Granny Pam

Granny Tells You What's Going On

No September 11 post?

I thought about it for a few hours.  In that few hours I cleaned, washed, shopped and generally enjoyed a worry-free day.

Somewhere around here I have my stark, immediate reactions to the events that took place on that day seven years ago. I wrote an e-mail and copied a few people, my mother among them.

I was still working, and I was in Memphis.  During that portion of my life, a flight somewhere on Monday morning, and a flight home on Friday night were necessary for me to continue my career.  I was here and there, Nashville, Louisville, Knoxville, Indianapolis, Calexico, Mexicali, El Paso, Juarez, Monterrey, and Niagara Falls, just to name a few of the places.  There were more, and it was fun in a strange sort of way.

I enjoyed the sights, the people and the work.  But it is stressful to be gone, or not at home, all the time.  And the reality of traveling somewhere for work is, well,  it is work.  It really isn’t fun, and I missed home, routine, and all that is associated with living in a family.

I drove home from Memphis on Thursday and Friday of that week.  That drive, alone in a car, gave me plenty of time to think.   I was exhausted when I finally reached Detroit.  I dropped the rental car at the appropriate agency, rode their shuttle to the airport, and found my car in the parking tower.  I drove home, ending one of the longest journeys of my life.

After that event, I remember being searched before boarding several planes, and I dreaded tha,t and much more about traveling.    My mother became increasingly ill, and she and S-Dad moved to live nearer to me.  My dear aunt Jane passed away, the last of my father’s siblings to depart for a better place.  D1 was carrying a huge load at school, GS1 and GS2 were young, and I knew she could use some help here and there. GS3 was growing and learning without me seeing much of it.  Things were not that smooth at work either, but are they ever?

One day, I just got up and couldn’t do it anymore.  I told Papa I was going to quit, and he was very supportive.  So I did, and here I am, seven years later trying to remember about it.

So, somewhere around here is a copy of the e-mail I wrote.  There’s a lot of emotion in it, and I’m not sure I want to read it and go through that again.  We’ll see if I can next year.


About The Author

Granny lives in the suburbs of Detroit, Michigan. I like genealogical research, gardening, cool weather, spending time with my family, and bluegrass music.

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