Washington in all his glory. I’ve actually stood atop Mt. Rushmore in high school.
I’ll have to go home soon, and I’m pretty nervous about it. I haven’t been back in a number of years, in fact I’ve made it a point to not go back. Why? It’s complicated.
I really never felt like I fit in the Dakotas, either that or I have a strong sense of wanderlust. But for a long time if I was honest with myself I think I was running. Running away and it’s not like my childhood was terrible but I just never seemed to fit or I never really like the type of people I was with.
That has gotten worse over time, especially in the recent years where America has elected an orange Cheeto to the highest office in the land. More than just a Cheeto, he’s a dangerous Cheeto and it makes me feel even more uncertain about going home. American culture (from the outside) has seemed to become more cruel and dangerous since I lived there. I was talking with a friend recently, a wellness coach here in the major city where I live, and she agreed with me. Now, I have the privilege of light skin so I know that my skin tone shields me from various unpleasantness. But I don’t know how I would feel going back if I was a person of color.
Marj was saying that there’s a retreat she wants to go to in Arizona, but with the recent air collisions, government agency layoffs, and overall violence she was feeling pretty scared. And I totally get it. I’m not sure if I should trust the headlines, or if finally getting out of that culture and looking back in, I’m like “oh hell no”.
But I have to go back, my grandfather always showed up for me, and now I want to show up for him. He was a gentle man, but tough as nails. He passed away sort of suddenly.
One day in January I gave him a Whatsapp call and when he answered he was in the hospital, a complete surprise. It turns out that he had a lot of fluid in one of his lungs. But what struck me the most was that he looked different, gaunt. His skin has a off-color tone and it seemed like his eyes were sunken a bit too much in his skull. Turns out if you go to the hospital in your mid nineties it’s not a good sign. Thankfully he was discharged (drove himself home!!) and then passed away in his home in late January. I’m grateful of that, and the fact that he didn’t suffer in the hospital hooked up to machines.
Anyways, I’m sorry that this post was sad. A sad thing happened, and writing about it has always helped me to process the feelings. I promise the next couple of posts will be much lighter and more enjoyable.
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