Of all of my mother’s relatives, they appeared to be the wealthiest by far in what was otherwise known as a very poor area. They had a backyard with a fence that gave maximum visibility of the territory beyond their yard. Sometimes as a little boy I would look through the sliding glass backdoor and occasionally see horses standing around or bulls lying down in the grass just past the fence in what was a highly vegetative area. I was always curious about them, and it seemed a bit mysterious to me how most of the time you wouldn’t see them, but then they would appear suddenly, staring back at me as silent looming figures while I watched them enjoy a moment of tranquility.

Sean was older than me enough that he was able to play big brother for me as well as the other guests, usually my cousin Julia and my sister, when we would all get together and meet every summer when we would come down from Wisconsin and visit. Sean could be goofy at times, but he also knew when it was time to hit the switch and get serious when we were behaving as the children we were. My Aunt Joan, the oldest of my mother’s seven siblings, was also the wisest and most level-headed, so it’s no surprise to me that she would be able to raise such a grounded and mature son.

I had mentioned to Sean before I started my trip that I was going to be coming that way, and he prepared a space for me to stay for a couple of days before I arrived.

It had been several years since the last time I saw Sean, and I didn’t know that during that time he had become such a Lord of the Rings fanatic. We managed to watch all three movies in a couple of days, not as impressive as the people who watch all three in one day, but it was still a task that easily dominated most of the time spent during the visit. He, his son Noah who I hadn’t met before and was still only a few years old, and I also went to the theater and saw “Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow,” which came out only a day or two earlier. When it comes to movies, usually I remember every detail; every word, every blink of the eyes, or I remember absolutely nothing. This was a movie that I remembered nothing about, probably because I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but when I read the synopsis about it, it was about an air force pilot fighting off giant robots that were attacking New York City. I found that ironic considering where I had just come from, but instead of fighting giant robots, I was on a mission of self-discovery.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time spent with my cousins in Marietta. Family, and friends who are like family, always have the potential to conspire to make even the simplest of times something to remember. As I was on my way out the front door to continue on my “Odyssey,” Noah started crying, and I was confused at first what it was about. Sean’s wife explained to me that it hurt him to see me go, even after such a brief visit; however, it was time for me to move on to my next destination, which was back to Florida.

I wouldn’t see any of them again for exactly 20 years, at my mother’s memorial service in Jackson in March of 2024. Sean and his family had flown in from Georgia to be with us on that day. Noah had transformed into a fine young man, dressed in a suit and eager to help with the event preparations. He was joined by his younger brother Ethan, who looked almost like an exact copy of him, only younger, and equally as well-behaved.

There were many others there as well, including: my father, one of his sisters, my sister, my younger brother, who was studying in Chicago, my mother’s old friend from elementary school who I met in the 80’s once named JoAnne, and several other relatives and friends I hadn’t seen in decades.

To me, the center of it all was my grandmother, Bessime, who till this day still laughs when she remembers the time I accidentally called her “Messimee” when I was a boy. Everyone, even us grandchildren, call her “Mother.” She was easily the strongest woman I had ever known, kicking out my grandfather to raise eight children by herself because she wouldn’t tolerate his drinking habits. She was now over a hundred years old, unable to see very well, but still aware of who we all were.

My stepfather, the father of my brother, was the first of us to speak. Towards the end of his speech, he started to crack, understandably. My sister was next, but she was very short, limiting her remembrance to only one sentence, probably because she knew how hard it would be to keep her composure. I came next. Thinking of Sean and his family specifically, I thanked everyone for coming, and acknowledged those who came from far away to be there. I gave a short story about what my experience with my mother had been like since my childhood. For most of my life she was physically distant, and sometimes mentally as well, but she still made the effort to maintain communication and visitation as much as possible until her health complications limited her exposure to the outside world. She never told us exactly how serious her condition was, but when my stepfather called and told us she was in the hospital with a coma, everything became brazenly clear.

The hardest part to speak about was during my mother’s final moments. My sister and I each held one of her hands at a hospital in Sacramento, California as she lay comatose, hooked up to a ventilator and on blood-pressure medication. Heading to the hospital from Davis, where my mother had been living for almost the past 20 years, to Sacramento that morning felt like Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, when Lord Denethor sent his son Faramir to retake Osgiliath from the orc army. They rode their horses into battle with courage because they were ordered to, but it was certain even from the beginning that any of their efforts would be futile, and certain defeat would be the only result. I couldn’t ignore the ominous feeling I had inside, and I was pretty sure I knew what it meant.

My stepfather made the decision that my mother wouldn’t want to continue living that way, because she wasn’t going to get any better according to the doctors. The previous day, after everyone else left the hospital, I stayed with my mother for five hours and talked to her, not knowing if she heard me or not, but an instinct told me to leave nothing unsaid that day. The reason behind that instinct became clear. The doctors decided to take her off of her blood-pressure medication and see how she held up, and they would be back in a few minutes to inform us. My sister, stepfather, brother, and my stepfather’s sister stood around her in anticipation, waiting for the doctor’s word, not knowing for sure which way things would go. After about ten minutes, one of the doctors returned.

“Your mother is going to die within minutes,” he said matter-of-factly.

That put a fixed parameter on the end of her lifespan, and it was the most impactful thing I’ve ever heard from anyone.

Over the next 30 minutes, my sister and I held her hands. I kept a careful watch on the heart rate monitor. There were times when it would slow down and then speed up, giving me hope that she might pull through somehow, but overall, it appeared to be trending down gradually. It was the moment when I looked at the heart rate monitor and it read 0 bpm that I knew it was over. My mother, who gave birth to me and helped provide me with every opportunity I ever had in my life, was dead.

In the year since she passed, I thought I had attained emotional mastery over myself, but suddenly, as I described her last moments, I started crying in front of everyone as a sudden rush of emotion burst through every cell in my body. I remembered that it’s nearly impossible to cry and breathe at the same time, so I took some deep breaths and quickly regained my composure. I finished off my speech by reaffirming my commitment to my family even though we don’t get to see each other as much as we used to, and I even got a couple of laughs out of everyone, which I may have needed more than anyone else in that moment.

Oblivious to the end of that timeline, I continued on my way back to Florida with my mind on the present. Of all the U.S. states, besides Wisconsin, Florida is definitely the place I spent the most amount of time in, so I had a strong attachment to it. As I mentioned previously, I stopped back in Lakeland to find out what happened to all my old coworkers. Despite being only two years later, most of them were gone, and I stayed for a meal and talked to the few who still remained. Whatever feeling of activity there used to be at Ryan’s, it felt like it was nearly all gone now, like the people who were here at the time took part of the atmosphere with them when they left, and I suppose that would include me as well.

The other place I wanted to see was Tampa Bay. Despite all the dangerous encounters I had in 2002, I was still willing to go back, and alone, against what my old neighbor Jose cautioned me to ever do. The atmosphere of the city appeared to be different as well. I no longer sensed danger around every corner, and like the target had been removed from my back.

I decided to take a walk down the Tampa Riverwalk and enjoy the sights that the bay had to offer. I had spent so much time in Florida that coming here was like taking a trip to a park in one’s local area of residence. I was no outsider to this place, even though only a small handful of people here would still remember who I was.

As I neared the end of my walk and was about to go back to my van, I stopped near an old wooden bench and had one last look at the bay. I noticed a small gray jumping spider on the bench slowly creeping towards me. Since I wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or something more maligned, I started spitting at the spider as a warning to keep its distance. The spider not only quickly and skillfully dodged the spit, but it kept its eyes on me and appeared to be moving closer at an even faster rate. I decided to leave it alone and head back to the van and prepare to leave Florida.

In the vehicle, as I made my final preparations, I noticed something in my peripheral. The jumping spider I had just tried to ward off hitched a ride on me. It must’ve jumped on my back as I turned around. My normal response would’ve been to end its life, but then I thought for a moment. This spider was intelligent enough to know what I was doing when I was trying to spit on it. Even though most people’s response to spiders is usually fear-based, including mine, this moment taught me to see the value in them and their intelligence. The jumping spider had created a little bungee cord with its silk. I grabbed the line of silk, opened the door, and let it slowly drop down onto the concrete.

“All creatures big and small deserve to be respected,” I said to myself.

Never since have I intentionally killed another spider.

After I left Florida, I headed to my last planned stop, Jackson, before heading to my ultimate destination. As a kid, going to Jackson was always a hardship for me. I cared about my family, but conditions were a lot more challenging than they were up north. There were a lot of roaches in people’s houses. The food was difficult for me to get used to. When we were children and didn’t like the food that was prepared for us, we were forced to eat it. I think that was mostly the result of the hard life my grandmother, aunts and uncles had when they all lived in the same house decades earlier. When you raise eight children by yourself, you don’t have time to accommodate everyone’s needs. It’s, “Get in line, or get whipped into it!” I don’t blame Mother at all for taking that approach. After doing after school for nearly two years, I know what watching a lot of kids can be like. The difference with me is, in the evening, I get to leave. I also have a lot of help. I don’t do it alone. To work during the day and then come home to eight hungry children with their own individual needs is not an easy thing to deal with at all. It’s actually a surprise my grandmother was as kind as she was considering everything she must’ve gone through in those days. She was very kind and sweet, but the other side of her can be summed up perfectly with one sentence my sister told me recently- “Mother didn’t play.”

The things that were particularly difficult to eat, I remember, were greens and fried okra. The okra was so slimy I couldn’t get it down. One time at Aunt Joan’s house, my sister, Julia, and I were expected to eat a plate of okra, rice, and a couple of other items. I gagged every time I put it in my mouth, and Julia was somehow able to get it down, but she couldn’t keep it down. She ended up throwing up across her plate. After that, I think Joan realized that we weren’t playing about how disgusting we all thought the food was, so she made something else for us instead.

At night time, sometimes we would have to swallow a spoonful of turpentine because they said it would keep the worms out of our system, though honestly, the turpentine was easier to swallow than the fried okra.

Even the trip down wasn’t anything to laugh at. One time it was so hot, and we were stuck in stagnant traffic with no air conditioner in a construction zone on the highway. We didn’t have any drinks to cool off or maintain hydration with either. Only a few minutes after we arrived at Mother’s house in Jackson, my head started feeling like someone was slowly driving a screw into my brain. It hurt so badly that I started screaming, crying, and running all over the place. I was given some medicine, and the next thing I remembered was being put into a bed by one of my parents. The pain was so intense I must’ve passed out. I spent the next day drinking water and Gatorade, and the fluids were literally traveling right through me, because I would have to take a trip to the bathroom every five minutes consistently for half the day. I was surprised that no one called the hospital, and I’m grateful that I lived through the experience and without any permanent damage.

Not everything was so distressful, however. Sometimes all it took was something very simple to make our entire day, like walking down the street from Mother’s house to get Icees, long before they ever came to Wisconsin from what I remember seeing, or going to The Metrocenter, which was a huge two-story mall where I loved to play video games at Diamond Jim’s, the Metrocenter’s arcade, back in the 80’s when arcades were still in their prime.

My sister had moved down to Jackson when she was still in high school. She was even more rebellious than I was, and the last resort for my parents was to send her down where no one was going to tolerate any disrespect. She had since matured a lot and had two daughters, both of who seemed to be giving her some of what she gave our parents. I stayed with them for a couple of days, saw some of my other relatives, and then proceeded on my way.

Sadly, only a few days after my mother’s memorial service, my cousin Julia died under very unusual circumstances and very unexpectedly. She was only about a year younger than me. A couple of weeks after that, my Aunt Carrie died also, who I had only seen twice, but it was expected due to declining health. It was a hard time for our family, but like everything else that preceded it, we eventually made it through.

After eating at a family restaurant in Dallas and staying overnight at a hotel, I was practically in New Mexico relative to the nearly month I had spent traveling. As I recollected the events of the trip on the train heading back to Wisconsin for my cousin’s wedding, it made a great close to a previous chapter in my life. A new chapter was about to begin.