I wonder when I'll go into autopilot on I-84 and without thinking ease right at exit 62. Or when my pen will stop hesitating at the zip code line on forms as I repeat it in my mind. Where do I live, again? I wonder when I'll stop aching at the thought of what we left behind. The ache doesn't mean what we have now isn't beautiful and amazing and breathtaking. It just means what we left behind was also beautiful and amazing and breathtaking...in completely different ways.
I stopped at the mailbox today to chat with my neighbor. She's the sweetest lady, in her mid-forties, beautiful and delicate, kind and sincere. I commented on the large stack of mail she was holding onto, and she replied that most of it is her mom's mail which is forwarded to her now. A couple weeks back she had shared briefly that her mom passed away last spring, but I didn't know why or how.
There are days when I'm ok and I go about my day, and then there are moments like right now when I see her magazines and I fall apart.
Her eyes welled with tears, and she began to weep.
If you would have told me ten years ago that I would lose my parents in ten years, I would have laughed at you. No way. No way. But, you just don't know. My mom was the healthiest person... stage 4 pancreatic cancer... 3 months, and she was gone. And it makes no sense.
Magically, at that moment, it started to rain. Barely more than sprinkles, and almost as if it was coming down sideways with the wind. The tiny yellow leaves that cover our street swirled up into the air like confetti. Both she and I stopped our conversation to look up into the sky, searching for the cloud to blame. But, the sky was blue and the sun shining, and those droplets kept falling like miniature diamonds.
Maybe it's my mom, sending her own tears down from heaven. She laughed and began the string of apologies for crying and talking and taking my time.
I love to know people and their stories. I am continually fascinated by the depth of human experience that lies within each of us, hidden behind our normalcy. I love the art of revealing the intricate layers that strangers gradually gift us as we become friends.
It's hard starting over in so many ways. But, then, gifts like the conversation at the mailbox remind me that it's also a chance for new stories to be written and for old stories to told.
sometimes I just want to eat a ripe mango and go to the park with my friends and then lay in the grass in our itty bitty back yard and watch the palm trees.
Look! The view from a run...
It's breathtaking here.