Anniversaries

Yesterday would have been my parents’ 57th wedding anniversary and it was also the date of the annual Taylor family reunion.  I have only been to one reunion since my parents died, and when I walked into the backyard of my aunt’s house and saw my dad’s two brothers sitting side by side, all I saw was my father’s face and all the tears that I stuff away every day bubbled to the surface.  So my big plan was to take my bag of paint and go work on a mural on the steps of a church downtown.  I wasn’t going to the reunion and I wasn’t going to mention anything about my parents to anyone.

This summer has been hot as hell, and I was prepared for a day of painting in the sun. I stopped at Walmart for some metallic green paint, then I headed for the church. I had  sunscreen, my painting clothes, a gallon of water,  brushes, and a plan.  I’d only been at the church long enough to brush the metallic paint along the edge of the river I had painted the evening before,  when the wind kicked up and raindrops started lightly sprinkling my head.  There’s some irony.  I’ve literally wished for rain, every moment, since May and the one day when rain is a little problematic, here it comes.  So I sat in the doorway of the church, wondering if I should seal the painting I’d done, but I figured that the rain probably would pass.  I calculated that if I painted all day, I could probably finish by dark.  Sure enough, the sprinkles passed, and I left the shelter of the doorway to get my backpack of paint from the truck bed.  Yeah, so I left the backpack on the porch.  At home.  Frustrated, I packed up my supplies and went back for the paint.

When I got there, Shayne was watering the flowers in the backyard and Darian was actually tidying up her room.  I was just about to leave with my paint when I noticed Mom and Dad’s wedding picture.  I walk by it everyday without even looking at it, but I stopped for a second and really took it in.  Mom didn’t have a big old wedding dress on, but she did have heels and white gloves.   She believed in marriage, but she never did understand that whole giant expensive wedding thing.  She always said, “Weddings should be small and simple.  Save the money for the honeymoon.”  And Dad is so young in that picture and he looks happy, like he is taking home the best party prize.  That’s how he always looked at my mother.  I kinda smiled and asked the kids if they wanted to take a quick trip to Springs to the family reunion.  Shayne had to work and I had to paint, but I figured we could dine and dash and I could see my family for a minute.

The first people I saw were my uncles, just like I knew I would, but this time it wasn’t painful.  It was just my uncles in their ball caps and their jeans like I’ve seen them wearing my whole life.  Both of them lit up when they saw me and I got hugs and kisses.  Their hands are big and strong, just like my dad’s were.  I said hi to everyone else and ate some great food and reminisced with my cousins about our amazing childhood and our fun times in the mountains as kids.  I mostly sat with my cousins Bea and Berta.  Bea and her husband, Faustin just celebrated their 44th wedding anniversary.  I was their flower girl.  I also stayed with them when I first moved to Alamosa and they came up to Springs during my cancer surgery.  Berta has always been more like my big sister than my cousin and it’s been a long time since I just sat with her and laughed.  These two women know things about me that no one else in the world does, and sitting with them was like taking a deep breath and remembering who I really am.

I got back to the church and my painting job with plenty of daylight, but really not enough time to finish what I needed to finish.  I texted James and asked if he would bring me a headlamp.  The church is off of Main Street on a quiet street, but there is a bar around the corner.  At night you can hear the music and the loud voices of people entering and exiting the bar.  There was also a young guy walking around shouting things at the top of his voice.  He’d been around in the morning and all evening while I painted.  At one time, he might have frightened me, but I know what it’s like to be around someone with voices in his head.  I know enough to be cautious, but I wasn’t afraid of him, mostly I felt sorry for him and hoped that he had somewhere to sleep.  Shayne was like that not long ago, and I’m grateful everyday that he is off the streets and the voices are at bay.   James sat on the steps and stayed with me until I was ready to go.  That’s love.  Presence. Patience.  Protection.  It made me think of my father.  Dad called James, “Jaime.”  He always nicknamed, or Spanish- named, the important people in his life.  James is the only man in my life that my father ever nicknamed.  It was his seal of approval.

Learning to celebrate and appreciate what I have, instead of what I’ve lost, is an ongoing battle.  Living in the moment instead of in my head is an on-going lesson.  But the more I practice, the more I realize that I haven’t forgotten how to laugh and love.  Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad.  Thank you for giving me the family that I have and being shining examples of devotion and strength.