On the subject of an Incredible Journey

The journal of the South Carolina trip continues... later in the week. The days after arriving were so whirlwind, there was no time to blog.. however... where it picks up will give you a great place for me to pick up the story.

Good morning from my parent’s breakfast table. It’s 8:28 on Thursday and what an incredible experience this has been.

You might remember in my getting here entry that I was not sure of how this trip would affect me, and I could not have been more wrong.

Let me begin by saying that this journey is one of the top 5 experiences of my entire life. I don’t use those words lightly – it has been nothing short of life changing. Pretty deep, huh?

I had known what kind of family from which I came, but I had lost touch with the history and heritage that made us Bloggers, er Hortons who we were and who we have come to be. This house, this beautiful house, is now a mess, thanks to yours truly and the army of people whose sole job it is to figure out everything in it and where it is supposed to go. My Mom and Dad would think it was just typical of me to make that mess, but somehow I think they are smiling right now… knowing that finally, a mess that I am making will make a positive difference.

Each discovery, every find, there is a new story, a renewed sense of family. A thing I can call mine, an item that was about to be forgotten, but now, passed on. Everything that needs to be accounted for – all 40 pages of items to be divided amongst three children and a special friend, is being found piece by piece. Some will be sold, as there is no room in our smaller houses to hold what this huge place once did. Some will be left as there is such a thing as too much information, but in its discovery, heartwarming stories have been recalled and new ones written.

Take for example one box of papers I found yesterday. In it, childhood photos of my father from 1920’a – report cards from his elementary school where he received straight D’s. However, back then, D was the top grade. My Dad was a smart cookie.

Also, a growth chart tag from the Department of Health, which would now be the kind of thing the pediatrician gives to a parent to show percentiles and weight and such. This one came with some tips for healthy child living. Some of these included:
Take a full bath at least once a week. Drink as much milk as you want, but avoid coffee and tea. Eat some fruit and vegetables. HAVE A BOWEL MOVEMENT EVERY MORNING. Now that’s not something you see on today’s health tips – good advice though!

Later in the day, I would find my own childhood doctor’s chart. The complete look at my life was not contained in a folder with multiple coloured stickers. No, it was just one piece of folded paper with things like “heart and lungs fine” through a chronological journey through my childhood.

In the attic were other boxes of random things, including my childhood books and pictures… lots of football and baseball books. One envelope included every ticket stub from every sporting event I went to with my Grandfather.

Poppa was an incredible man, who spoiled me rotten. He came from a background of politics and banking and was actually in Harry Truman’s cabinet (if you are a Truman fan, this house would have been your Valhalla.) While Poppa had treated me beautifully in life, my memories of him after his passing have never been as sweet. He died as a very mean person, especially to my Mom. I never forgave him for that, but the stance softened over the years.

It was not until I unpacked another photo box that I had a new and full understanding for him. He was the kind of person who sent pictures to me and to my Dad, and sometimes even Mom (his daughter) with the inscription, “with great affection and warm wishes, John W. Snyder.” My Grandfather could not say, “I love you,” especially if it was something that was going to be around for posterity.

My son, who is one of the most loving people I have ever seen, has taken an affection for this great grandfather, excited in the discovery of Poppa’s Secret Service badge (he wasn’t an agent, his department ran the Secret Service!) and field glasses and presentation pointers, all things that fascinated me when I was his age.

Thursday night was spent with my longest known friend, Mary Stuart. We wanted to play on the beach with the kids… and play the kids did, with dips into the frigid ocean. We took pictures, shed tears and realized that this is where we wanted to be.

Gale rejoined us at the house and we all went to a big dinner. Afterwards, we stepped outside, and we all said our goodbyes to “Mess.” Gale, knowing the importance, asked the kids to “give them a minute.” I walked over to the Land Rover she loved so much and preceded to collapse into her arms with the tears of hurt, joy, sorrow, pain and happiness. I know I will see my friend again someday, it just seemed like there was some kind of finality with that embrace… and it scared me.

Friday afternoon… high above the eastern seaboard on a plane that can best be described as a cigar. Panic attack as I got on the plane… but I was able to step outside before takeoff to calm myself. Still racy though.

On to a more positive thing… the final moments of our trip.

For the past couple of days I discovered love letters from my Dad to my Mom. They were written over a number of years, mostly for special occasions… a new house, Valentine’s Day, Christmas. Each was beautifully crafted with just the perfect words… discussions of a journey taken together.

As the very last thing ever done by the Horton family in that house, I decided to have a impromptu ceremony. I brought out my wife, daughter and son to the very spot where my wife and I were married almost 15 years ago. We took a couple of pictures. I asked my daughter to stand next to her mom, with my son standing at my side. I then put my honey’s hand into mine, and renewed my vows to her, promising to love her for the rest of my life and to make this family one of love and strength. We all cried. Then, my love said the words that touched me the most. “You are just like your Dad,” she said. My heart was filled with enormous joy.

The rest of the family left the house while I stood one last time in the house. I looked around the great room, now littered with the pictures and effects of a lifetime, all sorted into different categories with tags of a neon color. Instead of the disarray, I gazed upon a room that was haunted with the memory of my parents… a room I would never step into again. I fell to my knees, and kissed the ground and said “I will always miss you,” a comment made towards both my parents and the house itself.

I stepped outside where I was met by my wife. I stood on the bottom step, not wanting to move, knowing that one step forward would be the one step away from the place I must always leave behind.

Driving from the property, the Pussycat Dolls song “I hate this part right here,” was on the car radio. Definition of appropriate.

Our last stop in our stay in the South Carolina Lowcountry was Angel Oak, the oldest tree west of the Mississippi. This massive live oak with branches so large it looks like a labyrinth of trees entangled into each other. It was something that had been there in that spot for more than 1500 years… a symbol of endurance. I saw it as a sign of the enduring love I have for my parents and the continuing love I have for my wonderful wife and incredible kids.

I did not want to take this trip, and now I cannot imagine what life would have been like if I did not. I am blessed with a wife who cared enough to make me do it.

This journey was one of the most beautiful experiences in my nearly 46 years, a gateway to a new life. I shall see the world through new vision from this day forward, with the appreciation of the life that given to me, the life lived in formation of character, and the new life as patriarch, father, and just plain old grown up me. My Dad referred to himself in those aforementioned love letters as “the Grey Head.” I am not quite there yet, but as I make that transition, I will cherish the opportunity rather than dread it… thanks to my father’s final lesson, nearly three years after he left this earth. Thanks, Dad. I love you.