time I had seen her; when Aunt Edith died, I could not remember the last time I had seen her….you get the picture.  These two women lived within five minutes (or so) of my mother, their sister, and I had been to Muskogee on a regular basis to see my parents, yet had not seen them.  So, after all those deaths, I made a commitment to myself to visit with my remaining aunts and uncles on a regular basis.  And, so far, I have been doing a pretty good job of it.

At some point, I kind of wondered why, why did I find it necessary to set my self this goal?  (As a cousin on my dad’s side remarked once, “Mike, you think too much!”)  What came to mind was the vast, sprawling “cousin-ins” we would have when we “returned” to Oklahoma from wherever we had been.  Family was important to Mama Carr and her daughters.  They would make substantial efforts to get together when all eight of them were going to be there – Aunt Ruth from Montana (before and during the Interstate era), Aunt Lucille from Corpus Christi, Aunt Irene from Pecos, Big Spring, Texas and other places.  The result would be Carr-Fest, a phenomena known and fondly remembered by those of us who got to participate in it.  Aunt Lucille taking away our hard-bought firecrackers but leaving cherry bombs because she thought they were candy (and we were not going to educate her!); exploring the cavernous three-story (third story being the huge attic) house Mama Carr had out on the west side of town (remember “Thank goodness the old house is still standing!”?); chickens and a horse and a cow, and a garden (you have to remember we were East Coast boys – Maryland, New Jersey, etc.).  There were hard feelings at times, there was much discipline at others.  But through it all, I remember a sense that I now realize is “family” — didn’t matter if they thought you were a snot-nose, smart-aleck kid – you were a nephew, therefore part of the family.  As part of a “nuclear” family bouncing from place to place, I experienced dislocation; for whatever reason, my father was not particularly close to his family in Kentucky, so Oklahoma was where we went to “go home.”

Those aunts and uncles have been a part of my world for as long as I can remember; they were there for me, for us.  Today, I try to be there for them.  Home is where the heart is.

James Michael Rush