Comfortable and familiar - a wheelbarrow of memories and a lilly for Granny...

 Today's one of those mornings that there just isn't enough coffee. Three cups in and looking for my fourth. A day I'm not looking forward to and wish I didn't have to face. Turning on the radio isn't helping. I'm so tired of country music. I find myself awakened by a haunting dream of tomorrow... not past mistakes, but a foreboding of what is to come. A dream of being released. The happiness of walking out the front gate... turning into the reality of the loss of so many people over the years of my tenure here. I find myself leaving a pit of despair to a world alone. The irony pinnacled by the fact that I've been incarcerated for robbery only to find myself being robbed of life itself. The memories. The experiences. The enjoyment of the family and friends that i so ignorantly took for granted. Hope evaporated as if a wisp of smoke. My image of a happy reunion was in fact just that; a dream which I realize now was merely false hope.

The hardest part for me - losing my mother and great-grandmother so close to my release. Unable to make amends. I will not be able to realize my goals and live the life that I know would gain their approval, much less provide contentment in their happiness for me. Although I will thrive in life and attain my goals they won't be able to see my hard work come to fruition - which is devastating. 

Since i learned of the new laws in Virginia and that I will be home soon, I've had dreams of just what I will be going home to. They start out the same... happy, hopeful, full of joy. On this particular journey I made one call to a loved one, only to remember she isn't mine nor ever was. Next - the walk home. Because my fictional phone stopped working I was thumbing a ride to my great-grandmother's. Somehow I found myself in my dads truck. We pulled into the high school parking lot - he didn't want to go home. I became agitated and began walking, leaving him and (I think) my brother behind. As I began walking he tried to stop me so I began to jog...

On the way, the weight of all the loss fell on me. I was no longer running home but rather running from pain. There was no Granny waiting at home. No mother. They had gone already and it was too late for me to make amends - to right my wrongs. My dream ended with a trip to the graveyard. I placed a hummingbird feeder with mom and planted a lilly for Granny...

So maybe a counter attack is needed. A remembering of yesterday. A good memory, not one of the grey foreboding skies that I see out of my window. Well one good thing, the fog has finally lifted. I realize how richly blessed I am with a wonderful family filled with love, loyalty, pride, tradition and good memories. My great-grandmother, in my eyes, was a truly wonderful beautiful strong woman. Even as a child she was old to me. She was 70 when I was born and lived to 102 even after having 23 kids. Wow! Talk about different times. I remember her 100th birthday when asked what she wanted - her response - "a wheelbarrow to get the damn wood in the house!" They don't make 'em like that anymore. Salt of the earth. Tough as nails.

She lived in a small one bedroom home with no indoor plumbing - always wore a long work dress with a nail apron around her waist - her grey hair in a bun with stick pins holding it in place. Her smell, like the dust of the wood stove - comfortable and familiar. My earliest memory of Granny Rorrer was her holding my hand in her front yard watching the men at work putting a new roof on her house. As we observed she casually looked down at me and said "boy, if I was still a man I'd be up there helping 'em". What?! you can't tell a child that... my next thought, which I shared later with mom, was that Granny was a witch! When I told my mother about Granny's revelation she laughed and said that Granny only meant when she had the strength of men. "Bull-crap mom." "Granny is a witch and used to be a man." "Why else does she wear a nail apron?" To make matters worse Granny was an herbalist. A true mountain woman. She would make medicines, teas and poultices from roots and herbs. On one of me and my brothers plundering expeditions at Granny's we snuck into the inner sanctum of her lair - her bedroom. What did we find? Ha! more evidence that mom was wrong and Granny had indeed confided her truth with me. We found bundles of dried roots and quartz crystals. Ingredients for her next spell of course that gave her power. Proof that she was indeed a witch and had turned from a man into a woman! All of this reinforced by the fact that the family graveyard was in Granny's backyard where I was sure she danced under the full moon...

Granny was also a midwife so I was witness to pregnant women coming to have their huge bellies rubbed by Granny's old wrinkled hands. She would tell them how the baby was sitting and what the sex was. Just more proof to a child that his great-grandmother was a 300 year old witch and could not only change her own sex, but that of unborn children as well. At least I knew then what spells and potions she brewed. I couldn't help but wonder - was I changed in the womb?  Worse yet - would she change me back? With these thoughts came a respect that was borderline fear. If you knew me as a child you knew that I was anything but well-behaved. I couldn't sit still. I had to plunder, explore, tear things apart. I would catch things on fire and just spearhead a wide berth of trouble that could only be compared to Sherman's raid of the south. But at Granny Rorrer's house, no ma'am, no way! At her house I'd sit my narrow behind on the edge of the nearest couch and not move. I would not make a sound and every reply was a prompt yes ma'am, no ma'am. I was quick to mind and quick to obey. 

I would even commit the ultimate demoralizing act of a young rebel - ask for permission. But even with the fear of what consequences could follow bad behavior, I loved and respected her. I hung on every word and wanted to learn as much about the old ways as possible. I think the reason I was so close to my Granny and Pawpaw was because of the way they accepted me. They grew up in a rougher time which ran more parallel with my behavior - their rough sided grandson. I have so many good memories and am truly blessed. I attribute my ability to see a future with the possibility of great having heard their stories of times with less than enough. Resilience is - in my case - genetic, not optional or an unavailable choice.