The Drive Home

"I always loved a good Storm"

Tori Amos

One last glance around my Aunt Mike's desert paradise...did we get everything?  Did I kiss all the dogs good bye?  Oh god, 12 hours...it's a long long time to be in a car...with my mother and a tiny dog who needs doggy downers for the road.  "Ok guys...I love you, thanks so much for coming, drive super safe, and if you hear a flash flood warning...it's NO JOKE...been a crazy year weather wise".  It was true, the big story there was the very recent flash flood in Zion National Park that killed several climbers...so sad.  Long drive...I'm so lucky that it's amazingly beautiful in southern Utah and Colorado back to Denver...so grateful for a comfy ride and an awesome travel companion who doesn't make me talk too much...and the freedom to let my mind wander and just be...in the moment...lovely..."love you too, thanks for everything...bye Mike...and Kiki and Hardy and Oscar and lil Tandy".

So much in my head this trip...so much processing and compartmentalizing to get done, 12 hours may not be enough...it's a good start though...you're free to wander Gen, you have a lot...as soon as you get home, the week begins...you know, the week...the inevitable week of...who the fuck knows what...the week... Do I honor the day of the premonition, the day of his suicide, the day they told me, the day of the funeral...which day do I use as the anniversary?...everyone deserves a day right?...fuck it, I take the week.  I get to be a total fucking mess this week...for no reason...other than the past.  The distant past.  Thirty four years is long enough...I don't have a clue how to finish that...it's a long time...it was yesterday.  Maybe I'll be just fine this year...maybe...it's possible, right?

We haven't even gotten gas yet and I've planned out my first mind trip...gonna be a long one.  And then there's the guru...fucker...been all consuming lately, what am I gonna do with all this rage?  I mean, I've always hated the guy...of course I would...but I don't recall ever having so much active anger before...he always just kind of sat on the back shelf with passive, righteous anger...what changed?  Everything...been a crazy year, weather wise, and every wise for me...the writing, the intense psychic stuff, re connecting to my dad's old friends...Sherry and the Zen Garden...everything changed.

This trip was full of little psychic knowings...little ones, but real and so many, like knowing  exactly when and where to look for wildlife...a lot more than usual...knowing exactly where to spot climbers on distant rocks...knowing exactly where to put my eyes...to see the vertical crashed car down in the rocks off the cliff edge...rest in peace everyone, no way anyone walked away from that.  There was plenty of beating myself up for not listening as usual...when I said to myself, 'don't bother, don't look', and had to look anyway...the most stomach turning tattoo ever..."WHITE PRIDE" on the legs of a white trash teenage girl...you just can't get away from stupid, even in a desert paradise...it's really hard to find compassion for her...didn't need to see that.  And then there was the little red SUV...

As we cruised along the highway surrounded by pretty red mountains, I was lost in thought and admiring the landscape on my right...so beautiful.  Not like the stunning Rocky Mountain autumn full of magical greens and reds and yellows and oranges and browns...but Utah beautiful, stunning rich reds and various patterns in the awesome rock formations..."Symphonies of the Waters".  Suddenly, my gaze shifted to the left, the other side of the highway, and landed on a small red SUV going the opposite way.  It was in my sight for just a moment...long enough for me to 'hear', "They're going to be in an accident".  

"Doing okay, honey"?

...what...shake it off...why would you think that?...you haven't thought that about anyone else...oh, it wasn't me...was it?...what was I just doing (looking for a linear thought pattern that may have led to it)...oh yeah, I was thinking about my lovely conversation with my editor a few days ago...thinking about the book and when I'd have time to look at my progress...the landscape, beautiful...nope, it wasn't me, it was You.  You pulled me out of it, my lovely mind trip, to show me that...fuck you.  Why do You keep showing me shit that I'm completely powerless to change?  Shit that I'll never have confirmed?  It's not like I could convince my mom to turn around and catch them...there's not even anywhere to do that...and can you imagine?...some crazy woman flagging you down to warn you of a wreck that may happen?...what would that look like?...we'd probably cause a few accidents just trying to pull it off!...what could you possibly say to convince them to be more careful driving, instead of calling the looney bin?...why did You show me that?...I'll never have validation of its real ness...I can't imagine how I'll ever know...unless it's so horrific that it makes national news...why, why, why do You keep showing me things that I can't change?...same as dad's death...the exact same thing...helpless...why?...

"Just fine Mom, you"?

"Doin good".

"Beautiful sky, huh"?

"Gorgeous".

The clouds really were cool...it was clear that they were gathering...planning their next party...'should we keep it mellow, just a few of us...or should we throw a rager'?  I think they invited everyone they knew...including Iris and Zeus and The Hyades.  The most impressive psychic connection I made on this trip was the one I had with Mother Nature, the storm was a perfect reflection of the one brewing in my heart.  Massive, furious, electrifying...once in a lifetime, according to the locals.  Neither my mom nor I had ever seen anything like it.  The thunderstorms in Colorado are really awesome, I've seen some amazingly beautiful and crazy lightening here as well as many a bright rainbow, but nothing compared to this storm in Utah.  Once in a lifetime.  

The first half we experienced during the daytime, where Iris was the first guest of the clouds to arrive.  She threw so many rainbows I almost couldn't believe it.  And it hadn't even rained yet...it was all sky magic...all around us.  She made a stunning entrance with her first one, it was massive...width wise, like the size of five normal ones together, and it lasted for so long.  It was only about a quarter of the arch, but we could see where it ended on the land, and it kept casting a sister rainbow that would disappear if you looked too hard for her.  Gorgeous...we were sad to see her go...but Iris had plenty more party favors to share.  After the big one she kept busy the entire day until the sun went down...one after another, all normal width, but all whole arches...we lost count.  It was so cool of her to bring her gifts of beauty before the rage of the Rain Nymphs, instead of after.  All I could do was stay in the moment and be awed by her beauty.  I forgot all about my dad and the guru for a bit, it was nice.  

As soon as the sun went down the tone of the party changed, drastically.  Like going from a kids birthday party with colorful balloons and sweets and smiles, to a heavy metal rager that starts out great but ends up with bodies on the floor.  Zeus arrived on a mission.  Eradicate uninvited guests.  As my thoughts returned to the guru and my rage, he went to work right away casting them out...again, all I could do was stay in the moment and stay in awe.  He threw lightning strikes of all kinds, all around us, for almost two hours.  They were captivating.  I needed them to be, the guru is so all consuming, it would take the acts of the Gods to remove him.  The strikes were wider, longer lasting, and brighter than any lightning I'd ever seen in Colorado.  "Whoa...oh my god...wow...whoa!!"...all you heard in our car, we were cracking up at ourselves, but never loosing sight of the ferociousness of what was surrounding us.  And then, my 65 year old mother reaches in her CD compartment, and puts in Pink Floyd's "The Wall"...how cool is she?...and we cruised to the boarder to the best Laser Floyd show on the planet..."Shine on you crazy diamond"!  Still no rain though...hmmm, wonder where the sisters are...fashionably late I suppose.

Cool became scary, fast.  The Hyades arrived...all of them...at the same time.  I guess the entire day was our warning, but I figured they'd trickle in and build up to their full strength.  Nope.  They were in alignment with my heart I think and Zeus could only hold it off for so long.  All nine of them showed up simultaneously in full hysterics already...I've never seen so many sky tears.  The only thing that saved us was our location.  When the skies opened up we just happened to be in Green River, and we just happened to know that this was the last town with a hotel that allows dogs until you get to Colorado.  We had to pull over into this town, no way could we keep going.  The triple whammy of massive rain, super darkness, and not knowing exactly where you are, made the three mile drive to the hotel the most treacherous three miles of our lives.  It was all a giant guessing game...am I on the road?...is that a light?...am I going straight?...crazy bad!  We made it though...and as I sat in the car with the pooch while mom went in the lobby, Zeus came back for another show...and he brought all of his weapons and a few more Hyades as if that was possible.  The biggest, loudest, freakiest thunder clap and blinding lightning came and knocked the power out of the entire town.  The sky flood was crazy loud and we just sat there in total blackness and uncertainty...and then I remembered the guru...yeah, that's a storm I really need to pay attention to, the one in my heart...way scarier than this one.  The power kicked back on, we settled into our room, my mom and the little pooch fell asleep.  I listened to the Gods play with rage all night long.  Could I learn to play with it too?  Once in a lifetime.

It made for an amazingly beautiful morning.  Calm, serene, clean, and everyone had a great story to talk about, the Thunderstorm of the century in this tiny little truck stop town.  We thanked everyone for the safe place to rest and headed home.  Home, closer and closer to my issues, closer to my week, closer to my dad's grave...I really should go visit it this year...been a while, like 10 years...he's been such a big part of my life this year with all the story telling and past researching...ok then, it's a date...I hope I can still find him...I have my trees. A good way to 'celebrate' the anniversary of his death this year.  It's such a weird thing, I don't want to celebrate..honor..remember..the brutality of the suicide, but it simply can't be removed from his death, how do you honor the dead without honoring how they got dead?*  But I should be ok with...once again, I don't know how to finish that...I should be ok...thirty four years is a long time...it was yesterday.  

*compassion is the answer to that question...for me.

We got home, home to my week, and it kicked my ass.  I was a total mess again this year, even with all the cathartic story telling and all the years of layer peeling and healing, and all the conscious awareness of bigger things.  A total fucking mess.  Am I ever going to be anything but?  It's like PMS on steroids, the emotional flux of my week.  Man what a bumpy ride!  But really, if I think about it, it makes sense that this would be a particularly strange anniversary for me...a lot of new light light has been shed upon reconnecting to my past this year.  Important, newly learned details have forced me to rethink some things completely...and in writing, recalling the suicide and the cult, and the Marine Corp records with more depth than ever before...it's just all so much louder this year, best way I can think of to say it.  I'm okay with my total fucking mess, it falls under the umbrella of Beautiful Sorrow...would anything else make sense?

All that being said, I felt pretty good about my decision to visit his grave, sit with him for a bit, talk to him.  A little weird, knowing that none of that is really true...I don't believe he's actually resting there...or that I have to be in Fort Collins, Colorado's oldest cemetery in order to be heard/felt.  But having something actionable, or ritual, physical...I was looking forward to it, contemplating creating an annual thing for myself...more than once a decade at least.  And as I did that, contemplated on how to do this more regularly, why I didn't in the first place...it's only 90 minutes away from my house, it's almost always a beautiful day, October 23rd in the Rocky Mountains...I wondered, was it because I didn't really believe he is there, or was it just too hard for me to go?  With one thought of that cemetery, I'm 12 years old again.  And I realize, I owe my 12 year old self a debt of gratitude.

Shattered as she was, she had the presence of mind to know just how shattered she was.  She knew, that it could (and would) be a very long time before she could get back there...to the oldest cemetery in Fort Collins, Colorado...that's the way to remember Genny...don't forget...all you have to know is it's the oldest one, that can't change...don't forget.  She knew that this day would be black in her memory, and she tried so hard to pay attention to the way...the way to the grave...another stroke of 'luck', he would be buried by my great grandparents, towards the edge of the grounds...ok, good...don't forget, don't forget...oldest cemetery, at the edge...ok...you're a kid, utterly broken, but you can remember that...oldest...at the end.  It was still a lot of ground, but she realized that even if that's all she could remember, it would be enough...and I distinctly remember envisioning my older self walking around the headstones, looking for him...and gave myself permission to go black again.   And then, when the burial was over and we headed back to the car...I was given the most lovely gift of all.  As I stood there looking to the street, I saw them...and I just stood there, amazed by my luck...for the rest of my life, all I had to do, was find my trees...they would guide the way.  They had just planted two identical baby ***** trees, twins, a few feet apart, and I was standing exactly in the middle of them.  I memorized their beauty...they were red for fall, the exact same size, planted the same year as my dad, on either side of him...wonder how big they'll get...thank you...don't forget, Genny, don't forget...oldest cemetery...by the end...look for the twins...don't forget....

Thank you, little Genny...you did a great job, I did remember, and I do use the trees and they take me right to him, every time.  And they're huge now...just gorgeous.  I almost couldn't believe how big they'd gotten when I pulled up to them this year...34 years is a long time...I half expected to still see the baby tree ties and fresh mounds of root, it was yesterday.

It was another beautiful day, lots of sun making all the autumn colors a little brighter, snow capped Mountains in the distance, warm and chilly...perfect for grave visiting.  I did all the things we do, got flowers, sat...talked a little, but mostly silent, felt, breathed.  I worried for a minute about my lack of emotion...I really felt mostly fine, neutral even...though a lot of it already came out, in a great surge, when I came across my Great Grandma Grace's grave first.  "Oh my god...you!...hi gramma...how could I forget that you are here too?...hi, I love you, and remember you well".  I fell to my knees, sobbing, how could I forget that she was here too?  I cleared all the fallen leaves form the headstone, and found another nice little surprise.  Her's is a double headstone, with her husband, Guy.  I didn't remember this either, but my great granddad, Guy, died three months before I was born.  One goes, one comes.  Amazing peace and grace fell upon me...I'm ready for anything now, let's go find dad.

It wasn't lack of emotion, I needn't ever worry about that I guess.  It was just an odd and rare sense of contentment.  As I sat there with my dad and the fresh cut wild flowers and the sun and the mountains and my tears and all the other headstones...so many...most old, a few brand new...I was completely content.  Content to be broken, content to know healing, content to acknowledge hate, and content to find forgiveness again as it gets lost sometimes.  It wasn't until I had the thought to maybe head home soon, that I panicked.  I'm pretty sure I had a minor panic/anxiety attack.  I don't wanna go...can't I just sit here for a few more lifetimes?  I think I turned 12 again, though she's more together than I am it seems...I couldn't bare the thought of getting up and walking away...again...I felt it deep in my chest and just fell down and sobbed forever.  Well not forever, but I found it hard to believe I still had that much in me.  Something took over in me...The Great Mother...She picked me up, put my stuff in my arms and gently nudged me back into my car...where I grew up, and then, succumbed...to the long drive home.  Bye Daddy.

*******

What's Not To Love About A Rose?

"Hello, how are you today?  Looking for anything in particular"?

"Hi.  Um, Roses maybe"?

"Yes, of course.  I just got these beauties in this morning...lovely aren't they"?

"Yeah, what's not to love about a rose"?

"I know, right?  I had the weirdest thing happen today!  This woman came in, and she was looking at my wild flower bouquets, and I asked her if she needed help.  She said she needed flowers for a special grave and liked these...I said 'oh...what about these amazing roses I just got in', and you'd think I offered to chop off her head!  I mean, she was totally nice about it...you could tell she tried to contain it and just move on real quick without having to explain, but I could tell it was weird for her.  She just said, 'Oh no, no roses please...I like the wild ones'.  She was so sweet and grateful for my help, but as she left I just thought, hmmm, what's not to love about a rose"?

"Huh...well I like them...crazy though...what's not to love".

...is I'm sure what happened later that day.  I'll agree on the weirdness of it...I go to this flower shop all the time.  They're always nice, but never before had they asked me if I needed help or offered to show me a specific flower...ever.  I always just go in, look at the arranged bouquets, almost always find one I like and get it myself...or...if not, I'll take a minute and make my own bouquet with the bulk flowers.  This was the only time in years, that someone offered me roses...for my dad's grave...unbelievable.