Where to begin?

I knew this would happen... I'd wait too long to start writing down all of the events of our trip, and then it would start to fade away, become less intense. That's exactly what has happened, and all of the things that I wanted to tell you, needed to share, they're just dull rememberances now. But I'll try.

I knew that just in going, and the fact that my dad bought the tickets for us to do so, I was treading a thin line between the two sides of the family. Imagine a four day tight-rope act. Ugh. Hardly a vacation at all. But my brother and I had sort of mapped out a plan before either of us arrived so that we could try to maximize time with everyone and try not to hurt any feelings along the way. And although we stuck pretty well to the plan, that didn't happen at all.

So we arrived at the airport and stepped out into the crisp and familiarly foul air of the city. I don't know what it is about Memphis, but that first breath of city air always smells a bit like hot garbage. Maybe it's just psychological, but it's fitting.

So we go to Mom's house where we gather with my brother and his family, and my Mom, little sister and grandmother, and we try to enjoy a relaxing evening together. Of course, Jonas is out of sorts and clingy being in unfamiliar surroundings, and wanted nothing to do with anyone but me. I barely even got to talk to my Tooter,(my mom's mom) because I was too busy trying to keep Jonas happy and playing nice with his cousin Aaron. Thank god that Aaron is good at sharing because Jonas totally hogged all of his toys.

So we visited for the evening, and went to bed.

The next day, sometime around noon we all managed to get showered and over to my step-mom's family. It was an extremely short visit where I spent most of the time out in the back yard as the kids chased the neighbor's cat. Again, very little true visiting was done, but we made our appearance, which is really all you can do when you're trying to fit everything into such a short period of time. It's only now that I realize that I didn't even get any pictures of that side of the family. Not a single one. The neighbor's cat, however, has the spotlight in several photos. Go figure.

From there it was off to the country to visit Mema and Daddy Dean, my dad's parents. Daddy Dean is the one that's been diagnosed with cancer. He's the reason we really came at all. It's weird going to visit someone you haven't seen in a year, not sure what to expect as far as his health. And the illness hangs like a big heavy cloud in the room, yet no one wants to talk about it. We all want to pretend it's just another visit, ya know? Everyone says he felt better that day than he had in weeks. He had just started steroid treatment and chemo that morning, and apparently the steroids were doing a world of good for him.

But damn... if that's good, I can't imagine what bad feels like. In a year's time he's totally wasted away to this frail old man. He's gaunt, bony, tired, barely able to speak at times.

It was a sad visit, not because we didn't try to enjoy ourselves, not because we didn't laugh and put on that general facade of cheer, but because I think we all realized that it was the last time we'd all be together, or that we'd ever sit in that familiar and cozy livingroom again.

We walked the land and soaked in as many memories as we could. Dad and Daddy Dean went and measured the tractor for a crate. It'll be moved out to Dad's new property up in Dresden soon enough. The house will be sold in the spring, and that'll be it. Some developer will come in, demolish the place, and all of it's memories. They'll fill in the pond, level the trees planted by my grandfather's hand more than 40 years ago. The barn will become a heap of scrap and a new development of fancy houses will go in with their equally phony name, Macon Woods, or Serenity Acres, and no one will ever know how much work went into making that place what it was. No one will ever look over in that now cleared patch off to the east and remember the tomato vines that grew 8 feet tall, or the speckled butter beans that grew in that plot there, or the watermelons that were sweet and ripe and tasted like sunshine.

We drove back to mom's that night in near silence. The original plan was to drive out to Dad's place in Dresden that night, but for some reason that didn't happen. I think we were hoping to get back to Mom's early enough to squeeze in another visit with Tooter. Or maybe it was that I was trying to avoid some guilt for not giving Mom another chance to visit with Jonas. In hindsight I wish I had just gone out to Dresden with Dad and let Brian return to Mom's alone. But this is just the start of my regrets.

Next morning we packed into Amanda's borrowed van and took off for Dresden.

Dad's property there is 40 something acres of gorgeous, located just adjacent to another roughly 300 acres owned by two of his uncles. Dad is happy there, and I can already picture him retired there, walking the woods, drinking coffee on the porch, enjoying the simplicity of a slower lifestyle. So can he. It's the first time in his life I've heard him speak of retirement, and while I'll be sad to see him move away, I can't help but be happy for him.

We drove the goat (a sort of four-wheeler, cart thing) around the property, stopped to admire some of the largest deer I've ever seen grazing in a meadow, ate simple food, drank homemade wine, laughed, relaxed. It was a wonderful time. I can totally understand why he chose this place. That, and the fact that we've got family scattered all through those hills. It's like coming home for him.

My sister fell in love with it, too. Is talking about moving up there and starting over herself. I think it might be good for her, but I could never do it. There's just the reality of my life being so vastly different from the rest of theirs. My son could not get along in their small-town environment. They're nice enough, but I'm not stupid enough to think that racism doesn't still run deep in those hills. The first time anyone laid eyes on his daddy, he'd be ostracised, and what sort of job could Wil do? Who would hire him? Just not a reality. I tried explaining that to my dad, but he didn't seem able to get it. Maybe he'd had a few to many drinks, but he was adamant that we'd be fine, and then the next minute he was telling me how Uncle Terry had laughed and told him "You know a nigger installed that a/c of yours."

Yep, we'd do just fine, wouldn't we?

So just one of many realizations during my trip that I'm that extra little puzzle piece of the family that doesn't quite fit anywhere.

So my dad expected us to stay that night up in Dresden, but my brother thought it best for us to return back to Memphis so that we could visit with Tooter in the morning. So I went with them because I really did want to see Tooter one more time. But it infuriated my Step-mom and my Dad that we left. They didn't say so, but body language sometimes speaks louder than anyone realizes.

And I don't understand how a trip home to visit a dying relative can turn into such a power struggle about where we slept and when, but it did, and we all sort of lost sight of what was important. But it was that night, driving home in the dark, that I started to really fall apart.

The next morning we loaded our suitcases, got everything packed, and then enjoyed some actual quality time with Tooter. We got some decent pictures of her with her great-grandkids. Pictures that we'll probably cherish forever. You know, she's not been diagnosed with anything, but she's getting older, too, and I know that the reality is, she may not be around a whole lot longer, either. So I'm really glad that we got that last visit in, whether it pissed off other people or not.

That afternoon we went back the Mema and Daddy Dean's for a family dinner there. The rest of the family came out as well. Cousins and Uncles that I haven't seen in three or four years. It was nice seeing them, but we didn't even really socialize. We all just sort of hung out in our respective groups. Once again, I was left feeling like an outsider, and hanging with the babies while everyone else did their thing.

Daddy Dean just sat in his chair and observed quietly. I can only imagine what must have been going through his mind. Knowing this was the last time he'd see most of us. Drinking in his family, absorbing the details of each of us, etching us into his mind for the last time.

As the evening drew on, and he grew tired, we all started preparing ourselves for goodbyes. My brother and his wife made the first exit, since they still had two other places to get to. I cried as they left. Not simply because we don't see enough of each other, but because, well, because I've sort of realized that despite how much I love him, and them, we aren't as similar as I might have thought we were, nor are we as close. It's as if, with each visit we made around town, I sealed in another brick in the family wall, isolated myself a little more. I can't really describe it, but it was just reaffirming that it's all over.

Daddy Dean was hurting so bad that he begged us not to hug him. So when it was my turn to say goodbye, I took his hands in mine, and for the first time in my life, I met his eyes. Blue, so soft, and sad and blue, and I wanted to take the pain away from him. Wanted it to be over for him.

He smiled weakly and told me "You come back to see me soon." A lie that both he and I knew would never happen. I'll be back soon, but it'll be for his funeral. He knows that, I know that. The whole room knows that. He went on to tell me that I had a beautiful little boy, and I told him how much I love him, and then I was piling into Dad's rented van to trek back to the hotel with them.

I forgot to mention that while at their house my step-mom and my brother and my husband and his wife spent a good hour out in the driveway having it out. Of course they didn't include me in thier conversation, but of course, I was the root of it.

I

I had hurt dad's feelings.
I was the disprespectful child.
I was the one that caused this or that.
I should have done this or that.
I have no respect or gratitude for my father.

On and on. I am the bad child. And it seems that no matter what I do to try and win favor, or try and keep things fair and even, I'm the bad one.

Back at the hotel my sister and split a six pack of beer and a pack of cigarettes and we sat up all night having a soul-purging talk that's long overdue. We talked, we cried, we held each other and we got out all the demons. It's what we both needed, and it did me a world of good.

I think, if anything, this trip revealed to me the fact that I am neither a Woodruff or an Emmons. I don't fit in anywhere in this strange family of mine, and no matter how hard I try, I never will be. So I'm done. I'm not trying anymore. And if I have my way, the only time I'll ever set foot in that city again will be for funerals. Sounds harsh, but for god's sake. I've spent nearly three decades trying to be who everyone else wants me to be, and it's gotten me nowhere but hearbroken and hurt.

It's time I lived my life for me, and for my son.

My brother said in the car on the way home from Dresden, "This will be our last normal Christmas."

He's so right.