Chasing my past. (Part 2) - Day 1: One small step…

Saturday morning, 7:16am.

I’m settled into my seat on a flight from Burbank to Indianapolis by way of Phoenix.

As usual, I boarded from the back so that I could push forward to the front and get the row and seat that I like (9F). Burbank is one of the few airports that allow you to board from the front and back. And since people are creatures of habit (myself included) they board from the front causing a traffic jam while whom boarded take the front few rows and take their time stowing their luggage.

I climb the stairs from the back, push forward and beat most of the people on. Row 9 is the row the flight attendant starts with drink service so I get my drink first. I enjoy window seats so I can rest my head on the window if needed (seat F). I place my bag on the ground in front of the middle seat making sure its visible so passerby’s might think someone is sitting there and hope a guy sits in the aisle seat. Most guys hope a young attractive girl sits there but not me because when that happens, 99% of the time, a guy will take the middle seat hoping to make an impression at the same time making it crowded. Luckily a guy did take the aisle seat and no one sat in the middle and the comfort ensues. I fly a lot.

The take off was a little bumpy heading out but nothing to fear. The only real thing to fear is the smell. Well, it’s not terrible. It smells like a food truck on the streets of a New York morning. A combination of people, coffee, dirt and egg sandwiches thanks to my Rick Moranis look alike neighbor in the aisle who brought his breakfast on the plane with him. I never liked when people do that although I have been guilty of it once. But I was late for my flight and starving. I just don’t think it’s nice to smell up the plane with your breakfast. Better than the time a lady brought a can of tuna on a plane and proceeded to open and eat it right next to me.

I have been dreading and looking forward to this day for some time. I haven’t been back to Indiana since we buried my mom in 1988. I was 9. I never saw her tombstone until a few weeks ago when I was googling her plot number to try to find where she was. I eventually stumbled upon a site where people mark the location and actually take photos of the stones. I was hoping to find the plot number but never expected to see her actual gravestone. I wasn’t ready for that. A moment like that takes prep. Takes time to get ready for. But there it was. For the first time ever. That was a very strange moment for me that literally made me take my hands off my laptop.

One sec, need to grab my peanuts and my drink (fast huh?)

As we hit our cruising altitude of 33,000 feet the significance of this journey is actually sinking in. It started to hit me on the drive to the airport but I pushed it back until I was on the flight. I didn’t want to brush the emotions away and not give them their long over due spotlight as I tend to do. This is the biggest journey of my life and I want, need, to feel every emotion and allow it to be just that.

So what exactly is the importance of this trip? Well in some ways, I don’t know and I won’t really know until I get there. Wherever “there” is exactly. Each step will lead me to the realization of the importance. I do know that I have been avoiding this trip for nearly 30 years and since I had my three babies nearly two years ago, I kept getting a feeling in my gut to make this trip but having triplets kind of complicates your life a little. It wasn’t until I decided that it was time for me to stop being a son and start being a father that I knew that I had to take that first step. If not for me, for my babies. So they can have a father that I never had. So I can be that father to them that I always wanted and needed. And, hopefully, be a better husband to my “oh so patient” wife and a better friend to myself.

I don’t think there will be any huge “come to Jesus” moments but I do hope that this will be an emotional release for me of some sorts. Drain my internal jar that has been filled to the brim with past, deep rooted emotions revolving around the passing of my mother and the moment my life significantly changed. I guess in hopes that I can fill them back up with more recent emotions involving my wife and children. I need to do that for them. I need to do that for me and Indiana is the first step.

I’m not exactly sure what I have in store for this trip or what my plans are. I know I want to visit my mom’s grave. That’s the biggest thing I need to do. Then I’d like to see my old home, the creek, the Hen House where she worked, the places we played as kids. It will be strange visiting and looking at these places through the eyes of an adult. Everything seems so much smaller when you are 3 feet taller.

I only lived there for about two years but my memories of Indiana were, believe it or not, the best from my childhood.

We actually lived in a real home by ourselves. No other family members or friends. No foster families. No friends of friends. It was our home and we lived there as a family. And it was a HUGE house. We lived in a nice area by a creek that we used to wade and fish in. There was a trestle spanning across the 20 foot wide creek that the train would pass over a few times a day and on occasion, we would jump on the train and take it to the next town then back later that evening. We had the freedom to explore the world that my kids will never know. There were no worries about kidnappings or getting hit by cars or anything that we worry about as parents in California. I’m sure my mom worried but she worked a lot and there were four of us. And we went everywhere together.

Next to the creek, there were these woods that we would explore and camp in. Make fires, cook hotdogs and sleep out under the stars. I was 9. Chris was 12, Michael 11, and Chad was 5 or 6. I couldn’t imagine allowing my kids to do that at those ages. Alone. I would barely feel comfortable allowing my kids to walk out in our back yard alone. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. The memories I had of us digging for worms, fishing, catching snakes and camping are priceless. Lost moments in time that our modern world doesn’t really know.

There was also a little market nearby that was jolted into my memory the other night after Adriana made sour cream and onion dip for chips. In my memory, this market / gas station was about 1 mile away. I remember it had an old school soda machine in the front. The ones with the glass window that you open to pull out a bottle of “pop.” That was where I tasted my first Big Red soda. And it was AMAZING. It reminded me of Bazooka Joe bubble gum, just minus the comics. We used to walk to the store often with a few dollars in hand on a mission for our mom to purchase the same three ingredients for her (chips, sour cream and powdered onion dip). If we had extra change, we would buy a Big Red to share for the long walk back. When we got home, we would make the dip and all enjoy the fruits of our labor. I haven’t had that dip since Indiana and my wife made it for the first time just two days ago. Pretty amazing timing.

Well the first leg of this journey is coming to a close as we are about to land in phoenix for my layover. Little bumpy so they are forcing us to pack up early. It’s a short flight from Burbank to begin with, and all the people in the few rows in front of me didn’t get their beverages. They should of sat in row 9. ☺ I think I need to change planes and have a little bit of time. My nerves are still building but not peeked yet. I still have another flight and a car ride. I’m sure it’ll kick in soon.

…

Landed in Phoenix to learn that we have a three-hour layover! Just adds a little to the suspense of the journey. That’s okay though, I have time to grab a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

When service was established to my phone, I was greeted by a text from Adriana expressing her love, support and “virtual” companionship with me on my trip. I’m a sensitive and caring guy but not very emotional. At least not outwardly or in public. I knew this trip would weaken these walls but that little sign of support and love brought tears to my eyes. (Which I quickly wiped away so Rick Moranis wouldn’t see)

Then I got a text from my buddy Nick expressing his love and support as well. He must have seen my Facebook post I posted before taking off referencing my spiritual journey. On that post I also saw a number of my friends, including my brother Chad, offering their support and well wishes. Those small tokens of support mean more to me than anything. To know I have the love and support of my friends and family. I know on the surface this journey might seem insignificant to some or just a normal trip. But it means so much more to me. More than I even know. So to know that those who know me show that type of support… means a lot and is appreciated.

Airports are a funny place. Especially during the holidays. Thousands of stressed out, tired people rushing around, dragging bags and children in tow, coffee and/or phone in hand, rushing off to their gate. As I look around at these people I think about their journeys. The ones they are currently on and the ones they are finishing. Wonder what significant steps they took in life to get to where they are now. Which significant steps are ahead for them? The single mom wearing an IU t-shirt, trying to juggle her toddler, bottle of milk and bags as she sits down with a sigh of relief and exhaustion. (I know that sigh very well). The older gentlemen and his wife, drinking a Dr. Pepper with a smile on his face staring at the single mother holding her son as he kicks wildly throwing her iPhone (or what we call a baby sitter) to the ground. What journeys has he seen? What journeys will she see? To me, I’m on the most important journey ever! Hopefully, life changing! But I am to them as they are to me. Just a luggage toting grain of sand on the beach. Everyone has their life-changing journey in front of them or behind them like these two. I only hope that they are and were easier than mine but just as meaningful and significant.

So at this point, I don’t land in Indianapolis until about 5:30pm. From there I have about an hour drive to North Vernon. It'll be dark by then so not sure what I’ll do. Maybe drive around Hickory Hills, where I lived. Just check things out. I hope people don’t freak out and call the cops on me. Some strange dude looking at their homes and checking out their neighborhood. Enough to startle anyone in a small, rural town in Middle America.

Maybe I’ll grab a bite at the Hen House. Its funny, I’ve never eaten there since my mom worked there. Biscuits and gravy. Her favorite. I’ve seen them on business trips and they always brought her memory to my mind but I never had the courage to walk into one. I guess if I’m ever going to do it, its now right?

She was actually heading back there the night of the accident. A lady was fired and she volunteered to cover her shift. A single mother (more or less) of four boys, she definitely needed the money so I don’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault it was raining that night or she was running late so she had to drive a little faster to make it back on time. It wasn’t her fault that the tread on her tires were bare and couldn’t hold its grip to the slippery road around that corner. It wasn’t her fault that the blue truck was driving the opposite direction at the same exact moment those treads lost grip.

And I know that this is important. I’ve always had to keep reminding myself these things; that it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

And it wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t my fault. It is still challenging for me to say.

It wasn’t my fault.

Then why do I have feeling of fault or regret? I was 9; there was nothing that I could have done could I?

…

These are a few of the thousands of deep-rooted emotions I hope to purge on this journey. These emotional chokeholds binding me to a grieving son holds back the breath of being a father to my babies.

Feelings of guilt, abandonment and pain like these have haunted me my entire life. Making trust of others very challenging and loving of anyone nearly impossible. How could I really love anyone if I don’t love myself? Another emotional pebble I need to discard. (Since I get the feeling I’m going to have a lot of these revelations, I’m going call these pebbles. ☺ ) I’ve always liked the quote:
“One cannot clean another’s home if his is dirty.” Well its time to clean my home.

It’s time to “bury” my mom and at the same time bury the guilt and pain that I have had my entire life. Time to discard all of these pebbles that I have been carrying that amounted to the weight of a boulder. Time to lose the weight of this boulder from my shoulders so I can shoulder that weight of my wife and children. I think that this is what this journey is for. I think that that is my purpose. But the truth is, I won’t really know until 30 years from now when I look back and analyze my life’s journey as I’m the old man sitting next to his wife, drinking a Dr. Pepper, smiling at my grand children climbing all over my adult children.

I smile at the thought of that. That’s a great future memory I look forward to. I wish my mom could have had that memory of my brothers and me as well. I wish that she could have met my children and my wife. Next time I’ll bring them to meet her but this time is for me. Selfishly I need to do this so I can no longer be selfish.

One more hour until we board. I’m going to people watch a little and get lost in other’s lives for a little bit.

…

Finally boarded up and up in the air on the last leg to Indiana.

I don’t share the feelings from my past that much with anyone. I will let a few people in a little here and there but I have always kept them bottled in my entire life. Defense mechanism. Survival instinct. Fear of rejection or abandonment. People wont understand. All excuses I have used and still do. All valid, but…excuses nonetheless. I don’t share a whole lot of my personal grief and past with Adriana and that’s not fair to her. Or me really. So I sent what I wrote already to her during my layover. Not really knowing what to expect in return but hoping to give her some insight on the significance of this journey and to make it as if she is with me. Sharing the trip with me step by step.

When she finished reading it, she called me crying. Which in turn made me start crying. In the Phoenix airport. Surrounded by luggage toting strangers. All, seemingly, staring RIGHT…AT…ME…

Okay, they weren’t really staring at me but since crying is foreign to me, it feels as so. She thanked me for sharing and it really gave her a little more insight into me and my past. (I took it as: she finally knows why I’m such a pain in the ass sometimes. ☺ ) And that meant a lot to me as that’s what I was hoping to accomplish. It’s not always easy for me to share my thoughts and emotions in person for whatever excuse I want to use at the time. So writing it down and allowing her to read an unedited peek into my soul to truly see me felt… nice.

Okay, well it will be about a 3 hour flight and I think I’m going to try to eat some peanuts, drink a cranberry apple refreshment and take a nap or watch a movie.

See you in Indiana.

…

Well after some turbulence we finally landed in Indianapolis. As I walked through the airport I noticed two things. The more I saw the word Indiana, the more weight seemed to be lifted off of my shoulders and I felt myself hurrying through the airport. As if I had somewhere to be. But I really didn’t. Gitty?

I rented a Chevy Malibu, put my hotel address in WAYZ and drove the hour and ten minutes to my hotel in North Vernon, close to where I used to live. I was planning to eat at the Hen House where my mom used to work but I couldn’t find it on maps or google. I asked the person at the front desk of the hotel but he’s never heard of it. So I decided to eat Mexican Food. I leave California to eat “Mexican” food in Indiana. (it actually wasn’t that bad). There was even a real Mexican guy working there as my server from southern Mexico. I asked him how in the hell he ended up in North Vernon Indiana and he said he came up here with his family when he was 12. We chatted a little and it was nice to talk to a “local.” One strange observation – everyone seems to wear camo here.

I decided that after dinner I would drive to the neighborhood where I lived. I was pretty nervous for some reason so I had a beer at dinner to calm my nerves.

A few months ago on the anniversary of my mom’s death I started thinking about making this trip. Thought about what I would do and where I would go. I didn’t know any addresses or even know the name of the cemetery she was buried in. All I knew was the closest town, North Vernon (where I’m staying now) and my memory of the railroad trestle stretching over the creek. So I opened google maps and found North Vernon and started looking for railroad tracks. Found a few but only found one that crossed over a creek. I zoomed in and searched around and that was Hickory Hills; where I used to live. It was pretty cathartic to see a bird’s eye view of my old town and see places my brothers and I explored as kids. I even saw our old home. So I dropped a point and saved it on my phone. Tonight I pulled up that point and it dropped 6 miles from the “Mexican” restaurant.

Excited and nervous, I downed my beer and jumped in the car. As I backed out I hit a curb. Nothing crazy or hurtful but jumped up on the curb. I didn’t feel anything amiss on the car so I drove down the street towards Hickory Hills. One thing I noticed about Indiana is how dark the roads are. The night skies are pitch black and there are no real street lamps to burn into the night. That’s not an excuse for hitting the curb but rather an observation. You seldom get that in California. Anyhow, I got half way and a warning light popped up on the dash saying my tire pressure was at 16 pounds. That’s low but I was 3 miles away, I could make it. Then it dropped to 12 pounds seconds later. I pulled over to take a look at the tire and heard hissing air pushing out of the wall of the tire. That’s not good. So, I had a choice, proceed and possibly be stuck in the middle of a pitch black nowhere in 37 degree bitter cold or turn around, get the tire fixed and come back tomorrow. I checked to see if there was a spare in the trunk and there wasn’t. So I turned around and went back to the hotel before I got stuck out here.

So I’m back at the hotel, I was on the phone with Thrifty Car rental and the closest place to exchange cars is an hour away. BACK IN INDIANAPOLIS! The guy said that a tow truck could pick me and the car up and take me there, I can exchange the car then drive back. I told him that that wasn’t going to work. He also said they might be able to arrange a two way where they drive the car to me, exchange it, then tow it back, which I obviously prefer. After waiting half of The Intern movie for them to call me back, he said that it wasn’t going to happen tonight and to call back tomorrow morning. They open at 6am. I guess there is nothing I can do tonight so tomorrow might be a longer day than anticipated.

I’m not to sure how to feel about tonight. I had high hopes for eating at the Hen House and seeing my old neighborhood, but I was also nervous to do so. So fate took the lead and told me tomorrow.

So… tomorrow.