Make sure you have tissues ready.
The Pride of Eastport
Eastport is the town I was born in and where we lived until I was five. I haven’t been back to visit since right after my high school graduation. Yet, I admit the town has a secret draw on me. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel some connection to it. It makes so little sense considering how young I was when we left, but it is also where I learned to talk and walk and well, do stupid, crazy things. It was the location of my craziest stunt - the one that 24 years later is the first story my mother tells people.
Maybe it is that connection that makes me understand this story. It doesn’t surprise me or shock me. It seems just right and we need more stories like this in life.
The news of Jeff’s passing is still settling in. It is hard to comprehend the sudden death of a man so young (42) in the midst of a change (he had just started a new job on Monday). Jeff was the core of our group - in a way, he was the father of a highly dysfunctional family.
Now we are left with memories of a wonderful, happy, caring man who touched our lives… and reminded us to cherish those closest to us as it all seems so fleeting.
Remember a few weeks ago when I said I was writing letters to some men whose names we had found among my grandfather’s things. I figured if anything, I might connect with the men’s families.
One of the men was the third and only living member of “The Big Three”, which consisted of my grandfather, Jim Zanky and Joseph Beauregard. Jim Zanky’s daughter and granddaughter had both contacted me through flickr, but we had no communication with Joseph Beauregard… Until now.
This evening, a strange phone number came up on my caller id. I have been receiving a lot of wrong numbers recently, but this was not one of those cases. It was Joseph Beauregard himself calling me. I am not sure who was more thrilled by the reconnecting of our families, but I know I have a perma-grin plastered on my face right now. He plans to go through some of his papers to look for information or names he can share. At the end of the phone conversation, we both promised to stay in touch.
It felt good talking to someone who knew my grandfather and who has such wonderful memories of him. And on Valentine’s Day, a day I usually ignore? I feel it was a special Valentine nudged along by Grampy.
The bitter cold seems to have passed on. Sadly, it had brought no snow, so there is nothing more than a minor dusting on the ground. Winter seems fleeting this year.
Over the past two weeks, I have watched the Into the West miniseries. It may not be a perfect representation of history but it approaches it with dignity and honor. Often, we forget that history is written by the victors. There is always another side to the story, which usually proves neither side was “right” but both believed deeply in something.
It makes me wonder what story they will tell in years to come of life now. Will the future generations think of us with bursting pride for all we’ve done or with the mixed emotions we often regard the past in? For all the good, there has been so much bad. Have we learned our lessons or are we repeating the mistakes?
