I'm Building into a Cargo Van

 "It's in your blood!"

My aunt exclaimed when I showed her the van I had on hold to purchase. I had been searching for a cargo van to build into since November and, within a month, I found "the one" just one week before I was set to travel to New Orleans to see my aunt for the first time in over 10 years.  

When I told her about the van and my plans to convert it into my new home-on-wheels, she excitedly revealed much about my heritage which had previously been sequestered. That some of her best childhood memories were spent in her uncle Chuck's RV living off cans of SpaghettiOs. His sister, my grandma, wasn't so different in her attitudes toward life.

I knew of my own mother's adventures on the Greyhound, exploring parts the country at the time as a single mother of one, and of my paternal grandparents' travels in their own RV. In fact, it was my paternal grandparents who first got me started on road trips at just 6 years old. I remember being in awe of the beautiful variety of landscapes on our ventures from southern California to South Carolina, and taking pictures of the chaparral hillsides, texas rainstorms, and kudzu blanketed forests with my disposable camera. Of how daunting sitting on that double decker bus felt as it scaled the cliffs of the Grand Canyon. Of the "funny" accents we encountered as we made our way around different parts of the country.

I didn't know, however, that my homeless grandma, whose body was found in 2019 under a tree in Riverside, CA, had such strong desires to "live off the land!"--as my aunt mimics in Grandma's raspy smoker voice.

One of the times my aunts picked her up off the street to spend some quality
time before she ran off again.

Born as Mary Catherine Baker on March 25th (today, as I'm writing this), 1957, she was quite young for a grandma. At age 62, she was also quite young to see her own end. She was responsible for continuing the cycle of generational trauma with a teen pregnancy resulting in my mother, some drugs, the "free spirit" attitude of the 70's, and a general lack of introspection. She exposed my mother and her sisters to some horrid behaviors which have resulted in trauma for each of them.

My own memories of her are meager. My mother rarely exposed her children to Mary for reasons I find understandable. The only memories I retain of her, then, are wet kisses, an old dark house that appeared relatively clean but smelled of its age in addition to cigarettes, a cat who peed on me while marking a fence post in the front yard, and an overgrown backyard with a swing set way in the back--unreachable unless one were to brave the tall grass and confront the black widows.

To say the least, I've had every reason to dislike Mary for damaging me through her own child's traumas, the stories I've been told, as well as for my discomfort while in her clearly neglected living space.

However, Mary and my aunt were very close. Because of this, my aunt was able to give me some further insight on Mary that made me empathize and see Mary as the human she was--not some vehicle for generational trauma.

For example, Mary grew up in an alcoholic household with her brothers and a single father. The whereabouts of her mother, as far as I know, have been unknown in the years following her abandonment of the family. Mary also lost her second-to-last born which induced her Schizoaffective disorder. After some light research, I've found that some traumatic and stress-inducing events can lead to symptoms and possible diagnosis of Schizoaffective disorder, which can, in simple terms, be described as a combination of Bipolar Disorder and Schizophrenia. Losing her second to last born left her absolutely distraught, and, according to my aunt, it changed her. 

In fact, Mary had a home. Mary chose to be on the streets. Maybe it was because she was Schizoaffective, and maybe it was that her disorder exposed her innate desires for freedom.

Regardless of changes, Mary always loved to dance.

She always loved the color pink.

She loved bean and cheese burritos just about as much if not more than I did growing up.

Her favorite movie was The Jungle Book (1967) and she loved Yogi Bear.

Her laugh was deep and snorty.

Mary also hated shoes and she loved adventure. In fact, when they found her under that tree, she was barefoot but her shoes were in her purse. 

But one thing Mary would complain to my aunt about, which left me with some deep feelings, was, "Your sisters never let me see my grandkids."

Mary wanted to be a grandma. Deep in her heart, behind her traumas and abuses, Mary was an adventurer who wanted to love and be loved by her family. She wanted both freedom and love. She just couldn't make both work in a way that was healthy for herself as well as others.

Mary, my mother on her left leg, Auntie on her right.

So I went home from New Orleans on New Years Eve, and I bought the van mid-January. I thought about everything my aunt had disclosed about my heritage, including Uncle Chuck and his RV. Whatever motivation I had prior to buying the van was suddenly invigorated, and I began the project immediately.

It's my realization that no matter what pain was transferred through the generations, there was always a desire to fulfill oneself. My great grandmother, my grandma, and my own mother all had their own motivations for seeking life fulfillment and ended up doing so in ways that hurt others. I can find my own life fulfillment, which is generally akin to theirs, in a way that can bring healing to myself and others around me. I won't do it perfectly. I will still hurt people. It won't be on purpose, but I think most people who hurt others never inherently want to hurt others so much as seek emotional and mental safety and just don't know how to without hurting others in the process. Apologies and self-realization go a long way.

I've lived in various corners of the US, and I still feel I haven't seen enough of my own country--let alone the entire world. If this van is the start to pursuing my own life's fulfillment through adventure, meditation, self-love, nature, and pushing through whatever adversities may come, then it's worth every effort (and penny) spent. Through this path, I will continue to love and forgive myself and others for whatever chain we have contributed to.

Maybe I'll be behind the wheel with no shoes, a bean and avocado burrito in hand (no cheese for this vegan), laughing and snorting as the wind blows my hair all around through the open window, and I’ll be thinking of Mary.

When I first reconnected with my aunt over the phone after many years, I naturally referred to Mary as "Grandma." My aunt was suddenly sentimental as she said, "All she ever wanted was to be with her grandkids. Please continue calling her Grandma. I think she would love that."

Yes, Auntie, I'll call her Grandma. 

Happy Birthday, Grandma.

May you be at peace and at one with the land you sought to live off of.

"When I die, just throw me under a tree!"

- Mary Catherine Baker, AKA Grandma

 

Listening to: "Growing Up" by Run River North