I have always loved summers. My birthday is smack dab in the middle of summer. 22 July.. Cusp of Cancer and Leo. Vacations to the ocean or my dad’s home town. Summers are great.
This summer was fabulous. It marked many milestones in my life. The most important one was my oldest child, Mack, was married. Though a civil ceremony in Santa Barbara was the ‘official’ wedding, they planned a reception in Mindy’s home town of Rochester NY. with Mindy’s family and network of lifelong friends. Through a wonderful chain of events I was able to be there for the occasion.
There is a remarkable irony of the ‘Rochester’ connection. My father’s home town was Rochester. He was born and raised there.
So was Mindy.
I spent many summers of my young life there. My grandmother lived in the house where my father and all his 5 siblings were born which was just a mile from where the Wedding party/reception was held. In fact, the party was held in a park across the street from where my great grandfather (and Macks Great GREAT grandfather), Elijah is buried.
It was all strangely familiar though I hadn’t spent any time there in 50 years! My mind was full of these reminiscences as we all (Mack, Mindy and Molly) were driving around the collective stomping grounds. We found ourselves in Webster, a suburb just east of Rochester. I remember that my grandfather, George, was buried there in the Webster cemetery. Taking advantage of a snoozing Molly, Mack and I stumbled through the headstones looking for the Eason family plot. When we finally found it, Molly had woken from a nap and so we three Easons convened with George and Nora, my dad’s parents- my grandparents. A strange feeling came over me as I contemplated the significance of lineage. As I gazed at the head stone of my grand parents while holding my grand daugther, a sudden burst of connection hit my heart.
I never really knew my grandfather George. He suffered a profound stroke when I was very young and lingered in a vegetative state for years. Scared me really. Mack never knew HIS grandfather either.. My dad died when I was 21 and he was 56. As I enter my 66th year, I am aware of every day I have spent past that milestone.
I am well aware how lucky I am that I am able to experience my grandchild. I cherish every moment I get to spend with her.
Still getting used to my dad not being here.. even after 46 years.