Maximum Security Prisons and Childhood.
So, this week my company sent me to Kansas City, KS to work. Kansas...oh the memories. I spent a fairly nice chunk of my childhood there, seeing as how before my Dad went back to Texas, he moved to Kansas, so my brother and I would spend summers in Leavenworth with him. I haven't been back there since he died. So, it was uncomfortably nostalgic to say the least. Especially with the anniversary of his death being a few days away.
As soon as we entered the area, even the smell of Kansas started bringing a flood of memories in. Weird how a scent can so strongly throw memories into your head.
Moreover, some of my friends know the relationship or lack thereof I hold with my Father's side of the family, and why. Well, though some are in Texas, many of them reside in Kansas too. So I was definitely tip toeing around as to not have an unwelcome run in. Though the chance was small, it's also a small world, and that notion seems to always prove itself to me wherever I go. But late Thursday night, I made up my mind there was one place I didn't want to just tip-toe into, because I shouldn't have to, and it's about time I finally went there. So Saturday afternoon, after we tore down the studio and got everything together, I made my way to the wayside gravel road town of Jarbalo, Kansas.
I got lost several times, as my directions were terrible, and my memory was fairly shot on where I was going. I hadn't been there in years. On the way, I passed the country's most maximum security prison that I grew up next to. It made me giggle a little bit...maybe growing up with that next door during the summers helped out in the weird department of my personality. lol. I passed by my Grandmothers road, as well as traveled down my Aunt's street. I wanted to close my eyes while passing them, but that probably wasn't a good idea while driving.
After trying several different roads, and starting to just go on guesses as to where I was heading, I got lucky and around 5:30pm, I finally saw the big iron gates for Fall Creek Cemetery. I parked my car in the entrance, and Angela, who was with me, politely waited in the vehicle. I started walking up the hill, unsure of exactly where it was, but it only took a minute of glancing before I saw the big cross headstone, and the bench beside it.
I started choking up before I reached it, and by the time I got there tears were just pouring down my face. I didn't expect my reaction to be quite that strong but I guess it was a lot of pressure built up over the years, and from not ever having the proper closure. I took a seat on the wooden bench that had been placed next to my Father's grave, but it felt too far away, and for some reason just didn't feel right. So, I sat down on the ground in front of his headstone. I guess that's improper to do, but I highly doubt he would mind.
I sat there for a long time. Thinking, and talking here and there. Probably looked a little crazy, but it's the closest thing to having a conversation with my Dad I'll ever really get. At some point, the crying stopped, and I actually started to feel lighter. More serene. I watched the sun go down, and it started to get really cold. I figured I should probably get going, Angela was being a saint for waiting this long as it was. I wrote a little note and stuck it in the ground, and took a few flowers that decorated the area around his headstone. Then I went and spent a bit of time at my Great Grandmothers grave, and my Great Aunts grave. Probably the only two besides my Father on that side of the family that ever truly gave a shit and honestly cared/loved my brother and I.
I wasn't expecting anything to come of the visit. Actually, I should say I didn't know what to expect, but when I left I felt good. I wouldn't exactly call it "closure", but it gave me a better feeling of peace. I'll never fully accept losing my Father so young, I don't think I can. I can't really explain my emotions from going there. Words always seem to diminish the most important things, and never convey their significance truly. But I think I'm better now.
As soon as we entered the area, even the smell of Kansas started bringing a flood of memories in. Weird how a scent can so strongly throw memories into your head.
Moreover, some of my friends know the relationship or lack thereof I hold with my Father's side of the family, and why. Well, though some are in Texas, many of them reside in Kansas too. So I was definitely tip toeing around as to not have an unwelcome run in. Though the chance was small, it's also a small world, and that notion seems to always prove itself to me wherever I go. But late Thursday night, I made up my mind there was one place I didn't want to just tip-toe into, because I shouldn't have to, and it's about time I finally went there. So Saturday afternoon, after we tore down the studio and got everything together, I made my way to the wayside gravel road town of Jarbalo, Kansas.
I got lost several times, as my directions were terrible, and my memory was fairly shot on where I was going. I hadn't been there in years. On the way, I passed the country's most maximum security prison that I grew up next to. It made me giggle a little bit...maybe growing up with that next door during the summers helped out in the weird department of my personality. lol. I passed by my Grandmothers road, as well as traveled down my Aunt's street. I wanted to close my eyes while passing them, but that probably wasn't a good idea while driving.
After trying several different roads, and starting to just go on guesses as to where I was heading, I got lucky and around 5:30pm, I finally saw the big iron gates for Fall Creek Cemetery. I parked my car in the entrance, and Angela, who was with me, politely waited in the vehicle. I started walking up the hill, unsure of exactly where it was, but it only took a minute of glancing before I saw the big cross headstone, and the bench beside it.
I started choking up before I reached it, and by the time I got there tears were just pouring down my face. I didn't expect my reaction to be quite that strong but I guess it was a lot of pressure built up over the years, and from not ever having the proper closure. I took a seat on the wooden bench that had been placed next to my Father's grave, but it felt too far away, and for some reason just didn't feel right. So, I sat down on the ground in front of his headstone. I guess that's improper to do, but I highly doubt he would mind.
I sat there for a long time. Thinking, and talking here and there. Probably looked a little crazy, but it's the closest thing to having a conversation with my Dad I'll ever really get. At some point, the crying stopped, and I actually started to feel lighter. More serene. I watched the sun go down, and it started to get really cold. I figured I should probably get going, Angela was being a saint for waiting this long as it was. I wrote a little note and stuck it in the ground, and took a few flowers that decorated the area around his headstone. Then I went and spent a bit of time at my Great Grandmothers grave, and my Great Aunts grave. Probably the only two besides my Father on that side of the family that ever truly gave a shit and honestly cared/loved my brother and I.
I wasn't expecting anything to come of the visit. Actually, I should say I didn't know what to expect, but when I left I felt good. I wouldn't exactly call it "closure", but it gave me a better feeling of peace. I'll never fully accept losing my Father so young, I don't think I can. I can't really explain my emotions from going there. Words always seem to diminish the most important things, and never convey their significance truly. But I think I'm better now.