“No man ever steps in the same river twice for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.”— Heraclitus

That quote pretty much summed it up for me on my recent time being back in the area where I grew up. It had been 20+ years since I had . The reason for my return was the memorial service for my father. It was a short and bittersweet journey down memory lane.

St. Matthews Church
I experienced the familiarity of driving onto the church property, mingling with my parents’ friends, walking to the church gravesite, participating in a private ceremony at the site, stopping to pause at my Grandparents’ and mother’s resting spots and then back to the church for the public service.

How I felt: crammed into the front pew brought back so many memories of my siblings and me shoulder to shoulder in the back left pew. I never was a big fan of going to church—never saw the point, but I was confirmed there; spent time in Christmas pageants; sang; was an accolyte. I did spend a fair amount of time attending services.

I was acutely aware of how I/we were in the front row because of the tenderness of the situation. I was not really comfortable being center stage and yet… here I was present to the beautiful eulogies for my father in the company of a packed church. So many friends and family there to share their love and condolences. I sensed my discomfort—like a stranger— awkwardly visiting the grounds, amazed at how lush and beautiful and peaceful this idyllic part of the woods felt. It was alive with bird songs and old growth. Stone walls and a private chapel in the woods that spelled peace and tranquility and respect. Inside the church, I could easily find my way around the inside—the bathroom, the vestry—the hymnals.

Bedford Golf and Tennis Club
I jumped in the car of a long time friend and got a two-minute chance to say hi before arriving at the BGTC. The clubhouse had not changed at all. Golfers on the nearby course and tennis players on the red clay courts.

How I felt: Odd knowing the history of the place has been so privileged and that I grew up playing tennis on clay courts and spent my summers on the swim team. Although I never learned how to play golf at any level, I did ride golf carts around the course and it looked spectacular. A beautiful man named Calvin, who has worked at the club for thirty-five years, remembered our family from our most recent visit more than twenty-two years ago. Amazing.

Childhood Home
This was perhaps the most surreal experience as it feels like just yesterday that I was out running in the fields and following the creek behind the house down to the reservoir. Now, significantly changed—improved—it is barely recognizable to me.

How I felt: Careful and cautious with my emotions as I walked around on a property that had been transformed. Carriage trails, huge, new and stately horse stables, and perfectly manicured gardens replaced the character and soul of a run-down but enlivened piece of nature connecting generations of my family in one area.

I realized I was last back for my mother’s funeral service. I don’t remember much because her death was sudden and I had a one year old that nursed a lot and slept so little. I was overwhelmed. I had my engagement party on the land and then moved away to Colorado. I haven’t felt the need or had the time to actually take the side step to pay my respects to my lineage—most of my peers have moved away and the town has changed. It doesn’t really feel like home, but then, I was remembered and welcomed and it brought back a sea of emotions thinking about the privileged life I was fortunate to have experienced as a child.

It might not have been the same river, but it sure felt good to touch the water again.