My home is full of boxes. I am packing to move and the process is disquieting. Today I am packing books and little things from my bookshelves. I found the acorns my granddaughters and I gathered from the cemetery in Georgia and the memories came back. It was cold and little Mary was a baby, just up off the floor. Her daddy put underwear on her head to keep it warm. Our JoJo lost a tooth in the lobby of the Atlanta Hilton and Evan helped her clean the blood, both of them grossed out and giggling. Kasia added her throaty laugh.
That night, the Hooch ate pizza with the little girls in the hotel while Jill, Lori and I ate dinner at Pitty Pat's Porch… black eyed peas, greens, cornbread and sweet tea, the food of my childhood. I consider that meal with my daughter and daughter-in-law a gift from my son.
Next day we went to Mass at Our Lady of Lourdes in Sweet Auburn. It was cold but the sun was warm and the music circled us in love. Little Mary walked away from her daddy and stood in front of the choir, mouth open as if to catch the notes. Everyone smiled. How delicious to spend time with my children and granddaughters in the place I grew up.
But today I am packing boxes.
I am clear about the lessons I am "relearning" from moving. The essence of life is change and all life is impermanence and this will not be my last move. The memories are moving with me, packed safely in my heart. Still, moving is disquieting to my soul.
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