Left my heart in Broadwater County

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.

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