I am in my hometown of Dallas to attend and celebrate my sister’s wedding. So much of the city seems wholly familiar -the green lush grass, the fullness of trees sprinkled with flowers that look like specks of confetti, the Southern twang ringing in the word ya’ll, and the sense of comfort knowing that you are in the place where you were born.
But there are other seconds when I don’t recognize home. My connection to “home” is muted. Yesterday I felt it in a quiet moment while hanging out with my Mom. It was, of course, Father’s day. In years past, I remember picking out a card, a small little gift and having dinner with my father. His response was always the same. “Thank you, you didn’t need to buy anything.” When I passed by the array of cards in the grocery line yesterday, I noticed the variety of Father’s Day cards and my eyes gravitated toward space in the middle that laid empty. A speck of discontent resonated inside of me. In one instant, I made a note of all the things that weren’t home anymore. The childhood home and my father exist only in memory. And sometimes I wonder why the grief can become so fresh again.
It is startling to me, this continuous juxtaposition of lack and abundance. I am here to celebrate a beginning with my sister, but at the same time the loss of what was lurks behind. Do we ever find a way to reconcile the two? Or do we continue to let go of one ending to prepare ourselves to embrace another beginning? I’ve learned that I am so bad at beginnings. My default is to tighten and clench my fists and focus on the past.
There is so much abundance, but I sabotage my ability to really sink into it. But it’s there. We all are beginning in one way or another. In my life, it is happening all at once. My sister will be married in less than week to her fiance. My mom has moved into her own space for the first time in her life. She proudly says, “I am living in MY own apartment.”
I choke back tears as I watch how the most important women in my life are beginning again.
Home is different. It isn’t what it once was, but for the first time, I am learning how to loosen my grip.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
It’s a constant ebb and flow, isn’t it? Sometimes I wish I could just stay on one level for a while, but then I realize that it’s the ebb and flow that forces me to grow.
You were on my mind yesterday. I knew it would be a hard day for you. xoxo
I was struck by this line, Rudri: this continuous juxtaposition of lack and abundance. That does seem to be what life deals us – many of us – and as I get a little older, I try to focus on the abundance as much as possible.
Father’s Day is difficult when your dad was loved and he is no longer there – taken by death, or choosing not to be present in your life.
“Home” for each of us changes many times throughout life as we change and life continues to flow.
John Mayer’s song, Stop this Train, can bring me to tears. The train, of course, being life. Sometimes things are just like they used to be and it’s so comforting. But we can never stop the train. In that song, his father tells him, John, don’t ever change the place you’re in.
There’s beauty and growth and moments exactly where we are. Every day, really, is a new beginning. Unlike what you said here, I’m good at beginnings – it’s the endings that throw me for a loop.
Oh so beautiful – the past and the new beginnings. I wonder if loosening one’s grip will also allow the joy of beginnings to seep into place were the grip has not allowed? I’m facing letting my children adventure into international travel– on their own, for the first time. Loosening my grip may come with so many unforeseen advantages for them and me… but it’s the first step into the unknown that’s so difficult. Thinking of your journey and how a mother, daughter an sister’s journey can sometimes be so alike.
I know your pain, hugs….happy there is abundance there as well.
This reminds me of a quote I saw by Abraham Laslow – “You will either step forward into growth, or you will step backward into safety.”
Focusing on the past is safe – it is what we know. But so much of life’s experiences are unknown and we have to be willing to move into uncomfortable to nurture that growth. I can only imagine how difficult it was for your mother to take those steps forward – to embrace her life of what is, not what was.
Hugs to you.
I have been thinking about you. Glad you got your momma moved in and she sounds like she’s loving it.:)
Your post made me think of a quote Faith shared with me today…
Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. —Dr. Seuss
I really need to work on that one!
I hope the wedding is a dream come true. Enjoy what is happening.:)
Sounds like you’re doing what it takes to navigate the line between what was and what could be, Rudri. Just putting one foot in front of the other is enough.
Sometime we have to loosen our grip for the people we love to find their way back to us.
When to loosen the grip and when to hold on for dear life — not the easiest thing in the world to determine which one is called for. So much in life often calls for both.