I went back to West Texas, my home of 30 years, to help my sister clutter clean, arrange, organize, and remove the last of our parents' things. We worked in her garage and the bedroom our mother stayed in for nearly four years at my sister's house. Many trips were made to Goodwill and when my sister drove me to the airport early Sunday morning, we still had a plastic bag of our mother's many eyeglasses in the front seat, going to an eye vision shop for charity. The night before I sat in my mother's room, wondering once again, as I had after her funeral, how I was ever going to be able to leave? And on this night I also felt the weight of the decades of history my sister and I had just revisited for those days. I felt each layer of my youth stinging with memory and grief.
How to let go?
I noticed a little photo book my sister said I'd given to my mother years ago. I opened it to flip through it. And there on the last page was a photo of my parents at the front door of their home, preparing to leave. In the photo they are waving, and suddenly I knew this was a sign to me from them that it was okay to move on. They were okay and they knew I was hurting. I stared at that photo late into the night. I am staring at it now.
It is a beautiful indication of the everlasting connection we have to each other. It is okay to move on because we are never apart.
Dedicated to Nancy and Reed Hastings
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