Big Sky Country

After ten hours of my dad yelling at me for the radio being too loud, and me being too tired from staying up too late the night before, we made it to Montana. We rolled into town right around dinner time and I was in desperate need of a nice glass of wine. Our hotel is a block off Higgins so we stopped in at a small Italian bistro for dinner. The food was great, the wine was great and the sun was slowly fading. A block up from the bistro, in the park, there was a weekly concert series going on. I walked over there after my dad went to bed and listened to the music. It reminded me of being at point defiance in Tacoma. Hippies dancing, a beer garden, and bluesy music.
I love Missoula. It's beautiful, quiet, and quaint. The town is full of people in their twenties. Some going to school, some experiencing the great country side and others who were born and raised.
The next morning we drove out to deerlodge to visit with my grandma Eileen's sister's. My grandma passed away almost two years ago and we buried her in hometown of Helmville, Montana. She has four sisters still alive, and even in their elderly age, they are so full of life. We met at my great aunt Marie's place and had coffee. My aunt Lois and Jean soon followed. We talked about the family, caught up about the weather, and discussed small town gossip. My aunt Jean stopped mid conversation, looked me up and down and declared, "you look just like your grandmother in her young age." People have always told me I look like a 50/50 split of both my parents, but that the boys (cody and jake) look more like my mom's side. But I was pleased to hear that I resembled my grandmother, as I have always envied her courageous spirit and great sense of humor. She was a go-getter and didn't take shit from anyone. She raised her children almost on her own, and still experienced life all to her liking. I always think to myself, if grandma never had an excuse to slow down then I shouldn't either!
Jean suggested we go to the senior center for lunch. And so we did. My dad, my two great aunt's (Lois had to ride into Helena), and I all headed to the Deerlodge senior center. Needless to say, I was the youngest attendee.
After lunch we made our way north to Helmville to visit the grave of my grandmother. Pulling into the smalltown (population maybe 75) and seeing the ranch and house she spent her younger years was amazing. It's so peaceful out there. Quiet and beautiful as the hills over look a sleepy town. We walked through the cemetery, filled mostly of my relatives, trying to remember just where we laid her ashes. In the far right corner there was a basket of flowers. My aunt Lois, who lives on the old ranch, must have laid it laid there to show us where she was... as there is yet to be a head stone. I walked up to it silently. Realizing this was my first time of visiting a grave holding the remains of someone whom I truly loved. "Is she there?" my dad called out. Such a strange question to be asked as I stood over a grave holding the remains of my grandmother, yet, I felt, at the same time, it was so void of her soul. "Ya, this is it," I replied. He walked up to it and rested against his cain.
Making our way to Helmville was so important to him. And the whole time I wondered why. I felt as though if I was to make this trip with anyone, if anyone would come here to find any peace in anything... it should've been my mom. The drive from Deerlodge to Helmville I silently wished I was with her. That we were going on some maternal pilgrimage to find peace for her in her mother's death, and maybe I could find peace for me in the hurt and pain I harbored against mine. It felt wrong to be with my dad. It felt strange.
After a long quiet period of him staring off into the after life, he spoke. "I made your grandma a promise that I would always take care of your mom and you kids. I had to come out here today to tell her I was sorry, and that I tried my best." My eyes welled with anger. At that instant I wanted to run into the field behind the cemetery and cry. Cry for how much I missed my grandma and how I wished I could talk to her, cry for my dad being sick, cry for my mom leaving, cry for how abandoned I felt by all these scenerios... but I didn't. I stood there and said nothing.
The wind had picked up at that point and I leaned into it, listening for words of wisdom I longed for from this beautiful place. But the wind was silent. And as we stood in the cemetery holding years of lineage I may never understand, silent we both stayed as well.
That night we had dinner at my Uncle Joe and Aunt Margi's. My grandfather's brother and wife. Their other brother, Uncle Dick, was also in town from Flordia with his daughter, Chrissy. Joe and Margi's daughter, Jenny, also showed up with her two kids, Shannon and Peter. We spent the evening catching up, eating, and playing cards. Just what I had needed after such a heavy afternoon.
This morning we woke up and walked around the Farmer's Market before getting ready for a 50th wedding anniversary of Uncle Joe's and Dick's cousin, Peggy Lakes. We drove out to a beautiful cabin six miles up Pettycreek road for a Montana lunch style picnic.
The trip has been warm. I admit I have been elsewhere in my head, trying my best to remember this trip is not mine but that of my father's.
Tomorrow Uncle Joe and my cousin Jenny want to hike to the "M" on the side of the hill over looking the town.
Wish me luck and endurance.
Wish me patience.

Wish me peace.