A week ago today, I left Kentucky.  It has taken me that long to process all that I experienced from my trip back home again – and yes, it is my home – and I know that I am still not finished chewing on that particular issue.  I knew when I planned the trip that it would change my life.

I think part of the reason I have hesitated to start putting my feelings into writing is that I do not have the talent to pay honor and justice to what I feel.  In pixels, it will look like so much less than what it actually is and I was/am not prepared to have to reduced down in any way.  I will, however, try.

This is going to likely be  a very, very long post.

This situation reaches back over time, in some ways so far I can’t even trace it.  It’s best that I just pick a spot and get moving with the story at hand.  Since I left Kentucky in 1978, I have not been particularly close to my family.  My mom and dad relied on me a great deal to take care of the family because mom was sick so often and dad worked a lot of the time and when he didn’t work, he was very invested in gender roles and not excited about cooking or cleaning.  When I left in 1978 to marry Paul, it was seen as a betrayal of sorts and they didn’t just mourn my moving away, they essentially mourned my exit from the family.

When he and I would go back to Ky, it was always extremely awkward.  My father was a painter of automobiles and never wore a mask when he painted due to extreme claustrophobia resulting from years of child neglect and direct abuse.  The resulting lead deposits in his brain left him very mentally unstable.  Withyoung children, trips back home became shorter and less frequent due to his deteriorating mental condition and financial constraints.  Dad died in 1986, Paul and I went back for a short visit in 1995 and then Mom died in 2003.  In a stretch of 13 years, that has been my contact with home… until recently.

Having no real family base to speak of left me feeling adrift and alone.  Eric is very close to his family and they spend a good bit of time on the phone chatting.  Holidays were particularly tough.  I’d talk to my kids and feel empty that I had no home to phone.

Two years ago, there was literally no one in my life who knew me when I was growing up or even before 1996 or so.  It was as though I didn’t exist and had no past.  Sure, my kids were older and knew me before then, but honestly, your kids never really know you.

In 2007, my ex husband contacted me out of the blue.  I was stunned, to say the least, since we had not spoken in 10 years due to his wife putting the hard smack down on any idea he might have had of wanting to be in contact with me.  Evidently, she carried a bigger stick than I ever did with him because he acted accordingly and was appropriately hostile toward me for reasons I could never really figure out.  I’m still working on how I get left for the other woman and end up being the bad guy, but overall, I let it go.  By this time, they were divorced and he was interested in a friendship.  I was skeptical and put him through the wringer, but he stood there and took it and now we have a friendship of sorts.  It’s uncomfortable for both of us at times, but it makes things easier on the older boys and I feel better having someone who is so much a part of my history in my life rather than on the outside hating me.  He was the first person from my past to step back into my life.

In September of 2008, I had a really weird Magical Mystery Tour of a week.  I am going to cut and paste from the journal entry from that week (September 3rd) because it tells it best:

Included in the post was this, which I found to be quite apt:

Strange Things Are Afoot At The Circle K

Here is the applicable part of the post:

I am currently wrestling with some interesting omens that are coming through my life.  At the bazaar on Monday, I was walking through the vendors to try and find a place with good cell signal to talk to Eric.  As I was walking through, I spotted this doll.  She had no clothes on, but I recognized her.  She was Charming Chatty, which was a doll I had and adored when I was little.  She came with little records that you put into her side, then you pulled a string and she would talk.  She was the second store-bought doll I ever got and I got her when I was around 10 years old.   The guy wanted something ridiculous like $30 for Charming Chatting, so THAT wasn’t going to happen, but I felt a kinship with her just from seeing her. 

Chatty Cathy

Then on Tuesday, I went out, as I said, to the thrift stores.  At the first thrift store, I found 5  75rpm records off by themselves.  They were kids’ records and as I looked through them, I was surprised to find that I’d had every single one of the 5 when I was growing up.  I only had about 15  75 rpm records total and only about 8 of them were kids’ records, so the odds were pretty astounding.  I didn’t really connect that to Charming Chatty until I got to the counter an hour or so later to check out.  They had a display behind the counter of old toys.  In the (limited) display, there was a Perry Mason game I had when I was little:

 There were two of the markers for the original edition of “Go To the Head of the Class,” which I had.  There were a couple of little metal cars that went to a game I had called, “Calling All Cars,” a rubber mouse about 10 ” tall with really big ears that I had, a stuffed red bull that I had and a rubber doll that stands about 36″ tall that my grandmother pulled out of a river in West Virginia for me after a flood  that is currently in my back shed.  (I named her Esther around 40 years ago)  There were a couple of other things up there that I’d had as well, but they escape my memory as I write this.  By this point, I was pretty well stunned.

I went to the next thrift store and there was the stoneware set of dishes in the wheat pattern that my mother had when I was growing up and I have not seen SINCE I was growing up despite the eleventy bazillion times I’ve been in thrift stores in the past FOUR DECADES. 

Then today, my son brought home a flyer to inform parents that the kids are going on a field trip to the “mother school” where they will spend the day attending the dedication of the newly opened library.  They will leave as soon as they get to school and dismiss as soon as they return.  The name of the new library?  The Cathy Chapman Memorial Library.  What was my name when I was growing up?  Kathy Chapman.  My maiden name was Chapman, which I had until I got married at 16, at which time it became Humphrey.  My parents started calling me Kathy practically from birth because my grandfather couldn’t say “Katrina” and I did not use Katrina as my name until I was in my 30′s.  Maybe all of this is my deceased mom telling me happy birthday in her own way.  I wish she would do it with a huge truck of money pulling up to my door, but if this is what it is, I’m good with that too.

I need time to think about all of this.  If you need me, I’ll be in the corner curled into a fetal position…having night sweats and talking to myself.

As I said, that was written 14 months ago.  Eric and I, as many of you know, are very invested in the belief that God speaks to us mere mortals in fascinating ways and if you keep your eyes to the ground and trudge blindly forward, you miss a great deal of quality Divine Conversation.  I love noticing the connections and the guidance and this message could not be more clear:  There is something back there in the past for you.  You have to go back to where and when you were Kathy Chapman and find it.  It’s waiting.

Since my mother’s 65th birthday would have been that month, I considered that there was a possibility this was just her saying hello, but no, I knew it was more.

A few months later, I signed up for Facebook, very reluctantly because I’m just not a social networker at heart.  I am a rock.  I am an island.  Shortly after that, I found my brother on Facebook and we re-established a closeness that had been lost to the miles.  Then came Delena, my very beloved cousin.  Starting around June or July, I began finding classmates from High School on Facebook and from there, it snowballed.  Given our financial state, I did not expect to be able to return to Ky any time soon, but Eric encouraged me to think positively and felt that October would be a great time to plan a trip out, so I did.  I’d been waiting for so long to have enough money to fly everyone in the family out that the months and years were slipping away.

By October, things were better financially due to the job I took in August and Eric qualifying for unemployment benefits.  Still not great due to the catch up problem, but significantly better.  Friends offered to give me rides (no car rental and the places I needed to go were minimal) and to give me places to sleep (no hotel bills).  I am on The Zone diet, so I eat small amounts frequently and the things I eat are not expensive, so that worked perfectly.

If I could just get airfare and a tiny bit for food, I’d be golden.  Between Cheapoair.com and priceline.com, I was on my way.

The trip was nothing short of amazing.  I have not been alone as no one’s mom, no one needing anything from me, literally for years.  I slept and slept and slept.  I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time in bed.  I normally cannot sleep in any bed but my own, but it’s like I was sedated or something.  I got in on Friday and we had a wonderful dinner set up for the intimate cluster of friends on Friday night at the magnificent, world-famous Moonlite BBQ.  I got to see friends I had not seen in 30+ years, plus my cousin/sister, Delena.  We had a great time, then once we had laughed ourselves tired, went to bed for the big day on Saturday.  Marty (one of my best friends from high school), Rick and I went to El Torbio Mexican Restaurant to check out the venue for the Ohio County High School Muli-class Reunion and I have to tell you, Marty and Vicki could not possibly have picked a better spot.  It was perfect.  There was a fairly humorous language barrier in discussing arrangements but we made it through and then it was off to dress for the reunion itself.

We met early at 4:30 so that the “staff” (meaning us) could eat and be ready for the masses.  As it turned out, tons of people were already waiting even though the event did not start until 6:00!  From that moment on, it was laughing and talking and crying and back slapping and hand shaking and big, big hugs.  Grown men had tears in their eyes over seeing friends from long ago and there were more smiles in one place than I have ever seen anywhere.  I didn’t even end up eating because I was so busy trying to see everyone and was way too high on life to be hungry.  I only had enough time to spend isolated bits of time with a lot of people, but it was nice to see so many people who I’ve loved in memory for so long.  OCHS really produces some quality folks.

It was a wonderful evening.  At one point, I did a head count and got 119, including guests of alumni.  The restaurant did a wonderful job of handling the crowd of people.  There was lots of room and everyone seemed comfortable.  The evening was a complete success.

Afterwards, we went to Milligan’s Lounge at the Ramada Inn.  There was a live band and they were good, but it was hard to talk.  I only ended up staying for about an hour and a half because I was getting tired and my throat was sore from screaming at people to be heard and I don’t drink.  Still, it was fun.

I went to sleep and again, slept like the dead.  The next day was family day and I was tremendously excited.  Things were strained when Mom died, so I wasn’t sure how it would go.  I did what any Ky woman does when she’s with family.  I fed them.

There is a traditional meal in our family called “Floozies.”  Floozies are actually the Mexican dish “Flautas,” except that my Uncle Delmar (the patriarch of our family) uses venison for them.  He got the recipe from my Aunt Alleen in Miami, Arizona and couldn’t remember what they were called when he got home, so they became “Floozies.”

Rick was my chauffeur for the day since he had to drive to Ohio County to see his mother who is in a nursing home and went right past Delena’s (a slight jag) on the way.  We were walking in Wal*Mart (and of COURSE Owensboro has a SUPER WAL*MART unlike my decidedly UNsuper Wal*Mart in Placerville) while I was grabbing the ingredients for floozies and I was in the process of explaining to him about how “flautas” became “floozies.”  This immediately followed the conversation about how Uncle Delmar would flat out kill me if he saw me use frozen tiny potatoes in my floozies instead of cutting each one of those little things up myself fresh, not to mention that I was using a beef roast instead of deer meat. 

I was in the middle of saying what would have been, “You know how Ky people are.  We get the ‘fl…’ out and the ‘oozie’ just follows” when I hear this booming voice saying, “No, why don’t you TELL us how Ky people are???” I stopped cold and instantly became 10-years-old.  There in the Super Wal*Mart of a town he doesn’t even live in, strolling down the same ethnic food aisle as me, WAS MY UNCLE DELMAR.  This was the first time I’d seen him since Mom’s funeral.  I couldn’t contain my joy and hugged him like crazy and didn’t want to let go. 

We were both grinning like monkeys and then he said, “And what are those fake potatoes doing in your cart?”  We talked for over a half hour there in the store and then I reluctantly let him go.  He gave me the awesome news that he and Aunt Betty would be coming to dinner (which in Ky is the mid-day meal and supper is the last meal of the day – we don’t fool with that “lunch” crap) at Delena’s.  Aunt Betty’s been really sick with COPD and we didn’t expect she could come.  I was just going to quickly drop food off for them if they couldn’t come to the family dinner.

Rick dropped me off at Delena’s and I got busy cooking and she got busy keeping me company.  We laughed and talked and the sisterhood was back completely.  I was there in her life from the time she was born and we were always together until I left Ky in 1978.  Since then, we’ve been in contact from time to time, but now, we were solid again.  Her brother, Greg, was there with his friend John, who was a sweetheart.  John’s daddy used to run my daddy’s favorite BBQ joint in Owensboro, The Black Kettle and I still say they had the best BBQ chicken ever.

Soon, more people began to arrive.  I’d thought that since Aunt Betty and Uncle Delmar (who were often more my parents than my parents were when they were alive) likely weren’t coming, I’d be cooking for Delena, her son, Brandon, Greg and John.  I was so glad I brought extras because I ended up with a house full of people! I think we counted 16 ultimately.  I fried up something like 40 big flautas, made 5 loaves of homemade bread and a gigantic green salad.  I even made Aunt Betty’s recipe for the flauta sauce.  Delena’s other brother, Randy, came with his wife Sherry, their 4 children, their grandbaby and their son-in-law.  My Aunt Pat was there and Aunt Betty and Uncle Delmar were there for almost the whole time. 

There were so many things about this day that touched me that I hardly know where to get started.  It was sweet nostalgia to see that the old dynamics still applied.  The men went to the back porch to talk or into Delena’s huge family room to watch hunting videos together.  The women stayed in the kitchen and living room and talked.  I found so much comfort in the return to that routine from my childhood.  Everyone seemed to enjoy the meal and I thought I was going to cry when my Uncle Delmar pulled me aside and told me how good the floozies were, even with my fake potatoes and beef roast. 

He also told me something that made me burst out into stupid sobs.  He said, “You don’t look like your Grandma Chapman any more.  I think it was your hair style before.” 

That is my Grandma Chapman.  She was easily one of the most miserable people to have ever walked this earth.  She was totally filled with what she felt was God’s love, but I have personally encountered God’s love on an ongoing and very familiar basis and what she was filled with was not that.  It was more along the lines of righteous indignation married up to white-hot hatred for anyone who was not spiritually perfect.  Her misery with the world around her and its people showed on her face.  She was not an attractive woman, although she had been at one time.  The last several times I’d seen my uncle, he had remarked on how much I looked like her.  That made me scared and sad.

The day was perfect.  I would not have changed a thing about it except to do it the next week and the next week.  The profound feeling of having a family was more than I could handle and I had to work hard to keep from breaking down every few minutes.  Lots of slow, deep breaths were going on, let me tell you.

I didn’t sleep quite as well that night because it was time to leave the next day and I didn’t feel ready.  I hadn’t done enough, felt enough, seen enough or spent enough time with any of the people who mean so much to me.  I was extremely emotional and felt as though my soul was being ripped out of me to leave.  As I looked around Ky while driving away, I was overcome with grief.  This was my home.  My roots were here and I had no clue when I would see any of these dear people again.

Another person I got the honor of seeing was Dorothy Wade.  Dorothy was one of the “cool kids” in school who I worshipped from afar.  She even had a cool nickname – “Sly.”  No one questioned why she had the name.  She was just that cool.

Dorothy and I became friends via Facebook and I knew she wasn’t coming to the reunion, so I made a point to go by her shop and get my hug.  Again, I didn’t want to let go.  I actually got to see her twice and each time, I just wanted to take her with me. 

Dorothy’s brother, Allen (who was in my grade in school – Sly was older by a few years) went to England last year and won the Japanese Karate Blackbelt Championship of the freakin world. 

I left Ky with my heart and spirit too full of love and memories.  Normally, when I leave home and return, I can’t wait to get back to my mountain and see my own family again.  This time, there was actually a grieving process that I had to work through.  Being surrounded by all of that unconditional love gave me a whole new perspective and has changed who I am forever.  It wasn’t a matter of me being good enough if I lost weight, if the house was nice enough, if I bought the new Pokemon game, if I made enough money, if I was smart enough, if I was social enough or if I gave enough.  I was good enough and so very loved just for being who I was.  I was their true family.  To others, I was their true friend.  No conditions.  No holding acceptance hostage until I achieved x, y or z.  They loved me because of who I am and not in spite of who I am or what they thought I could or should do for them.

I am not foolish enough to think that if I lived there, it would be like that all the time.  Of course it wouldn’t and there would be family and friend scraps and fusses and some rocky waters to navigate at times.  It just felt so good, so exquisitely, breathtakingly sweet, to be a part of a big, extended family again to feel that generational security and that sense of “we will always be there for you.”

The time was so short, but I was limited on how much I could be away from work.  How could I possibly do all of the things I wanted to do, see people as much as I wanted to and make up for 30 some years between Friday afternoon and Monday morning?  The fact was, I couldn’t.

Some people were hurt that I didn’t spend more time with them.  I could have slept less and come back home exhausted, which would have left me a little more unprepared and raw to deal with the emotions I encountered on my trip back home and afterward. 

Admittedly, it was a tough adjustment to jump right back into being mom and the one who gives all of the love rather than being swaddled in it for several days.  I’ve got a whole new perspective on my life and what I want it to be and that’s exactly what I thought might happen when I finally got around to going back home.

As much as I would have loved to have experienced this earlier in my life to carry it with me over these past few years, I know that God in His perfection and The Universe in Its Efficiency brought those experiences to me exactly when I needed them.

When we went to the Halloween Carnival on Saturday, I walked past the Cathy Chapman Memorial Library and saw the plaque on the outside wall and literally, my mouth fell open.  I had completely forgotten about that odd little week back in September of 2008 and that filed message in my head that something was waiting for me when I went back home again and again walked in the shoes (in this case, the comely and fashionable pumps) of Kathy Chapman.

Thanks to everyone who worked so hard to help me find my way through his spiritual adventure.  I am still breathless with awe over all it has been and all that is to come.

My heart is filled with love and my spirit is full of joy.