Not quite a year and a half ago, I was summoned back to my parents’ home because of my mother suffering a health issue that could have turned catastrophic. It didn’t, thank goodness! A lot has changed since then back on the homestead, most notably the location of said homestead; my folks now reside in an assisted living facility located probably half a mile as the crow flies from their house. They had settled in well enough, and seemed to be doing well. Heck, with people being paid to monitor when they ate regular meals my dad had even put on weight in a good way; he’d been comfortable hand waving meals on a regular basis in favor of a protein shake or similar, whereas now he gets three square on most days. There’s the classic tension that I recognize better and better as my own hair turns gray – trying to make the best of things when your golden years aren’t playing out exactly how you thought they would. Anyway, cut to a couple of months ago when I got a call from my sister. It wasn’t four in the morning and there was no edge of panic in anybody’s voice, but it was just as serious a call for all of that.
To properly hear this story, you need to know that I don’t talk a lot with my sibs. No slight on them, if anything it’s a slight on me. I’m just not one of life’s chatters. (Yeah yeah, but typing is different.) For all I know the rest of the family is thick as thieves (although that’s not really the impression I get) but I can go years not hearing the sound of their voices. So, when I answer my phone and it’s my sister Linda, I immediately perk up. And honestly I give her tre-MEN-dous props for calling me like this, exactly because it’s not in our natures. She lives much closer to our folks and sees them on a pretty regular basis, and she was calling to let me know that she was of the opinion that I ought to visit more frequently if I didn’t want to risk having a list of conversation topics and nobody to share them with. And that’s about as delicate as I can put that. Precisely because we don’t talk a whole lot it really resonated with me that I should heed her warning. Since it wasn’t a capital-C “Crisis” I didn’t automatically drop everything and jump on the first flight out, but in pretty short order arrangements had been made. And so, immediately upon celebrating my bride’s birthday in Lisbon, I made for the airport and flapped my way to the middle of South Carolina.
Sidebar: when an immigrant in our little community in Braga heads back to the States, it’s polite to ask around with your friends to see if there’s anything that they need. Heck, it’s not really considered rude (at least, with people I know well) to just up and ask for something to be brought back if you know somebody is making the trip. It’s not like Portugal is some deprived wasteland where basic necessities are rare commodities, but sometimes you just prefer something from the U.S. that doesn’t make it across the Atlantic for whatever reason. (Stories of foods from the States not being allowed in Europe because they’re full of evil chems that the E.U. could never countenance are wildly overblown. It happens but not nearly as much as people like to say.) For example, I have a preference for deodorant that isn’t available over here. I also prefer classic French’s mustard on my sandwiches compared to the typical mustard available here. So, when Lisa or I make it back, we snag a six-pack of sticks and a bottle of mustard to tide me over until the next time. Another example is ibuprofen. People get attached to the pain relievers that they know have worked for them, and ibuprofen can actually be hard to find here; plus, like most medication in Europe it tends to come in a 10 or 20 qty box in individual blisters; a cheap bottle of 500 units is essentially non-existent. Certainly there are effective medicines over here, but people just like what they like sometimes, ya know? Coming home from the States this time the highlights included a restock of some favorite t-shirts of mine, a couple of board games that friends had been holding on to for us, and some Chukar cherries for those special occasions when nothing else will do.
This trip to South Carolina was pretty quiet. Like I said before, this wasn’t a “crisis”, it was simply important in different ways. I stayed at my folk’s place (not my “childhood home” in the way non-military families mean it, but I spent grades 3-6 there, it was where I returned for holidays during college, and I also lived there for a little more than a year during… oh let’s call it my ‘wandering’ days after college *ahem* so it has its share of memories) and went over every day to spend time with them, talking and watching whatever was on the tube. The biggest news, honestly, was that my dad had after many years finally gotten comfortable with a hearing aid solution, meaning the tv (or music) wouldn’t be running constantly at near-max volume, and he could participate normally in most conversations. That was a tremendous positive change that actually got me quite emotional because he’d been tuning out more and more because of his hearing challenges. I did make one detour, also a common occurence when an immigrant goes back: diverting to see a friend that lives within a few hours. After all, we don’t get back that often. So, I scooted up to North Carolina for a day to see my good friend Liz for a night of relaxed chill and board games.
Almost coincidentally the trip lined up with my mom’s 88th birthday, so the sibs all converged for a little get-together at a local restaurant everybody can agree on. Getting all five Caskers (give or take a married name) at a table is a vanishingly-rare occurrence but (in my opinion at least) everybody has aged out of whatever sibling roles we might have had so it’s “just people”, which is actually pretty nice. And as for my list of conversation topics? Pretty much covered. I mean, no transition in life is ever completely clean, but I feel pretty good about the fact that nobody involved should ever feel “I just never got the chance to say…” whatever those things may be. So, again, thanks Linda. I was there for about a week and was definitely ready to be home by the end; not sick of my parents and family, just missing Lisa and my life as it is now.
