Six Months

Today is six month's since my mother died.

Grief is a complicated emotion. You don't want to move through it too quickly or too slowly. I burned off a lot of my anguish and anger in January through March. In the end, everything was worse than I thought. There were many, many monkeys to wrangle from multiple circuses, not of them mine. There will doubtless be future moments of grief that crop up and smack me. But at this point, I've made it through my birthday, Easter, and Mothers' Day. I've watched barren winter transform into verdant summer.

Gratitude abounds. Sometimes the ending of a path is necessary for another path to open.

 I am grateful for:

• Helping my sister. Being present in Pennsylvania. Being there for her.
  
• Helping my brother in the nursing home. I got him set up with streaming television. He likes Star Wars. Now he can enjoy Disney+. Now he can watch airplane videos on YouTube.
  
• Encouraging my brother's friend, Mary, to visit him. (See picture above.)
  
• Transforming our family home. While my mother had updated many things, other things had been ignored or forgotten. It is now possible to take a shower in either bathroom. It is possible to sleep in any of the four bedrooms. There is a working dishwasher in the kitchen. My sister or one of her children are likely to end up in the house. While the process is far from complete, I am delighted with the progress of turning it into a home and sanctuary.
  
• Strengthening my connections with my nephews and niece.
  
• Reconnecting with my childhood friend, Becky.
• Connecting more with my childhood friend, Pam.
  
• Insightful conversations and shared good meals with several of my mother's friends.
• Sharing meals and conversations with extended family.
  
• Attending Maryland Sheep and Wool with a couple friends from Atlanta Knitting Guild.
• Eating ice cream from Perrydale and local York County strawberries. (The strawberries in the grocery stores here in Atlanta are never this good.)
• Meeting members of the Embroiderer's Guild of America Thimble and Thread chapter.
• Reconnecting with my love of embroidery.
• Discovering family history.
• Repaying an old debt (90-100 years ago). (See the story below.)
  
• Enjoying my mother's garden.
• Meeting some Mensans in the York-Lancaster area.
• Learning more about who I am. I am more like my father than I imagined.
  

And I can now tell the story of Aunt Clara and Uncle Charlie.

Early on, cousin Linda warned me Aunt Clara's cremains were somewhere in my mother's house. I vaguely remembered this. Aunt Clara was my paternal grandmother's aunt. If I'm understanding the connections correctly, Clara was my great-grandfather's sister. She was born in 1905 and died in 1996. For the last decade of her life, my grandmother lived with Clara and took care of her. My grandmother then inherited Clara's home and estate. When my grandmother's health faltered, it was the other side of the family who cleaned out the house. My side got very little, including nothing in my grandmother's Will. But somehow we ended up with Clara's ashes? I guess someone knew not to throw Clara in the dumpster but didn't know what else to do?

I did not know why Clara's remains were never interred. Her husband, Charlie, was buried in the East Harrisburg Cemetery. Had Clara told my grandmother she didn't want to be next to Charlie, in spite of decades of marriage? Had there been some secret rift? Had my grandmother and Clara had a fight and my grandmother was mad at Clara? I didn't know.

Yes, I found Clara's ashes. Yes, they were in my mother's house. They were inside a rusted coffee can in a box in the basement tucked in between the cooking magazines. There was a reused videotape label on top with "Clara Albright" written on it — not even birth and death dates. My grandmother hadn't interred Clara. My mother hadn't, either. I didn't want to pass the task down to the next generation who didn't even remember Clara!

One fine spring day I drove to the East Harrisburg Cemetery. Fortunately, they had records that, yes, Charlie is buried there and, yes, Clara has a spot reserved next to him. So now I knew where Clara was supposed to be.

Then I went to visit some of my cousins. This is where the story gets interesting.

Why wasn't Clara interred beside her husband? Because my father's ne'r-do-well half-brother was involved. (He was also the reason my grandmother wrote all my father's descendants out of her Will.) Uncle Skip didn't want my grandmother to spend the money, even though there would have been enough set aside in Clara's estate. But there was more to the tale.

Apparently my great-grandfather had been robbing trains in York Haven back in the 1920s or 1930s. He got caught. According to the newspaper, someone vouched for him, but the paper did not say who. Clara's husband, Charlie, worked for the railroad. Clara would have been the person to say, "My brother is in trouble with your employer. Could you please do something to help him?" My grandmother's family moved from York Haven to Harrisburg. Uncle Charlie kept Pappy out of jail and helped him find a real job.

Was this why my grandmother helped Clara? Was she repaying this old debt?

After that, it was a matter of contacting the cremation society to order an urn-vault. I transported Clara's ashes to the cremation society, where they kindly transferred her remains. Her ashes weren't even contained inside a plastic bag inside the coffee can! The nice cremation society gentleman carried the heavy urn-vault out to my car and placed it on the front passenger seat. Then I drove the couple of miles due west to the East Harrisburg cemetery. Between the vault and the cost of opening the grave, the total was $1,954. Robert and Laura at the cemetery said Clara would be buried later in the week.

After I dropped Clara off, I went out to Charlie's grave. I told him Clara would soon be next to him, as she should be. I apologized for this taking more than 26 years. I told him Skippy was involved — enough said! And I thanked him for keeping Pappy out of jail.

There's a family gathering in September. My grandmother was one of 10 children, so there are many cousins. I intend to pass the hat to offset the cost. Some of the cousins have already volunteered to contribute. On my next trip I intend to drop by the East Harrisburg Cemetery to pay my respects again to Charlie and Clara, side by side.

It isn't always clear what responsibilities we have to one another as family. When are we helping? When are we enabling? Who owes what to whom? I am grateful this debt is repaid.