Homeward Bound

Summers at the lake. Where three room cabins, named after birds, held my family and the families of my parent’s friends. Somehow we always ended up in “Swallow”, the last one in the row. I would share a room with my younger brother, Kenny. The cabins were so close to the lake you could hear the waves at night.

We drove to the lake in my Dad’s ’65 Rambler. I would sit in the back seat and throw up most of the way. When you’re only eight years old, 350 miles by car is quite the journey.

My family is gearing up for another journey. This time though there won’t be any need for air mattresses or bug repellent. It’s doubtful that anyone will be snapping pictures of sun burnt children fishing off the end of a dock. I’m not planning on buying any marshmallows or boxes of Aunt Jemima pancake mix.

Instead, on Saturday, I’m going to get in my car and drive 1,200 miles North back to Canada. My Mum has cancer and it’s time to trade positions. Instead of her waiting on me hand and foot, as she has for the last 46 years, I’ll be the one making the tea and cooking ham steaks with mashed potatoes and peas. I’ll make sure she has clean clothes and that the bathroom is just as pristine as it always was.

She brought me into this world and now it’s time for me to help her out of it.