Detour to DeTour, Michigan

Mom Alone With Her Thoughts

Mom, Walking the Bugless Beach
(MAN!  I hope I look that good at 87 years old!!)

No matter where you’re from, no matter who you are, no matter how old you are, there is a sister, brother, mom, dad, son or daughter, you worry about.  Who have current issues with their health.  Who you can't imagine losing.

I’m working at the Robot Store, on Liberty Street, in Ann Arbor, this morning.  I’m making myself write, to slow down the kaleidoscope my feelings are spinning.  Helplessness, fear, nostalgia, anxiety, love, anger and resignation, are all comforted by writing.  

When I write, I feel more secure with reality.  I reset my feeling of gratitude.  The spinning colors stop. I’m able to point to each shape, with words. For me, defining these strong emotions is impossible, without a tool.  Words become my powerful tools to keep life in perspective.

My mom experienced, what the doctors call, a mini stroke, recently. I was up north, visiting her, for a couple of weeks, when it happened. 

I’m willing to deal with my mortality. But, Mom??  No, not possible.  Moms don’t leave.  Moms don’t die.  If my counselor could hear me thinking, he would ask me, "Is that realistic, Mom’s don’t leave? Moms don’t die?”  And stubbornly, I’d have to say, "YES!”  He’d repeat the question, again, until, in tears, I’d say, "No, it’s not realistic, moms do leave, moms do die.”

Just writing about it makes my stubborn, childish mind, see the truth.  Any of us, including Mom, could be at the end of our life at any moment. 

Mom and I took a trip to DeTour, a few days ago, because I was able to stay an extra week with her.  I love the changes in terrain and shoreline on this trip. Big, dark boulders mark the area.  Along the shore and in the water, there are rocks with lichen, moss and algae.  We even saw a few rocks with small trees, thriving in their holes.  

Bay after bay are cut into the shore.  There are islands dotting Lake Huron, on this trip, too.  Small sections of sand beach have rivers cut through them. 

River, Cut Into the Sand to End in Lake Huron

A Small River Flowing Out to the Big Lake

The Rocks Are So Different in This Area

Mom By Large Rock with Orange Lichen

Mom and I felt like we were in a dream.  No bugs. NO BUGS!!  We must have been in a black hole, of some-sort, to be able to walk these beaches and not have to use one hand swatting bugs.  It’s worth the fun, even if there are bugs.  But, we didn’t have to deal with them at all!

It's a Beautiful Trip East of the Mackinac Bridge

It was nostalgic for Mom.  My brother, Bob’s, old tug boat sits in a park in DeTour.  He married a Leanord girl, Dottie,  from DeTour.  Mom lost Bob, oldest of ten, 23 years ago.  I wouldn’t even pretend to know how hard it would be to lose a child.  She remembers sailing with Dad, who she lost more than 5 years ago.  Her memories of the area were viewed more from a sailboat, than from shore. 

The Grounded Philo B. Leonard
(Use to Belong to Bob and Dottie)

It was nostalgic, for me, too.  My husband and I took our girls to DeTour, several summers, to climb the rocks and walk the shores. (so they could get their clothes and tennis shoes soaking wet) I’m grateful for the memories.

Rock Dotted With Holes

Large Bay on Route to DeTour

Memorial I Found By the Woods, Close to Shore
(The rocks used to make this were as big as two hands)

A few times, Mom’s GPS, in her new car, would say, "Not able to aquire satellites”.  So, DeTour, Michigan, doesn’t exist?  Was it just a detour to DeTour?  Maybe.  Maybe our day was a chip out of time.  A chip of gold.  

Thinking and writing about this evokes gratitude in me.  Sharing a scratch of time.  It's a chip of time, you may want to visit.   It may be a good detour.  One you might need when you are facing what we all face.   When the inevitable realization of losing someone, hits you. It may not be DeTour you head for.  But, no matter where you go, you’ll collect chips of memory of your family.

I'm betting you can close your eyes right now, and see some detours you've already taken.  Maybe as a child, or maybe with your children. Or, maybe a mother or father. Or a "Sweet" sister or "Bratty" brother.

Godspeed.

Wildflowers Among the Reeds

Yellow Lady Slippers Among the Shamrocks (or Clover)

Memories of Cruising in the Tugboat Don't Need A Picture