(this is part 4 of an ongoing memoir series. read parts 1, 2, and 3 for all of this to make sense.)
So we moved to Detroit. That's what people do when they don't know what to do or they need to start over- they go back to where they started.
My dad started in Detroit. He started as number nine of 14 children in a brick tudor on Lakewood. It's for sale right now. I hope whoever buys it loves it the way it ought to be loved.
He had the kind of mother you imagine authors refusing to write about because clearly it would be unrealistic. A person so generous, kind, patient, and loving can't really exist, can she? But she did. She did amazing things, that woman.
I miss her.
I wish I could have known her more as an adult. As a mother myself. What I do have of her is me, on the sofa in her den watching General Hospital on a weekday afternoon. She would toast my bread ever so lightly and even agreed to cut the crusts off. Walking her dog Harper with her on frosty mornings. Loving that she could be so gentle yet managed to be so firm. She had a quiet power, the kind every woman should strive for.
I don't know what this has to do with my story except she is what Detroit means to me. That house and those children of hers, who had children of their own, who give so readily and love so easily, are what Detroit means to me.
When I told her I was being called back to the Church, the Church she so loved, the one my father had left, we were standing together in her backyard. She had a little St. Francis statue. She put her arm around my shoulder and cried.
But that didn't happen for a long, long time. For now I am 5 years old. The Fisher Mansion is my temple.
Within those high walls, behind those wrought iron gates, I feel safe and happy. The grounds are beautiful. Everyone knows my name.
For a while we didn't have a home. I stayed with various families while my dad got his business started.
Then he found me another mom. We moved into that brick tudor. She had a baby boy, my very first little brother. Then things went wrong again. Somehow horribly wrong, and she left with him when he was just nine months old.
I've not seen her or him since, that short time mother, that one time brother. I think he lives in New York City now. We were friends on facebook for a bit but he deleted his account. Or he has me blocked. I don't know which.
Sometimes I wonder who reads this blog, what he were to think if he found it. I think about my cousin, our cousin, who lives there too and is roughly his age. What if they've passed each other on the street? What if they've ridden in the same train car?
Sometimes it's all just a little too...bizarre.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Detroit and the Brother I Don't Know (history, volume 4)
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As always, fascinating. Isn't it weird to think that you have a brother just wandering about out there? Or maybe not so weird. Probably happens more than we'd ever guess. Your gram sounds wonderful :)
ReplyDeleteI lived in the Detroit area all my life and didn't realize the Fisher Mansion was a Hare Krishna temple. Fascinating! I'm always amazed at how the disconnect between everyone's different lives is an illusion if you just scratch beneath the surface. I think we're the same age, which means when you were going to temple at the Fisher Mansion, I was living 27 minutes away, on a street in Royal Oak.
ReplyDeleteI love that your connection with Detroit is with that home, your grandmother.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry you have no contact with your half-brother - c'est la vie, yes?
Wow how interesting. My dad grew up in detroit too. I'm a big redwings fan, although I've never lived there.
ReplyDeleteThings like that are very bizarre. I have an estranged uncle who just showed up at my high school on parent visit day one year. And then my mom (his sister) bumped into him at the library. We all know each other though. Still weird.
Jamie
For Love of Cupcakes
I never grew up in Detroit, never even been there. I don't have a step mother or a step brother. But I do have a dad who why cry if I went back to the religion I was raised in. And I love to see glimpses of how you became the amazing woman you are today!
ReplyDeleteWhat great memories of your grandmother. You need to write these more often.
ReplyDeleteA wonderful post. I need to explore your blog more.
ReplyDeleteI too have a brother I do not know. A half brother older than myself. Perhaps someday our paths will cross.
Oh my sweet niece!! Your writing never ceases to amaze me. The words not only touch my heart, they transport me back to where I found love and felt safe...back to Mom & Home. I miss her so much, but it brings me comfort to see her again through your words. Grandma is smiling down on you today. ♥♥♥
ReplyDeleteIt's as if, at some point, we're all forced to make a decision as to how to define ourselves, how we "see" ourselves. Are we an amalgamation of lots of different parts of so many different people, both living and dead? Only blood relatives? Or, should we include those who were influential, but not related by blood? Honestly, I think it's an ongoing process, and I am so glad that the book is never closed until the day we die because it always means there's a chance we can understand more, know more, love more.
ReplyDeleteAnd, as a kind of side note, both of my grandmothers were highly influential in my life (1 lived with us from the time I was 4 until she died when I was 18), but such different women. I know I am a better person for both their genetic and personal contributions in my life. I ask for their intercession all the time and they are never far from my daily life as I often think, "What would she do in this circumstance???".
So sad about your brother. But lovely lovely lovely about your grandmother. Such an interesting story.
ReplyDeleteAlso, don't be afraid of the seeming tangents. Follow the story where it leads you. This is great.
Thank you guys for following along on this surreal journey. I often say this is why I can't write fiction...the real stuff is so strange that it always gets in the way :)
ReplyDeleteSo sorry about your brother... Very touching about your grandma, it sounds like she was an amazing woman.
ReplyDeleteI'm loving following this journey with you. So interesting. I love how there are so many commonalities among all of us..even with lives so different. It'a all about the love and security we got....and that we give.
ReplyDeleteI live in MI also so on a personal note I love it when you mention the places that are part of my story also.
Keep these posts coming...beautiful!
Love and brokenness - such a tough story of family.
ReplyDeleteDude, you need to write a book. I'm going on record with my prediction that you'll get this published.
Your grandmother sounds so amazing! How you described her is how I want to be.
ReplyDeleteYour story is truly fascinating...I'm so glad you're writing it and sharing it with US! :)
Your gram sounds wonderful. Makes me miss mine! As always, this installment is fascinating, and I look forward to the next one.
ReplyDeleteI loved my Grandma just like that. And think of her just like that. I miss her too.
ReplyDeleteDwija, awesome post! The comment from your Aunt brought me to tears.....it made the whole thing even more real.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sharon. My Aunt Alicia is an absolute angel. So much like her mother. She has a heart of gold!
ReplyDeleteYour tweet made me giggle! Your post made me cry! Thanks for keeping it real! Blessings Lady:)
ReplyDeleteThis one is incredibly well written, Dwija. The background with your grandmother and your connection to the church brings us into the present and lays the groundwork for your own amazing parenting.
ReplyDeleteThe brother thing? Yeah, I have one of those too..I think. No one seems able to tell the truth. Have you tried reaching out to your brother since the Facebook thing?
Keep going, lady because your story is incredible and you have the talent to write it.
Hugs.
What great memories with your grandmother! I'm so sorry to hear about your brother though.
ReplyDeleteI agree with everyone...great post! And your aunt's comment made me tear up as well, bc it does make it even more real.
ReplyDeleteThanks for writing this touching story...you always remind me to count my blessings. I absolutely treasure my grandmother too. I'd like to think that in heaven we'll be able to replay our life on earth, and maybe see what life was like when we were too young to remember all the details.
ReplyDeleteIsn't it strange how we feel such a connection to someone we never really knew. I too have a half sister I have never met. we have only communicated through instant messaging and email only a few times. I was actually afraid to give her my blog address as I was not sure what she would think... She lives a half a country away so I am not likely to run into her.
ReplyDeleteANYWHOO, nice post and thanks for sharing. Hang in there sista!
Megan
Wow, I haven't cried while reading a blog in a looooong time. But that story about you and your grandmother...I guess it hit me in the mother-gut, that fear that one or all of my kids might leave the faith in spite of me, or even because of me, and then--what a grace to see a granddaughter, who had none of the advantages of a Catholic upbringing, come into the Church.
ReplyDeleteLovely memories of your grandmother; sad ones of your brother.
ReplyDeleteSo many of us have a part of ourselves that is missing.....
I totally get what you mean about going back to your roots when you're trying to find yourself. I'm going back to my hometown this week to meet with luxury home builders. I plan to rediscover my life in the place where I came from. Thanks for the warm post.
ReplyDelete