Early in 2010, I began reflecting on time spent with my grandfather. He was experiencing some health problems that made me nervous. Honestly, part of me worried that I'd get a call one day that things had taken a turn for the worse. In thinking about my grandfather's limited time, I decided to do something special for him and planned a surprise birthday party.
Here's my confession. That birthday party was as much for me as it was for him. The longer I lived in Kansas the more homesick I became. I longed for those days as a little girl when all of my family would gather at Christmas. Everyone had made their own Christmas traditions since my grandmother had passed away, but I felt like papaw deserved (and I really craved) at least one more joyous occasion with the whole family.
The party was a great success. Papaw still brings it up and claims it was his best birthday. I had hoped more of his grandkids would be able to make it in, but he had all his children together, and in a strange way that was really important to me.
In the beginning of 2010, Johnie and I began discussing a plan to move back to Kentucky. The move to Kansas was never meant to be permanent, and I was ready to get back home. We thought it'd take about four to five years to actually make the transition back. Johnie had planned to get his degree as quickly as possible and then begin looking for programming positions in my home state. After he was given the promotion at Cox, and was a successful programmer by all indications, we decided to begin the Bluegrass job search early - after that July trip left me even more homesick than I was before.
The true "beginning of the bad stuff" came Labor Day weekend. Johnie was a few weeks into another semester of full-time college work. His department was behind and he was working a lot of overtime. My work schedule was unpredictable. There were mornings I had to wake up at 4 am to travel to a meeting and nights when I didn't make it home until 8 or 9 pm. There was no room for the unexpected.
The Saturday before Labor Day, we planned to take advantage of some free tickets to a Royals baseball game. On the turnpike, halfway to Kansas City, we cancelled the trip and turned around. My young, strong, healthy cousin had died unexpectedly. I was not particularly close to this cousin. Even now, I can't remember the last time I saw him. The memories that I do have of him are pretty generic, and all are tied to other people. Still, his death devastated me.
I have a large family. I could easily name off at least a hundred cousins, without mentioning more than twice as many more. And while I mean no offense to my cousins who don't fall in this category, Josh was a part of a distinct group. Even though we weren't close, and even though we didn't visit, he was a special cousin.
My grandparents had 22 grandchildren. We were (and are) a special group. We had the privilege of being spoiled by several aunts and uncles while enjoying the benefits of two loving and devoted grandparents. They had already made all their mistakes with their own children, and had softened quite a bit, too. And while three boys came after me, I was (and am) the youngest granddaughter.
I spent a lot of time with my grandparents and, by default, with this group of cousins. I adored them. Some I even idolized. (I'm not confessing which ones.) I only hoped to someday play the sports and games they played, wear the clothes they wore, do the things they did. They were cool. And unlike the cool kids at school who picked on me and made me cry, my cousins always included me. Even when they were cool in school, they never left me out. Even when I was an annoying little brat (who sometimes tattled after we did the fun stuff....sorry guys, I felt guilty), they always let me be part of the group.
As we all grew up, began marrying and creating a new generation of Roses, I still felt a special connection with my cousins. Most all of them were pretty good about checking in with papaw, and I usually got my updates on them through him. For one of us to die so suddenly rocked my world. Even though I am not usually presumptuous, I thought we were decades from something like that.
From hundreds of miles away, my heart ached for my family - my dear uncle who had lost a son, his other sons who had lost a brother. Josh's wife and kids. Between every one of my trips to Kentucky I lost someone. Usually I could predict who it would be. I said long-term goodbyes to an aunt, an uncle, and a great grandmother on trips home. After a year or so of this pattern, I began dreading that part of the trip - the drive to Kansas wondering who wouldn't be there when I came back. I could have never predicted Josh.
I didn't understand then why I was so devastated. Looking back, I think it was a combination of homesickness, an overly busy schedule, and a sudden realization of the mortality of all my loved ones. With everything in me I wanted to be with my family. But I was scheduled to be at a conference in Atlanta the day after the funeral. While internally I felt like I was spiraling out of control, externally I could only verbalize that a cousin had passed away, and no, I wasn't really "close to him." It hardly seemed reasonable to change my schedule to allow for an emergency trip back home.
I immersed myself in a kitchen renovation that weekend. I processed emotions while I peeled wallpaper and painted walls. If any of you are working full-time, going to school full-time, and are married to a person who is out of town for work more than not, never EVER take that spouse to a home improvement store just hours after she learns a family member has died.
We drove from the exit on the turnpike straight to Lowes. Obviously, I wasn't thinking clearly. This was not the time to update the room in the house devoted to a primary need of eating.
Between our busy schedules and our home improvement ineptness, we didn't finish the weekend project until mid-October. While I felt like I had missed my opportunity to celebrate the fall season, I was determined to keep Halloween traditions in tact. I bought a couple pumpkins for us to carve, took advantage of half-price tickets to the Wichita Symphony Orchestra's Halloween performance, and held on for the weekend when I could unwind and relax.
It kicked off Friday evening with friends. We caught a show of the hilarious Shonda Pierce performing one of her stand-up routines. Saturday morning Johnie and I slept in and spent the glorious day relaxing until it was time for the symphony.
Our seats were awesome and the music was even better. It was entertaining in spots, soothing in others, absolutely beautiful throughout. I remember at one point in the performance breathing in deeply and congratulating myself on making it through the trying weeks behind me. I had processed my cousin's passing. Johnie was more than half-way finished with his semester. The work in our kitchen was complete. I could see a light at the end of the tunnel.
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