Homecoming – April 5

 

Some days stick in our memories and when the date rolls around, we either celebrate or somberly remember the anniversary. The days are always poignant if you shared the memory with someone who is no longer with you.

Jim and I were married while he was on R&R in Hawaii where we had only a few short days together. We said our vows in the Ft. DeRussy Chapel on December 20^th and in the predawn hours of Christmas Day, Jim walked me to the gate to board a plane to take me home. After our goodbyes, he headed to his flight to return to the uncertainty of war.

  The days dragged by, and I worried that something would go wrong. Finally, April rolled around, and I breathed a little easier knowing that he would be coming home within the week.

 

From Indelible, unfinished memoir:

Jim’s parents and I arrived at the Kansas City airport hours ahead of time. It was April 5, 1970, and Jim was on his way home from Vietnam. He was supposed to come home on the fourth, but after an anxious day waiting for a call that didn’t come, his parents and I had spent a restless night worried that something had happened to him on his last day in Nam.

The next morning he called from Seattle. He explained that the airport was under attack the day before and they wouldn’t let the planes leave. “We kept saying, just go!” After eleven months of expecting to be blown to bits at any moment, he thought the odds were better to just get the hell out of there.

We stood outside waiting for the passengers to disembark. I was wearing a long psychedelic patterned polyester blouse over a short royal blue pleated skirt. The blouse covered the baby bump.

A crowd of people awaited the plane and the arrival of loved ones. From our excitement, they knew we were there to meet a returning soldier. Airport personnel let me go out in front of everyone and across the do-not-cross line. Jim stepped off the plane and pushed his way past the other passengers to grab me up in his arms. He was home at last!

He kissed me and I tasted the bitter tang of alcohol. Unlike most women who have morning sickness, I had afternoon sickness and it was about time for it to hit me. “What on earth have you been drinking?”

“Vodka,” he said sheepishly. “I thought vodka wasn’t supposed to smell.”

“Well, I can taste it,” I said. Then I kissed him again, vodka taste or not.

 

Each year as April 5 rolls around, I always think of Jim’s homecoming. This year, we celebrated a homecoming of a different kind. Our family gathered at my Mom’s house so that she could meet all three of her great-great grandchildren. We were able to get a five-generation photo.

Jim loved family get-togethers, and I know in my heart that he was there celebrating with us.  

 

Copyright ©April 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Is Gray a Color?

 On a windy day, I posted a picture of the wind blowing my hair around and labeled it “A Bad Hair Day.” It wasn’t long before a comment popped up that said, “Is gray a color?”

After thinking about that comment, I came to the conclusion that gray is much more than a color. Gray is a badge of courage that honors life’s worries, sorrows, disappointments, and heartaches. Gray hair and wrinkles represent the trauma of death, loss of love, and a big loss of self. After being widowed twice, I’ve earned my gray.

When a woman wears her hair its natural color and doesn’t spend hours of her life arranging every hair in place, she is saying she is comfortable with who she is. She isn’t trying to impress anyone.

If a woman wants to dye her hair, Botox her face, have a pedi mani, or anything else to make herself more beautiful, I say, “Good for her.” Her goals and mine are not the same. She can be a sister of my heart, and I’m proud of her for taking pride in her appearance.

I can clean up once in awhile, but I’m realistic. After living seven decades, what you see is what you get. Through years of marriage, or togetherness, couples see each other at their worst and at their best.

I spent fifteen years of my life as a caregiver, and I’ll admit that I’m worn to the nubbins. Lately, I’ve been treading water, and I’m a long way from the shore. Sometimes, I think I’m going to drown, but I put on my big girl panties and keep on moving forward.

Another thing I’ve noticed about reaching a certain age is it is practically impossible to hurt my feelings. I may care about your opinion, but most likely, I don’t.

I look for moments of joy: playing my ukulele, spending time with my family who loves me warts and all. Sometimes, serendipity leads me to explore something new.

After a dental appointment, I needed to go by the bank, but traffic kept me from turning left. I decided to go with the flow and made a right hand turn so that I could turn around in the mall parking lot. Considering my attention span, I thought while I was at the mall…

Thirty minutes later, I walked out of Gene’s Boots and Hats with both items mentioned in the store’s name. A new Stetson and a pair of Ariat boots stowed in my truck, I completed the trip to the bank.

The boot purchase showcases my optimistic side. I am confident that the arthritis infusions will clear up the pain in my Achilles heels. The hat, well, I just wanted one since I’m not sure where my original Resistol hat is.

I’m also optimistic that our family band will be able to play music again. We are on a break due to health problems. With age comes wisdom, gray hair, wrinkles, and a team of specialists to keep us in pretty good shape for the shape we’re in.

Music and singing are magical when it comes to traversing the winding road of life. Whenever I pick up my ukulele, I find peace and happiness whether I’m playing for an audience or for my dog.

Life is too short and too uncertain to worry more about outward appearance than spiritual serenity. Gray is the color that provides a backdrop for the colorful rainbow of promise.

 

Copyright ©April 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ