losing my people

My parents drove into town on Friday this week, and were witness to the fact that I hadn't done much since I returned home from my trip. Primarily, there was no food in the house, as I'd survived on lunches bought at work by eating half and bringing the rest home for dinner. So we went to dinner at Fabiano's last night (dad's favorite place), and we had a lovely meal, coincidentally, with lots of take out.

My parents are gone now. They were stopping to leave their dog with me on their way to Savannah. Specifically on their way to Port Wentworth. This city, located in Chatham County, has long been the sleepy suburb of sleepy Savannah. Normally, this would be a perfect time for a visit. Not too hot yet, the tree-lined sidewalks around historical squares are invitations to stroll and a classic education in architecture. Federal style at the Davenport House. Georgian at the Olde Pink House restaurant. Gothic Revival over on Harris Street at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. You can see Italianate and get a bit of the morose at the Mercer House, now made infamous by "The Book." The Owens-Thomas House is Regency. The Cotton Exchange is Romanesque Revival. The Hamilton-Turner is French Empire.

And on and on. Bonaventure Cemetery. The Tybee Lighthouse. Kevin Barry's pub on River Street. City Market. Anna's Little Napoli. Johnny Harris BBQ.

But they aren't going for a visit of this nature. My parents are going to visit family. My last living great aunt has been sent home from the hospital. Hospice has been contacted. Her body has been attacked by cancer. Yesterday, she stopped eating because some of it has metastasized in her esophagus, occluding all but the softest of foods. In utmost practicality, mom and dad are going there to see her while she can still recognize family, and I will wait for the funeral.

So I am here, dog sitting, while my grandmother's last sister dies. She is surrounded by family, because she was surrounded by family all her life. She and my grandmother lived as newlyweds in the house where her life will end. My grandfather would have died in that house if my aunt hadn't run down the street to the dentist, who was the only person in the neighborhood with a car. With it, they were able to transport him to the Railroad Hospital. She did this despite the fact that he'd been shot by the husband of a woman he was fooling around with. I think she still wonders if she did the right thing by her sister in saving the man.

I wonder at times like now if the reason I like history is because my own connection to family is so fragile. I didn't settle down early. I didn't marry and begin a family. To people like Aunt Helen, who did exactly that, I haven't Started My Life. In some ways, I agree with her. Who will surround me when I reach her age? Will the house I end my life in hold my history as hers does? It seems unlikely. My house is where I live, and It's certainly cheerful enough - I've put my signature on it, as I could do anywhere. But is it a home?

I think that's why I like oldy moldy historical towns like Savannah. I think it's why I like town centers like Longmont, and feel uncomfortable in places where the old town center has been replaced with shopping malls and pavement. I need a place with roots, to balance the roots I've neglected to set down myself. History is the family I've neglected to grow. And it's a bit ironic that I'm wistful of having roots at the same time that yearning for something new is driving me to prepare for a change in digs.

But maybe not. What I want is a new place of my choosing, not the best situation to be found in a move for my job. The truth is, large close family isn't a reality for me. I'm an only child and there's nothing I can do about that. But I can spend the rest of my life wishing I lived in the mountains while I could enjoy them, or I could live in the mountains while I can enjoy them. I can wish I lived near Main Street and walked to work and knew my neighbors, or I could make it happen. I could wish for a life I enjoyed, or I could make one happen.

My trip answered questions for me. It helped make the future real for me. But in losing my last great aunt, I can take new stock in WHY these changes are important to me. I want roots. And I can choose where to set them.

--Laura