on family

My parents are not native Vermonters.  After they got married they decided that instead of settling down near either of their families they would start their lives together in a state completely unfamiliar to them which I've always considered to be incredibly adventurous and bad ass of them.  Though I used to have the reputation of suffering from wanderlust, everywhere I moved I knew someone.  There was someone who would show me how to use the subway system or help me get a job or let me crash indefinitely.  My parents applied for jobs and just...moved.

There were some downsides to this growing up.  Not having grandparents who were there celebrating with you on your birthday, always knowing that even if you didn't have any friends in school you at LEAST had your cousins who were required to be nice to you and were actually fun to play with, and an aunt and uncle who owned pool?  The best ever.  I've never had the kind of easygoing relationships with any of my relatives that I saw in my friends with their aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents who lived close by.

What I did have, however, was a community of people handpicked by my parents to fill all of those roles.  There was Mr. and Mrs. Miller who lived across the street on Diamond.  I would crawl up on one of those sea foam green stools with the step that folded down and sit at the ironing board while Mrs. Miller would feed me endless sugar cookies and Tang.  When we moved to North Main I got the Bliss' who not only gave me my Winnie the Pooh bear (33 years old and still in one piece!), but also introduced me to their grandson who turned out to be one of my very first friends.  The Jenkins family was like my second family.  I took the bus there after school, I ate countless suppers at their house, I was introduced to the Beach Boys and the Beatles thanks to Joy's sweet record collection, and their daughter was my number one, secret handshake, basketball loving, pig latin speaking, imaginary world creating best friend growing up.

Because both of my parents were teachers and teachers work about 100 hours a week and therefore see other teachers all the time who also have children, I had a plethora of "aunts" and "uncles" and "cousins" from school.  I remember afternoons playing with the organ right inside the back door at the Moulton's old house.  The Annual Kids Christmas Party with a craft and a gift exchange was an epic event involving 5 teacher families.  There were picnic trips to Killkare and so many birthday parties I honestly couldn't count.  And there was the now infamous afternoon spent jumping on my parent's bed when Stevie affectionately dubbed me Erinbone. (And do not under any circumstances start referring to me as Erinbone.  It is a very special nickname that is only allowed to be used by very special people.)

Thanksgiving was almost always spent at the Zakrzewski house.  Marylou was a 4th grade teacher at the elementary school where my Mom was the librarian and Frank was a history teacher at the high school in the same department as my Dad.  Their 2 daughters were instant playmates for my sister and I.  Karen once pushed my sister Traci out a plate glass window.  Man.  That story is the best kind of family history.  Kristen and I were mostly underfoot and loud-banging on the piano in the front room and screeching about things only little girls understand.  Thanksgiving was, of course, an all day affair.  Kristen's black cherry jello was (and still is!) an absolute must.  A small cut glass boat shaped bowl was filled with canned olives and placed on the table early and I would always eat almost all of them before the meal was even served.  After the meal we would play spoons and laugh and laugh and laugh.

I had Frank for US History my sophomore (?) year.  I honestly remember very little about the class. I remember where I sat.  I remember him trying to make me feel at ease regarding the discomfort I felt over the whole I've-known-this-man-my-entire-life-and-called-him-Frank-but-now-I-should-probably-not-call-him-that thing.  I sat very close to his desk and he always told jokes.  I liked to think it was his attempt to get me to loosen up just a little.  And it worked.

Frank passed away last night.  He had been battling cancer and fought for a very long time. A lot longer than anyone expected him to.  He was a man of incredible grace.  He was an amazing father and outstanding Grampy.  I feel unbelievably blessed to have known him.  And I know he is now free and released from the unfathomable amount of pain he was in.  He was back home in Vermont and surrounded by his wife and daughters.  He wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

And yet I sit here sobbing on this glorious sunny Saturday morning because this is the beginning.  Frank is the first member of my Vermont family to pass away.  This is the first time the parents lost a very, very close friend.  This is the first time the kids are losing one of the parents.  Every time I think about Marylou and Kristen and Karen right now I can't stop wishing I was there because I know how badly I'm going to want them there when this happens to me.  I may not get to see them very often, but this is my family.  These are the people who I have those easygoing relationships with that make me feel loved and accepted no matter what.

Much, much love to Frank and family.  And many, many thanks to my parents for handpicking the best family I could ask for.