It’s hard to describe being back home again. “Whirlwind” comes to mind. Exhaustion is another adjective. Intertwined, another. Complicated a fourth.
As the 4th nears, so does the rest of my extended family, as if beckoned by some silent internal devices - telling them it is time to come home. As is common with my family, the more bodies that are up here, the more frantic the pace - everyone running around frenetically ’til we are all spent, sitting around a table at Jan’s wondering what the hell happened.
There are upsides and downsides to the gatherings; they mix and mingle interchangeably with no prior warning. Yesterday, sitting at my newlywed cousin’s house we laughed so hard that J later said her cheeks hurt. I don’t remember feeling that way without those girls, hysterical as we pored over old photo albums and laughed at our 80’s hair - even though it’s probably been 15 years since we all sat together last…it was like no time had passed at all.
As we age, so do our bodies. The rest we stubbornly hang on to. I am always conscious of our personal limitations. I glance from face to face; trying to gauge when it is time to go. When it has been too much for us. I try not to think about how much has changed since we ran around in the dark up on the trestle, racing past the haunted house, chasing the lightning bugs.
Even though I know I will be physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted by the end of this trip, I think it is well worth it. Those moments on the couch and in each other’s company that make me feel 13 again are my fountain of youth.
