The cuckoo in the nest

Many years ago, I won a scholarship to spend a year in the USA. I was sent to live with a family in Kennewick, Washington State. The family consisted of Hollis and Verdine Davis; their oldest daughter Carol, who was married and had a daughter, Shiela; a daughter, Holly, who was my age, and a son, Bruce (a very Australian name, I thought). They brought me into their home and into their family. I felt loved and I loved them. I also grew to love their country. 

I was already predisposed to be enamoured of the place. When I was a child, America was the land of Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers and Wyatt Earp. It was the land of John Wayne and the Alamo. Americans were the good guys of the world. They were kind, generous, hospitable and compassionate people. Then I got to live there and discovered that it wasn’t all hype from the television; they really were all those things – at least, the ones I met were like that.

I wasn’t completely naive. I knew there was racism but I was hopeful that the impact of Martin Luther King and the Kennedy brothers was turning that around. America was rich, democratic, powerful and full of potential to help influence the world for the better. It wasn’t long before I thought of it as my second home.

When I returned to Australia, that wasn’t the end of my relationship with the Davis family and the USA. Once a member of the Davis clan, always a member. Hollis, Verdine and Holly came to my wedding; Holly was my chief bridesmaid. Jeff and I spent Christmas in Kennewick the first year we were married. My Australian parents went to the US to holiday with my American parents. Hollis and Verdine returned several years later, and spent time with us and our two young children. We maintained contact via letters and parcels and emails over the years.

Jeff and I finally got back there a few years ago; 32 years after our last visit. By then Hollis and Carol were both dead. I kept expecting them to walk in the door at any moment, but they never did. Mom was much older and having some health issues. I wondered if I would get to visit with her again before we lost her too. It never occurred to me that little Shiela, my American niece, would be the next to go. That was a huge shock. And then, a couple of days ago, Mom died. 

I am grieving her loss even as I type this. And, it seems that perhaps some of my grief is because not only have I lost my American Mom, some of the qualities that made me love America as my second home, have died with her.  Someone on the internet said that I, being a foreigner, shouldn’t speak about what’s going on in America. I know I’m the cuckoo in the nest. I’m an interloper. But, I gave part of my heart to the Davis family, the friends I made while in school there, and the country in which they live. And I’m feeling very, very sad.