This is the time of year for reunions. Family reunions and high school reunions are celebrated nearly every weekend in Aroostook County, as we grab on to the beauty of summer and take advantage of vacationing relatives and old friends.
I loved being with my father. Some days, he would pick me up in the company truck and we would travel to Fort Kent, via Route 161. We would snack on Drake’s Coffee Cake and chocolate milk, the interior of the truck glowing and warmed by the winter sunshine. He would talk with me about his life and though he did not speak often of the Korean War, he was proud of his military service.
There was just something about that dress. It was sky blue. Not the fierce, deep blue of a September sky. It was June-blue: consistent, friendly and gentle, promising a delicious summer ahead.
I watched them as they pulled in beside our truck, the back seat of their multi-colored, gas-guzzling car consumed with fold-up chairs and chattering babies. The woman driving the colossal vehicle hopped out from behind the wheel and went directly to the rear of the car, just missing the chubby, soiled hand that had somehow burrowed its way through all of the backseat clutter in an attempt to grab her as she whizzed by.
My father departed from this earth on April 15, 1991, at the age of 61. The love that I have for my father is as powerful today as it was from the beginning. He was and will always be my companion, my guide, and the purest example of the word hero.
Much to my dismay, I found myself in the midst of a verbal confrontation with a sales clerk in a small shop. I had purchased a lamp and discovered a broken piece that could not be mended. This was the last lamp of that particular style and there were no plans to order more.
For me and so many of my comrades, cancer is life altering. As blessed, warm weather approaches, I find myself trying on my summer tops with hesitation. Will people be able to identify the PowerPort on my lower right shoulder?
When my sister, Lisa, was born, I was nearly 14 years old and up until that point the only child of very doting parents. I was immediately aware of the imminent changes that were taking place now that my spot as the “only one” was taken by a crying, demanding, very needy baby girl who seemingly stole the hearts of the two people who had once given their hearts to me.
My parents never forgot that warm spring morning I decided to do some exploring with my German Shepherd puppy, Rin Tin Tin, otherwise known as Rinty. We lived on the Jardine Farm, just outside of Crouseville. My father was working in the fields and my mother was hanging linens out to dry in the front yard.
It is difficult for me to write about my mother. She will forever be a multi-faceted, precious gem of constantly changing hue. She could “fish the brook” behind my grandmother’s house in silk stockings as easily as she could drive a bulk truck beneath the harvester, her thick hair bound in a satin kerchief.