Here I find myself, alone, writing
these words late at night in the house I lived in from the time I was 6 years
old to 18. My father died 4 years ago – my brother died just over 3 weeks ago –
and my mother is currently in the hospital 5 days – post heart attack. Are the
pictures on the wall welcoming me back, or torturing me? Not sure about the
former, but most definitely the latter.
Rewind a little more than 25
years ago when I moved to Southern California, six months after finishing my
under graduate degree. Somewhere in my last semester I decided I needed more. More
of what, I wasn’t sure. However, the thought of trying to find a job teaching
PE in the mid-1980’s felt hollow and ridiculous. There were no job prospects,
and as I neared the completion of my degree, I found I was drawn deeper toward
the actual art and science of the human body. Also, at the time, I was in a
fairly long-term relationship with a vey nice young man – however it became
painfully clear that I was not at all content with the idea of being
“comfortable” – which was an adjective he often used to describe how he wanted
his life to be. To me, “comfortable” conjured up images of a glob of
discontented humanity slowly melting into a couch somewhere. EWW! Morbid blue
fear flashed through my soul every time I heard that word. And even thought it
seemed unconventional to my brain at the time – my heart screamed, “RUN!” So I did.
My escape? Graduate school
in San Diego. Not a bad place for a small-town Nor Cal gal to end up. I
had opportunities to study in Oregon or Arizona… but, seriously? San Diego - I was not yet aware that it translated into "whale's vagina", but I knew it was not too cold,
not too hot…and a beach, to boot! Seemed, just right. And not "just right" like Baby Bear's oatmeal. It was exciting, but not
comfortable. Because, it was a change that required packing up and leaving
everyone I loved and everything I thought I understood behind. Definitely not
comfortable.
From that long ago August
morning when I sat across from my mother, pretending to eat breakfast in a
little café next to I-8, dreading her departure home, I remember how I couldn’t look her in the
eyes. Was I running away from home in plain sight of her? Kinda felt like it. Torn,
but not torn. But, no matter, as the tendrils of my life wrapped themselves
even more tightly around my psyche, and convinced me to set roots in new soil.
I’ve come to visit “home” fairly
regularly over the past 25 years. However, except to be close to my loved ones,
I’ve almost never been overly excited about returning. Somewhere between
Bakersfield and Lodi always felt like the “twilight zone.” Somewhere in that expanse
there was some strange shift of energy that completely threw off my equilibrium
when I hit my “root” soil. Was it shame? Regret? Or something completely undefined? Jury is still out on that.
Whether one agrees or not, change
is the only constant. We're reminded of that reality in thought, word and action everyday. Through the years I, and those I love have experienced numerous adventures, marriages,
children, divorces and deaths. For the most part, I’ve ridden the waves of these
life alterations relatively smoothly.
Until now.
My brother’s death and
mother’s condition, coming so close together, placed me in that “twilight zone”
space again – not in the middle of California this time – but smack in the middle of the place
of my origin. Utterly disoriented. Right here in my mother’s living room.
As the night moves into morning, I recognize that, while the house looks
different from my youth, the pictures are reminders of so, so many days of
happiness and beauty. And yet, they are just that – simply reminders. After
writing these words, and as my tears dry, I remind myself of the impermanence
of everything. As my eyelids swell from overuse, I remember that it’s my choice
whether this room and these memories welcome or taunt me. As my eyes close from
sheer exhaustion, I know that the pictures, and the benevolent energy they will
forever hold, accept me with love.
Thank you for sharing your words. I, for one, am thrilled at the thought of you starting a blog... my instincts tell me that many more beautifully written posts will fly from your fingers!
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