So we are back to the roost and fixing some regular summer plans on our agenda like mowing the lawn, vacuuming the house, cleaning, grocery  shopping, etc. After being away for more than a week, it is hard to get back on the grid again. Last night I had difficulty sleeping: in my dreams I was driving the curvy Callicoon Center Road trying to find Keith’s home and in the finale, I witnessed him being beheaded. I believe part of my dream incorporated some of the book I am reading which takes place in the Middle East and is a spy thriller. I woke up anxious realizing that I have no control over somebody not wanting to see anyone. Just as my brothers hibernated themselves from me and my father before he passed away…I don’t know why. There is an age difference of 7-8 years between us, so we have different memories. I wish they would share the memories but they won’t. I can’t make my Aunt talk about memories of growing up with my mom in the East Village during the Depression or the possible cousins and family I may have. Connection have been lost which as I get older I realize I would have appreciated.

In the finale, the only thing you can rely on is what you have in your hand. Life is a gamble but you must see past the facade to know what is true and good. I want so much to believe that Keith still wants me and other people in his life and my brothers will be there for me but there is no indication of this. My husband is there though as I journey to the past and continue in the present. Maybe this is the best we can hope for. My brothers were there for my mom’s funeral but refused to say goodbye to my father. My husband and I were there. When people separate because of different beliefs: they may be political or just is not easy to move on. In the end, I know I am not to blame and being the connector, I want to have us together and to continue legacies but sometimes it does not work. Maybe one day, I will encounter these cousins as my grandfather grew up with three brothers, and they will be able to fill in the blanks. I am not sure why my Aunt won’t share or remember the memories or why she holds back. Why did my mother only tell me so much? I look at the pictures she gave to me: saying take them, they are yours of my family in the Catskills when we first moved there and my parents working in Manhattan. There are glamorous studio stills of my mom working as a stylist for NBC, my Dad’s photo’s of homes in the Hamptons which my grandfather owned. Or did he? June doesn’t seem to remember and my mom died without speaking to her as they were fighting over a lost inheritance. I know only that my mom never forgave her sister.

I can’t change the past. June and I stayed in touch but she is a very different person from my mother. We move on and I am glad for those near me and that my husband had the chance to visit the tiny Catskill town I called my own. Happy summer everyone.