“I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment’s gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes with curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind.”
I was always a dreamer. As a little kid on the back side of my
parents’ divorce and living with my mom in a neighboring town, life was tough
and my dreams were just about all I had.
I dreamed of being an astronautbrainsurgeonarcheologistactorsinger, and
my grandma, Daisy Ocie Ketcherside, dreamed right along with me. Grandma always told me that I was special and
that I had big things in store for me.
She made me believe that my dreams, regardless of their audacity, could come
true. I spent every moment that I could
at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, a weathered but sturdy old farm house on the
outskirts of town. She was my best
friend. We gathered the eggs from the chicken
coop every morning, fried chicken together, played hide-and-go-seek and
dominoes, and laughed and laughed and laughed and dreamed of big things. She came from nothing and had nothing, so I
think she dreamed her own dreams through me.
She knew me better than anyone else ever has and her support was
unwavering. My dreams were her dreams,
and that was love.
Most of all, I dreamed of getting out of Kansas,
and Grandma supported me in that too.
“Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind.”
Mom and I probably could have made it together if
we lived closer to my dad (a boy needs his dad after all) and if she had
married someone who actually cared about me.
As it is, we lived a six-hour drive from Dad and she proceeded to marry
a loser who despised me. Home was
torture, but I always knew there was a safe haven at Grandma’s. Grandma knew that living in Kansas was
killing me slowly from the inside out, that Mom’s husband chipped away at my
heart daily, and that any happiness I had was rapidly evaporating. Grandma protected me, wrapped me up in her
plump arms, loved on me, told me that everything was going to be okay, and
never, NEVER gave up on whoever I was destined to become. When I was ten, at my insistence, my dad took
my mom to court to get the custody changed and Grandma came out in support of
his efforts even though she knew it would take me away from her. That bid ultimately failed (even in the era
of “Kramer vs. Kramer”, most judges simply ruled with the mother as a matter of
practice). Two years later, in the
summer when I was twelve and visiting my dad, mom relented and let me stay
knowing that the judge said I could decide for myself when I turned thirteen a
few months later and that my move was just a matter of time. I only saw my grandma one time after that when
she was still herself-- Alzheimer's began to steal her from me shortly after.
Grandma died on Halloween night, 1989.
“Now don’t hang on
Nothin’ lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money won’t another minute buy
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind.”
We drove back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house today.
Wow.
Twelve years after my grandpa passed away, my safe
haven from childhood is now a dilapidated old shack with broken-out windows
like black eyes on my youth. The roof is
clearly falling in, there are boarded-up holes in the foundation, and the whole
house is leaning ever-so-slightly to the south.
The weeping willow my grandpa planted as a sapling when I was a kid now
towers over the ruins of their house and catalpa trees grow wild all over the
property. As I stood there watching my
memories being eaten away like the termite-ridden house before me, I felt my
guts screw up in knots. So many good
times were spent in that house, in Grandma’s house. So many dreams came and went in that humble
little place. I never became that astronautbrainsurgeonarcheologistactorsinger,
but there were big things in store for me and I feel like many of those dreams
have come true. I wish Grandma could
have celebrated those milestones with me.
My heart of hearts thinks she’s looking down on me from Heaven and
smiling. Still, my sadness is
palpable. My house of dreams is gone.
“Dust in the wind
Everthing is dust in the wind.”
