Appreciate Change, and Go Hug Your Momma

It hit me when I was standing in a living room filled with half-filled boxes, and our cat was weaving his way through his last hours as a house pet. My grandma was filling boxes and cleaning the scant layer of dust hovering above the three years spent making that house a home. Our memories of that place were being folded into the rest of our lives and moving several states away to a new beachside apartment.

As my indestructible mother and dedicated grandmothers packed and cleaned, I wished for long afternoons of lemonade, chocolate chip cookies, and conversation. Living far away, I missed out on living life with them, but the times we have had together still build into my life.

In that living room, it was as if my life was placed in my hands, wrapped formally in several layers of white tissue paper, and held together with a blue silk ribbon. All of a sudden, the ties to a childhood of hiding behind my parents were cut. It was all up to me.

At my age, my mother, both of my grandmothers, and my great grandmother were married. They were learning to keep house and build a marriage. My empty ring finger doesn’t intimidate me but an empty life does.

An empty life is like a mirror that only ever reflects one face. People define a place, and though I haven’t picked a place, I have picked people. My people are scattered across county, country, and continent. But the risk is that they run a mile wide and an inch deep. The value is in the investment, and I’m ready to empty my pockets.