February came and with it the visit of my sister and Grandmother. I had not seen either of them since last June. It seemed like much longer than that. These months that I lived in Port Aransas, I had gotten to know Dad more than I ever have. One thing seemed clear, my being there grounded him, and made him more content and less restless and wild. Those traits rose to the surface now and then, but those were rare. What was about to happen took this to a level that I could not imagine up to this point.
Brooke and Grandma were arriving at Corpus Christi Airport after dark. There were two ways to get to Corpus, out Park Road 53, down to South Padre Island, through Flour Bluff, and into the city. The other way was across the ferry to Harbor Island, then to Aransas Pass on the Intercoastal Waterway, Ingleside, Portland, and then into Corpus. Most going the latter way would go over the Bay Bridge which reached high in the sky over Corpus Christi Bay. But Dad had other plans. There was an old bridge that was built on Navigation Boulevard in 1959. It was a lift bridge. When large ships would approach, old 1950s sirens that sounded like something you would hear in a power plant if there was a radiation leak would cut through the air. Barricades would come down as the siren screamed. Then with the utility eloquence of 1950’s engineering, thousands of tons of concrete and steel would lift straight into the air to allow passage to the passing ship. The whole time the siren screamed its message of doom and warning.
I loved how Dad romanticized this bridge. Engineering marvels like this are rarely built these days. It was something to experience for sure and because of the ship traffic that went through, this bridge was well exercised. As we sat there in the dark and waited for the bridge to come down and allow us to continue on, what we did not know was that in 278 months, explosive charges would be set on April 11, 2008, and in a sad and spectacular moment, the bridge would fall into the water, never again sounding its warning and never again causing people like us to sit for a few minutes and let their life catch up to them. All I can say is, I was glad my Dad was not here to see that.
As we drove along Navigation Boulevard, we drove across Leopard, which Navigation was offset. The darkness and light fog made visibility a little weird. For that reason, the Dodge jumped across Leopard Ave, which was crowned. The air shocks made it feel like the car launched into the air and instead of staying on Navigation, we found ourselves landing in the dirt lot of a dumpy-looking bar. As I stood hard on the brakes and skidded to a stop, Dad was shocked and amused, “Whoa Mike! You need me to drive?”
It surprised me too. I decided I was still the best one to drive. Although Dad did not have alcohol per se, he was holding a bottle of Nyquil between his legs and he would take a swig of it every now and then to nurse a bit of a cold he had. It was also the first time he had seen his mother in 4 and a half years. What is the connection? This was the only time I had ever seen him do this.
We arrived at the airport. Corpus Christi has such a nice quiet airport. As the welcoming glass doors slid open to walk in, I could not help but notice the words etched into the glass: “Sparkling City by the Sea”. One of several affectionate nicknames for the city, all you had to do was take a drive by the harbor at night to see why.
As the line of passengers filed through the gate, my Grandmother and Brooke approached. My Grandmother was 76 years old now. She had lost a good deal of weight and seemed so small. A person of 76 in 1985 was much older than someone of that age today. Having lived through two world wars, the depression, and brutal factory conditions during a time in which safety and health were secondary, it took its toll on a person. I could see the relief in her eyes when she saw us, especially Dad. It had been so long for her.
Brooke was 15 and clearly had my Grandmother in good care for the trip. I was very happy to see them both. Dad quickly whisked us away to the baggage claim area. Grandma talked about the trip, about how Dad had filled out and looked good, and about how long my hair was.
For the trip back to the island, it only seemed appropriate to go over the Harbor Bridge which reached high into the sky over Corpus Christi Bay to give a view of the sparkling city. As we drove home and talked, I was a little sad. I was still going to have to work the week they were here because I was still so new in my job at the refinery.
I drove Dad’s Chrysler to and from work that week so that he had the Dart which was less of an “Island Car”, at least I struggled to keep it from being one, even though, I was losing ground. During the days, Dad took Brooke and Grandma around the island to show them its personality, and to introduce them to friends. My Grandmother truly loved being with Dad and being able to see his life here in Texas was the best gift in her eyes. She and Brooke met everyone they could, and Jeri and Odette came over one night from Flour Bluff.
We gave Grandma a room down the hall as she liked to go to bed early. I sat on her bed one night and we just talked and talked about my trip to Texas and other things. It reminded me of being younger when we would stay at her house for the weekend, every other weekend. Those Friday nights we would just talk and talk until about 11:30 at night until we could no longer keep our eyes open. I recall sitting at the old Formica and steel table in the small kitchen on Carol Drive laughing so hard with her because we were tired and would just get silly.
In Port A, we had 2 grocery stores. The main one was the Family Center IGA and the other one was Super S Foods. Super S was owned by a guy named Victor. He started including a 2-cent coupon on the weekly Super S flyer. The first week, this week, that was for a 2-cent can of Tuna. In 1985, everyone in Port Aransas got their mail at the post office. Brooke and Dad went to the post office and cleaned the trashcans out of Super S flyers. I will never forget seeing my sister, sitting on the couch with a stack of those flyers, scissors in her hand clipping those tuna fish coupons. I saw something that day. It was like I saw where she belonged. I could see her future. That future was not in Connecticut, but here on the Island. It was such a shock to my system because I never saw or thought of it before.
That Friday night, Dad was sitting at the kitchen table with Brooke and me. He asked Brooke to come back to Port Aransas to live with us. She had no trouble deciding. She was going to come back and we were going to be a family. If I thought my being in Port Aransas grounded my father, I had not seen anything yet. He was on his way to having a 15-year-old daughter as well, and that was completely different from having your adult son move in.
For me, something major shifted. I love my sisters and always have. We absolutely had the typical sibling annoyances with each other over the years. Mostly I think it was because I was trying to parent them. On this visit, I felt it was the first time I ever really saw my sister as the person she really is. Until now, she was the kid in her ultra white hightop sneakers who just wanted to go hang out at the Plaza with her friends. Today, she was in Port Aransas, and she just fell into its rhythm like she was born to live here, even more than me, and maybe even more than Dad. There was no denying it!
Grandma thoroughly enjoyed her visit, but you could see that energy-wise, it was wearing her down. Something was up. Dad even said to me, “my Mother has always had a bit of weight to her, she looked healthy. She seems so weak and frail, I was not expecting that.” This would be the last time I would get to see the interact in the same place.
She was one of the most amazing people I had ever known. In 1985, I could say that I still took her for granted. My 19-year-old self was still too weak and inexperienced to understand that in this woman, there was greatness. She lost her husband one day in 1958 and raised two kids, bought a house, worked in a sweatshop, and cared for her elderly mother on pennies. She did it in a world in which women were just accepted as second-class citizens. She kept her focus and did that with such grace. Yes, any man could achieve whatever in this life. We praised and edified them in society in the 1950s through the 1980s, but she did it all. Never was seen as an equal to men of the day, and yet in her heart, she knew who she was and the opinions of others did not count, because giving everyone their due, they were not relevant. She was always respectful, always capable and she just wanted her family to have a good life. She did not ask for anything else in this life.
She knew her son very well. She knew his struggles with his emotions. He lost his Dad at 13 and he could not get by it. She well knew the wild streak in him. She probably knew about every run-in with the law that he had in Connecticut as years later I would find clippings from the Bristol Press Police Blotter. She loved him anyway. She understood the calming effect that having his family in his life had on him. This trip was a success. Brooke had been living at my Grandfather’s house in Connecticut and now in about a month, she would be moving in with us here in Port Aransas. Because of her ability to see things for what they really were, she knew this was where Brooke belonged.
The week went by quickly and the day that we had to put them back on the plane came quickly. I did not know it that day, but this would be the last time I ever saw my Grandmother in person. We talked on the phone about once a month. Any time I would ever talk about going somewhere else, she always gently said, that after I did whatever, I should return to the Island and my Father. She knew. She always knew.
What I was not expecting was Brooke’s leaving, even though it was for just a month to leave me with such pain in my heart. I really missed my sister! I never experienced this before. As each day passed high up on those vessels in the refinery overlooking all the bulk oil storage tanks on Corpus Christi Bay, I counted the days.
I was there, several miles from me sat the Tule Lake Lift Bridge, many times a day performing its important work, imprinted in my mind as timeless and eternal as the life I was living in February 1985. It never occurred to me that things even as permanent and magnificent as this bridge someday, would just not be here anymore, and that life, a different life, would go on.
