Complex Family Reunion

Part one

In the winter of May of 1964, life took an unexpected turn. My 14th birthday was a modest but pleasant celebration marked by a pair of dress pants gifted by my aunt and a family gathering with a cake to celebrate.

My father appeared on the doorstep after dinner, an unusual occurrence. He handed me two pounds and a birthday card, a gesture alien to our relationship.

Later, trying to make conversation, he said, “You’re a woman now.” This baffled and bewildered me. My aunt, ever the pragmatist, interjected, dismissing his statement sternly. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

Thankfully, my father’s crass sense of people and the world was still beyond me.

My routine continued with my fortnightly bus trips to care for my great-grandmother, a duty that tethered me to the known, to the constants in my life. Yet, an unexpected twist awaited me a few Sundays after my birthday.

My aunt announced that we were embarking on a journey to Melbourne next weekend to reunite with my mother. She had deemed it time for our paths to cross, driven by my persistent tales that had painted her as a fairy godmother in my mind’s eye, a vision of beauty and wonder. I was quite shocked by this turn of events.

We departed for Melbourne on a Friday afternoon, soaring through the skies on the wings of excitement mingled with trepidation. My emotions were often turbulent, making it challenging to discern what lay beneath the surface.