It was fun- lots of firsts for me... sand bar, boat rides, clamming and jet skiing. I met tons of Thompsons that I had only heard of, and spent more time with the handful that I had met before. Everywhere we went, Chris gave me an ongoing tour. There was lots of sea food, lots of sun, lots of giggling kiddos calling me Auntie Grace and lots of time to talk, talk, talk.
I had a BLAST.
There's something intriguing about visiting people's hometowns- about seeing where they come from. It's like it makes the stories they've told so often, come to life. I liked the beach trips, boat rides and shared meals. But the stories- I loved the stories. Stories of when Chris and his 2 sisters were in school. Stories of the sibling arguments, family milestones and funny mistakes. And there were stories about their mom. Their mom who died nearly 20 years ago.
I've heard Chris talk about his mom for years. But hearing him talk about her now, nearly a year since I experienced sudden, unexpected death in my own family, is so different. It means more to me- I relate at a much deeper level than I did a year ago. Now, I know that you don't just share those stories with anyone- they kind of have to be earned. It was a privilege to walk through the house he grew up in, look at the pictures on the walls, and see his mom's belongings that still remain untouched- like physical proof that she was there, and she had an impact on the people who remained behind in the home she left so suddenly. I don't think I could've fully appreciated a tour like that until now.
One of Chris' sisters called me Paige a couple times. Surprisingly, it never bothered me. Not like when people at home accidentally call me Paige. It was kind of nice, actually... like they knew about her. Like she mattered to them, too.
One person asked me about my siblings. I said I had an older brother and sister. I never mentioned Paige. They didn't know. I didn't want the follow up, invasive questions. Not with a wiggly, ice cream covered 2 year old in my lap. Not at that moment. But later, I was surrounded my people who got it. Who could empathize. Who could help me figure out how on earth to answer that stupid question that is meant to be so simple.
I don't think they realized it at the time, but the entirety of the Thompson crew gave me hope. Chris could drive around his old hometown, point out landmarks, and talk easily about the things that have remained constant and the things that have changed over the years. Right now, there are still days that it feels like Thomasville suffocates me with the constant memories and reminders of where Paige should be. But one day, I'll be able to speak of this place fondly again.
Chris, Apryle and Laurie could talk endlessly about their mom without falling apart. They could talk about how they dealt with the pain of loss without reliving it in the present moment. They could laugh about her! One day, sharing Paige's story- sharing my story- won't hurt so deeply.
A weekend in Sneads Ferry. Lots of water, sand, and fun. Lots of people who feel like family. And maybe just a little bit of healing, too.
