My mother is fucking fabulous…in case you didn’t know already. I thought for sure that Stone would be able to handle time alone in the back by himself since he had been so accustomed to it in our everyday lives. I was so wrong. Maybe he just really gravitated to his grandmother. Or maybe he was just really good at conning her. Either way, she spent many hours in the back with him. She would read books, sing songs that she didn’t know the words to, play peek-a-boo. I was stressed before the trip about making a music playlist that she could agree to. Most days we drove listening to nothing. Just the hum of the road, Stone’s laughter, and my mom’s words.
Kansas and Oklahoma typically aren’t states I would find interesting. I have spent only a couple times in Kansas – one for a stone carving workshop and another while moving across the country to Washington. It’s flat. It’s hot. It’s dusty. But it also has some of the most phenomenal thunderstorms in the US, storms you can see for miles before even getting wet.
Oklahoma is about the same, with the exception of the Ouachita Mountains. My brother lives in Tulsa and I would frequently go visit him as a teen and young adult, sometimes without my parents knowing. It was a quick 4 hour drive from Little Rock, AR so that meant weekend parties, bars, and watching my brother play live. This time around, it was much different. There was still beer and bar hoping and yelling old stories but the crowd had changed. We arrived in Oklahoma City, checked in to our hotel, then went to the banquet area to mingle with the guys and their families. Imagine countless people saying they knew you when you were “yea high”….or screaming cause they hadn’t seen you in 30 years. That was my afternoon. We turned in pretty early. I think I fell asleep with Stone which gave my mom the time she needed to reminisce about my dad and explain to everyone what had happened. She still didn’t sleep well. And who wants to just lie around awake in a hotel room?
The following day was the memorial and cook out. We climbed aboard buses and went to the Oklahoma City Veterans Memorial Capital Campus. There were chairs set up and a podium. We mingled briefly then found seats. It was hot. The sun was blinding. There was no shade. The color guard made their way from the back row of the seats to the podium and presented. I will say, throughout my life, I have never paid much attention to the national anthem. Throughout basketball games and school events it was just there, a tedious required task. But there is something about being surrounded by veterans in matching shirts that changes your mind. After we all sat down, I slathered Stone in sunblock (he didn’t inherit my skin tone), and the ceremony began. They usually start with a prayer by a local chaplain then read the names of the fallen, chronologically.
Then Bob got up to speak. I’ve known Bob since before I knew who Bob was. I attended previous reunions with my dad from infancy until I was a teen – it is probably the reason I feel so well traveled. Bob was almost always there. His same huge grin. His same strong hugs. His same commanding presence. He read off the names of the men that had passed away over the last year. And of course my dad’s name was on that list. He pointed out my mom and my siblings and then he pointed out me. By this point I was standing with Stone in my carrier, doing that comfort bounce that moms do.
“And she has her son with her, who is probably the same size she was when Gary started coming to these things”
That was all it took. In that single moment I could feel the full sense of my loss. With my mother, my brother, and my sister there, everyone’s presence only heightened my dad’s absence. I cried while bouncing my baby, as if consoling him would somehow console me.
I walked over to my family as the names ended. We linked up with a guy named Lopez, a small, wirey Puerto Rican, the guy credited for saving my dad’s life in August 1969. It is a trip to meet a man that knows your family member so intimately but also at a distance. He had called me a year ago, just after my dad died, to explain what happened to him – the 105 round, the terrain, the med packs and morphine, the other 4 guys that didn’t make it. Lopez never knew if any of the men he helped made it. There’s no space or time for that as a Marine. But he found out years later. And he found out my dad had a family.
Once the ceremony was over and everyone had gotten together to take pictures – it’s required, we went to the cookout. Stone ate pulled pork, coleslaw, and beans. My southern soul baby! And he danced around while a live band played.
Mom, Stone, and I packed up at the end of the weekend, loaded up, and continued south into Arkansas. We stayed the night in Russellville, a good base of sorts before driving to Petit Jean State Park. We walked around, saw cows, and ate ice cream. It was a perfect night.
Petit Jean is Arkansas’s first state park, 2658 acres of hiking trails, overlooks, and waterfalls. We rented a cabin for the night then planned for a hike, dinner, and watching the sunset. Visiting The park was bittersweet. My dad used to take me there as a kid. We would hike to Cedar Falls or find spots that looked like bunny burrows for my velveteen rabbit. We would stay up late and sing “Bingo” or “This Old Man” into the night. We would watch as the fireflies lit up the sky or bats would flap through the darkness.
I was surprised my mom agreed to hike the lower Cedar Falls trail. It was a fairly steep grade to get to the falls. And sadly, there wasn’t more than a trickle when we got there. But I think she felt connected in those steps, as if each step was a step she now had gotten to share with my dad. She usually stayed home while my dad and I explored. Remember, I told you she wasn’t an outdoorsy person. Seeing her smile and hearing her encourage other hikers melted my heart and showed me how much she trusted me and my judgement. It’s not everyday someone trusts you with driving AND a hike. I should probably note at this time that my mom doesn’t drive. At all. By choice. She’s never had a driver’s license and will never get one.
After the hike, we ate dinner at Mather Lodge and took in the sunset from the back porch. It might not be the Rockies, but there is something about the rolling hills and green deciduous trees of the Ozarks. Mom held Stone while I took photos. This is probably one of my favorite memories of our trip. He was so calm and paid close attention to the changing colors of the sky.
The following day, we ventured into Eureka Springs. Eureka Springs is the super groovy arts community with cobblestone streets, random stone pathways and gardens, little shops, and more ice cream. Apparently we were hot these last few days. We ate ice cream in an amphitheater like park. As we started to drive out of town, my mom and I noticed that the clerk at the ice cream parlor was searching for something. I had left my phone and wallet on the counter and she was looking for me. Serendipitously, we found each other, and she saved me a lot of heartache and headache.
Outside of town, there is a chapel constructed of steel beams and glass. My mom and I had always heard about it but never seen it in person. The Thorncrown Chapel is like every bride magazine’s dream, hidden in the woods, full of light, and visually stunning.
We kept on I-40 to Little Rock, our final destination in the South, the place where I grew up. I could go on for pages and pages about how much it has changed, the places I used to go to, the food I still miss, and the friends I still have living there. We were there for one reason, to visit my dad.
My dad was buried at the Arkansas State Veteran’s Cemetery in North Little Rock. I had to leave before his marker was placed, instead there was a small green plastic name tag, barely visible, on his fresh grave site. Now the grass had grown over, more markers dotted the landscape. I felt the still sharp cuts from the engravings on the marble. Mom and I talked to him for a few minutes, telling him about our trip, bragging about Stone, laughing over our misadventures. Mom kissed his head stone and we hit the interstate, back west.
