Home. Going back to my childhood home, where my family lives in California is always a bag full of mixed emotions. In one hand I hold joyful memories, colors of the countryside, taste buds tingling, arms ready to hug instead of giving two kisses, nieces and nephews, burritos, my mother's house, my brother's humor, and the faithfulness of a small rural town that doesn't change much… it is home and I feel secure, myself and loved.
On the other hand the bag is dumped upside down, and that which has settled at the bottom comes tumbling out. Feelings forgotten, words left unsaid, restless moments, my Father's death, feelings that I am no longer part of the loop…and worse that I have abandoned my family…that I no longer have a place because it was I who left.
So I come home wanting to be embraced for who I am, and embrace the fullness that has thrived since I left… and yet I know that the one who returns sees what they have missed and sees what they have gained, perspective comes with distance. Home is a great big mirror of reflection isn't it?
My brother Mathew was to pick me up at the airport, but he forgot.
I waited for the first hour thinking of his tardiness connected with traffic, being lost, running late, not knowing where to park….
I spent the second hour looking up phone numbers, and calling without avail– "Nobody is home to answer your call, please leave a message after the tone."
I spent the third hour thinking the worse… car accident, illness, and then sadly the sense of worthlessness kicked in, that I was not that important to the ones I loved.
I spent the fourth hour listening to French Husband comforting me, reassuring me that even though Mathew had forgotten me and was at a football game in San Francisco, that my family sat is shock back home wondering what was Mat thinking, that soon my brother Mark and Sister in law Diane would be there.
Willows is an hour and a half away.
I arrived home with my bag of emotions, and expectations emptied. After spending time crying, talking about my feelings, being hurt and exhausted I sorted, rearranged myself and there at the bottom of the bag I found myself…. with a choice… and it didn't have to do with forgiving, forgetting, or laughing it off– because that is a given over time– no the choice was this…
Brother Mat is not going to have the honor of ever picking me up again.
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