March 30th, 2019
Dear Charlie,
Dave and I live on a farm in rural Oregon. Today, I spent the afternoon barefoot, toes pressing down firmly into the Willamette Valley’s rich, loamy soil. Our driveway is winding, the curves unhurried, the sky hooded with cherry blossoms and maple leaf buds, and the wind delivers a promising return beyond the green tunnel; the crunch of gravel, reminding me of your own home-stretch sounds of promise and return, bending my perception of time and place.
/ this small habit born of a simple need / which, natural and unprompted, ties them together / across the bounds of death, and across time /
The early spring sun is cool but knows herself and where she’s headed. I know that I am here, not where I’m headed. The ground beneath me bobs and sways; my body grips, then allows. Five years of discovery still integrating, discomfort becoming my new comfortable.
You once wondered / is it possible / to leave a part of me behind / (you ask / which part?) / but what takes its place / and these parts / strewn over time and space / in houses / hearts / on hillsides / stages / or paper / are more than / hubcaps along a freeway?
And to that I reply: Your devoted intimacy with life is more than a hubcap. Inscribed on page or strummed through fingers or witnessed with gentle attention, your written, spoken and sung truth didn’t roll into a ditch but instead landed in me; a lasting song that reminded and awakened my own.
Now, we sing it together.
It’s midnight. Five years ago I opened an email from 23andme and my sense of self changed forever. Tonight, I stand at a bathroom mirror, splashing off the heat of a July sun. Dave and I are in Michigan with the Brauer family. It’s a family tradition to gather at the cottage around the fourth of July and now, two years and counting, it’s ours. The cool water feels good on my sunburned skin; I close my eyes as it sings past my ears, a montage of faces and new memories play in its soothing whimsy:
Lanky nieces and nephews hurling themselves off the dock with the same abandon I know in my own limbs.
My great aunt Lois (who insists I call her grandma) and her gentle, teary offering, “What a blessing to experience you at the end of my life.”
Dave’s question to Rich, “What was your first thought after you read Kimberly’s initial outreach?”
And my uncle’s reaching hand across a pitcher of margaritas to grab mine in response,
“I wanted it to be true.”
I turn off the faucet, dry my face with a towel and then it hits me. Staring into the mirror, bare feet planted on the bath mat, everything changes. A lightning bolt insight — but instead of descending from an abstract sky, the thought comes from my flesh. The ground under my feet shifts — liquid to solid. Moments later it will return to liquid. But in this singular, first-in-five-years steady, anchored moment, words — shaped from ancient synapses descending from the pads of my feet — form themselves into a thought. I am a Brauer.
I’ve had this thought before, I tell myself. So why is it different this time? Has it taken my cells five years to finally get it? Like a sticky name tag, edges bent up and caught in my hair, my new identity has been less than skin deep. It was a thought, a fact, cut from a DNA test result and pasted into my brain. My cells didn’t know what to do with it; they needed time and the slow metabolism of seasons to comprehend and assimilate.
Quietly, the thought presses into my flesh. I stare at my wet reflection in the mirror and call out to Dave to tell him the news.
“Dave, I’m a Brauer.”
It’s not a headline anymore. It’s just a sentence within a story I’ve been gripping onto my whole life. A sentence among many scribbled, unedited, unfixed sentences culminating as me. I am a Brauer. I am a Warner. I am a Larson. I am a daughter, a sister, a wife, a step-mom, a woman.
I unfold the balled wad of paper, scanning, scavenging, seeking out clues to unveil a more complete sense of self. But my fist grows tired and sweaty…
so i loosen my grip open to the sun ink fades exposed to the rain words smudge stanzas underlined— underrated words crossed out— cross over unfolding i understand unholding i a m not the dancer but the stage less the word more the page
“I wanted it to be true.” ~ This brought tears to my eyes.
And your description of how the idea gradually landed in your Consciousness, initially as a thought...
"My cells didn’t know what to do with it; they needed time and the slow metabolism of seasons to comprehend and assimilate."
This is so intriguing... totally in sync. with your symptoms of dizziness... gradually finding new ground, a new identity. Thank you so much for sharing 💖🙏
"Your devoted intimacy with life is more than a hubcap. Inscribed on page or strummed through fingers or witnessed with gentle attention, your written, spoken and sung truth didn’t roll into a ditch but instead landed in me; a lasting song that reminded and awakened my own. Now, we sing it together."
The letter to Charlie!!! 😭
"My great aunt Lois (who insists I call her grandma) and her gentle, teary offering, “What a blessing to experience you at the end of my life.” More tears. The tenderness and love that you have been welcomed with through Charlie's family. What a gift he left for all of you.
"Dave’s question to Rich, “What was your first thought after you read Kimberly’s initial outreach?” And my uncle’s reaching hand across a pitcher of margaritas to grab mine in response, “I wanted it to be true."
Crying the biggest, fattest tears. This is the most beautiful epilogue. And then you just really bring it home making me sob even more...
"unfolding
I understand
unholding
i a m
not the dancer
but the stage
less the word
more the page"
I AM ONCE AGAIN IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTION. I knew this was coming. I knew that your body and your mind would finally embrace the truth of your life with all of the other truths that demanded to exist all at once. I just didn't know how wonderfully wrecked I would be when I finally read the words. Your poor but incredible body. Such cataclysmic change all at once. The ultimate shift in identity and reality. As you so often do, you have replaced words with pure emotion and I am reveling in the afterglow of experiencing a life changing story with the most achingly beautiful/satisfying ending. Truly remarkable, Kimberly. It has been my honor to read your memoir. What an incredible piece of art you have created. Charlie is so wildly proud.