I’ve been thinking of that wedding dress all day. And not surprisingly, those wedding day dreams turned to thoughts of my family. My mother died two years ago today. I haven’t been home since her memorial service. I hate that town, but I love my family. They are quirky and unique, by which I mean, a little bit crazy. But they are the only family I’ve got.
I’ve always felt like a bit of a proverbial black sheep. I’m almost the only person in my family to leave the Pacific Northwest. Mostly when someone leaves it’s for military service, and they almost always come back. My mom’s side of the family used to go on a big camping trip together every summer, but I could never go because I always had dance commitments. I am one of the few people in my family to go to college, and the only person that I know of who studied the arts. I always felt a little bit like an outsider. That’s not to say that I didn’t feel loved, just that I didn’t fit in.
But I feel confident that if I did go back to my hometown tomorrow, I would be welcomed with a large collection of the best hugs imaginable. I’m pretty sure there would be a big dinner. Grandma Pat would make macaroni salad for me. All my cousins kids would run around Grandma Onie’s house making noise and causing trouble, just like we did when we were kids.
There is no way I could ever live in Kennewick again, and I think my family has given up on the idea by now. But I miss them. I hope that they’ve been reading my blog and checking out my pictures on Facebook. I hope that they know that I love and appreciate them. I hope that they are at least a little bit proud of me. I hope they know how grateful I am for helping to shape me into the woman I’ve become.