November Ghosts Two: in Lehi

My parents came to visit last month. They haven’t been here in years, mostly because my mother isn’t doing so well. But in October, my brother wanted my dad to come up and ordain him a high priest, and help to ordain my nephew an elder (that’s almost all the boys left in that generation of the family—just two to go – or maybe three). And Mike really, really wanted Dad to see the house Mike and his wife had built for themselves last year.

I don’t know why it is that our family is so casual about getting together. Other families have reunions every year. My dad didn’t grow up very attached to his paternal family, and he really has hated family gatherings – too much noise, too many kids—just too costly in terms of energy. Mother loved being with us all—loved the very things my dad found so difficult.

So we hadn’t been together for a very long time. Not since the last wedding, really, some four or so years ago. And Ginna’s before that. At that time, my father told me that we kids couldn’t expect my folks to come to every grandkid’s wedding—too far, and too hard.

Now Mike and I are both up here, with most of our kids. So finally, my parents, thanks to my Texas sister’s efforts, came up for a gathering of the clan. It was strange – odd and precious at the same time. Some of my sister’s kids were there, as were some of mine and some of Mike’s. But Keven, Mike and I were all in the same house at the same time, and my parents were here, and there were even grandchildren—great grandchildren of my parents. Just like a regular LDS family. Like people who have roots.

I am so used to being with other people’s families—we’d been up here so long alone. We’ve spent plenty of time with Guy’s aunts and uncles and finally, with his brother and sister who have moved up here in the last couple of years. What I’m saying is that I’m so used to being a shirt-tail relative, it takes a long time for me to understand that this is my family I’m finally with. The family I actually came from and am linked to by time, blood and history.

So here’s a picture of us—who could have guessed there’d be so many? I do come from somewhere after-all. Kind of amazing.

I only wish my mother, who is so willing, and even now, so kind to us—had known who we were.