For the first time in my life I have an itch to go home. Growing up military and moving every couple of years, I’ve never really felt that I had a place I belonged until this past summer.
That’s when I got to spend two weeks in Grenada and Carriacou visiting family that until then, I barely knew. I spent days wandering the old port city of St. Georges, visting historic forts, exploring crumbled missionary hospitals, walking on the beach and swimming for hours on end. It was the first time in my entire life that I felt peaceful and that I belonged somewhere. I would meet people and they would say to me, “You look like a Cox.” Since I’ve never really “belonged” somewhere, it made me smile to be introduced as “Flossie’s grandaughter”
One day we went to the family cemetary where generations of Jacksons were buried. The ocean air of the island had rubbed away many of my ancestors’ names. But it was powerful to know that this place is where I came from.
Maybe it’s the snow and ice that blanketed Baltimore. Maybe it’s the ulcer inducing stress of my fundraiser. But, all I want to do right now is slather myself in sunblock, walk along Grand Anse, swim at Bathway, pick guava / mango / bannana from the trees and fall asleep in the Carriacou sun.
