It will probably be a nostalgic and bittersweet drive this weekend. There are certain elements of the route that I have come to recognize, even take for granted. We'll see dozens of Biggby Coffee advertisements without a Starbucks in sight. We'll pass through the maze of Grand Rapids traffic knowing that once we get to Fifth Third Field (home of the West Michigan Whitecaps) we've already missed the good food exits. We'll hit the stretch through Evart, past the corner where I changed a flat tire, and finally turn onto Gladwin Rd by the old Spike Horn place. I'm saddened that these are some of my more vivid recent memories from visiting Gladwin.
I guess most of my memories of Gladwin are more frozen in time. This picture of Sam and Grandma almost ten years ago is still how I picture her. I barely recognize Sam, but that's how Grandma looks to me, in my mind, with her beautiful white curls and the sharp, bright twinkle in her eyes as she laughed. It's a place that perpetually stays in that state. In some ways, my mind still believes that Grandpa is there, too, and the house on Anchor Street is still their home, and Grandma has something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Just inside the door, all of Grandpa's old hats are on the hooks, and around the corner you'll find a bookshelf filled with Biblical commentaries and some of their favorite new releases. The old board games are still in the coffee table behind the sliding doors with their yellow velvet lining. Their simple red stockings are hung up on the fireplace, and it smells of eucalyptus from the hand-made arrangement on the wall. The anniversary clock still chimes every fifteen minutes on the piano behind pictures of all of the kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids. The floor in the dining room still slopes to one side just a little bit and creaks underfoot. The collectible plates and the painting of a barn and field in a windstorm are still hung on the dining room walls, and the little walking duck toy still sits in the corner propped up against the china cabinet, where Grandpa left it after chasing one of the little ones around the living room. There are still crayons in the little cupboard below the window, and we'll find a few unbroken pieces for coloring. In the kitchen, I’ll stop and look at the bulletin board of photos to see who I still recognize. They are the same faces that have smiled back for years. Uncle Mike is still there. In one photo, we're all wearing our Michigan shirts and posing for the camera at Indiana Dunes. In another, we're all dressed up and celebrating Grandpa and Grandma's 40th anniversary. I'll go up the uneven stairs, with the brown striped carpeting to my dad's childhood bedroom. His old telescope and a poster of a Saturn rocket are still there, and I'll probably spend a few minutes making sure I can find Grandpa in his old Navy photo up on the wall. The Carrom board is probably tucked behind the dresser in the other bedroom, which was always much brighter. Coming back down, I'll check to see if there's a 2-liter bottle of Faygo Rock & Rye in the laundry room pantry. There is candy- a small jar of red hots in the kitchen, and going back through the dining room, an ornate crystal bowl filled with tooth-shattering hard candy. After a nice visit, we'll pack our things, and Grandma will be smiles and tears as we get in the car to leave. She never could say goodbye.
Everything there is frozen in time. This is where they are- where they have always been. My memories of them are tied to the feeling of this place.
Of course, none of this is there now. This place only exists in my mind. It’s the end of a generation, when our extended family now rolls up to my parents, aunts and uncles. Our sons’ memories will be rooted in new traditions, new games, and new places with their own sights, sounds, and smells. I am thankful for my own memories, and a few precious photos that allow me to see with my eyes what I feel in my heart.
We’re going to see Grandma one more time. We’ll smile as we gather together one more time to remember her. We’ll say goodbye one more time, and this time when we leave, we’ll be the ones who can’t hold back the tears.
