a little piece of it, at least. I went to my family reunion this weekend, and it was held outside of the town that the Brammers hail from, Townsend, MT.
It’s surreal going there, because I used to go when I was a child but I haven’t been there in over ten years. So being there was this constant realignment of what I remember the town to be and what it actually is. Luckily for me, it hasn’t changed much, so I was able to make sense of most of the memories. Like Grammy and Grandad’s house (it’s not yellow anymore, but it is still the same as I remember), the Mustang Motel (still small, seems dingier, still love it), the Horseshoe Cafe (was it strictly neccessary for the management to “modernize” it? It totally didn’t fit what I remember. Too much teal.).
Mostly, though, I spent the weekend listening to my father, his brother, and his extended family telling stories and it helped me to make sense of where I came from. It was beautiful.
We went to the place where we scattered my grandfather’s ashes, and my father walked up to the tree where one of my aunts found a pile of Grandpa, and said, looking at the ground. “That must be Uncle Jerry”. There was another pile of what looked like ashes, and I realized that death isn’t scary if you don’t make it so. Sometimes, it’s even funny.