Freedom- Eyes Forward

The professional organizer came today.  I am so happy.  For those of you who know and love me, know that organization of a domestic space is not my strength.  This woman put me at ease and since I am a very willing participant, I think this will be one of the best things that I have ever done for myself.  I think once I start a new domestic space, I will call in help as well.  It may be one of those lifetime things that I might just need to do once a year.  I might need to have a professional come through and help me make it right.  This afternoon it's the baby clothes.  Dad died when my little one was eighteen months old, but had his first surgery when my little one was only five moths old.  I bagged them up and put them in the attic.  Today I will look at them again, and sort through them.  There are many things in this house like that.  Things that would have been best dealt with sooner, but just never were,  I move forward, not back, and I think I should forgive myself for not being perfect and allow myself peace even if I am not perfect.  That might just be a good deal and I think I should take it.

As I Begin to Pack

I've resisted writing for so long since all I am feeling and thinking about seems to me to be whining, and I hate whining.  I suppose it stands to reason that as I start to pack up this life, sift through the stuff I have that little resentments and regret would come to the surface.  Let's be clear, I never intended to live in Canada forever.  That was my first mistake.  I never created a home.  We have a place to sleep and generally live, but not a home as I would have liked to have made.  That comes from me not thinking it mattered since I was not going to live here for long let alone raise children in this house.  We picked this house for David and me to live in with a dog.  That worked. Kind of worked.  The fact that I never felt at home here, never felt right or that I fit in ever helped me.  If you call it vibrations or the culture or whatever, I never felt like I was right for the place I found myself in.  Mind you, I have always known that my home was where David was.  I have always wanted to live where he was and that has been Canada for the last thirteen years.  Now, I get to go home.  I left in 1992 for seminary with the intention to return in two years.  That did not happen.  I met David my second year and we became friends in my third year.  I love him.  Now, I get to go home and be with my people, my family and friends.  I get to return to the diocese that helped in part pay for my seminary and that feels so right.  My children get to know their family, of the water, body and heart.  I teach my children that we have three types of people in our family those that we are related to of the body, those through baptism, and those we love that come into the family.  We have many such people where we are headed and it feels to right.  I have learned much in Canada, and God has sent me people to love and share my life with.  I am grateful for each and everyone of you.  I count you as my family and I love you with my heart knowing you are gifts to me from God. Without you, I do not know how I would have fared here.  Your have been oasisis in this desert crossing, point of light in this very dark journey.  David and I have been through major life changes and not always the easiest starting with his father's death in 2004.  I see light and I want it so badly.  The trick is to not let those past hurts and wounds get in the way or tie me to them and keep me from moving forwards.  I hope this has not been whiny.  I know the treasures I will take with me is the love of friendship people along the way have shown me even when I have not been able to be a good friend in return.  Thank you.

A Few Thoughts

Felt like writing again.  Sometimes it helps me to focus and figure out what's going one.  I have started to clean out the house, and I know I will be calling on the friends who helped me with the other house to get it done.  I look around and think about what is worth taking with me.  I have had to have these thoughts before, but now I actually have to enact it.  Precious few things will make it back to the US.  Books, some clothing, and important family pieces will come with us.  What about this pink Formica table I love so dearly.  I don't think the legs come off.  It's amazing what you keep in 13 years.  I think that if there is more trouble in the world, I want to be surrounded by my family.  It's hard to eek out a life in trouble times alone.  I can't wait to be able to attend church with my sister and her family. I will get more chances to sing with her.   So much to look forward to, and so much to get done beforehand.  Onward!

Journey's End. Journey's Beginning.

Last week I wanted to write about the bitter sweetness in my heart of the process of cleaning my mother-in-law's home and Pascha.  How much I wanted to be in the church, but could not.  How each time we have lost a parent, we have lost a Pascha.  Sometime hindered by surgery or death or in this case the house and its contents. I know that the work we did was an act of love, but it was not fun.  I felt as if I was at the tomb all the time.

Going through my mother-in-law's things was a process I never ever wanted to do, but one I had to do.  People would say, "How much do you want for X?" and I would think, "Do you have a mother-in-law in your back pocket?"  Things I never would have guessed happened.  People fighting over broken things.  People wanting broken things.  People not taking some of her beautiful clothes.  I had to bag so many of them for donations.  Don't get me wrong, I know it's a beautiful thing to donate the clothes, but I was surprised I did not have a line up for them.  She kept things of her husband's.  They did not have a lovey-dovey relationship, yet no one ever really  knows what goes on in one from the outside.  I can tell from what she kept, that she truly loved him.  On the last day, we had to hurry out the door, but I said my good-byes to them both.  The first time I entered their home, my Tata said to me that I was in my home, and to treat it as mine.  I hate that I have lost them.  I know their love lives in me blah, blah blah, but I can't have coffee with them.  That is what hurts, not that they loved you, but that you can't be with them the same way.  You can't have coffee with them

On to the next stage.  I get to go home and I get to take my family with me.  I said to my husband that his dad must have been a powerful person to have his dream of having his family in the US live on after his death.  I know it's the right move.  I know I have the blessing of those who have gone before us and those living.  Now to make the dream true.  Well if I recall from my father-in-law that's going to take great effort and belief.

Musings on the Kitchen Table

Last night, Mama's kitchen table was sold and taken from it's spot.  Here she presided and provided hospitality to all who came to her home.  Here was the first stop when I came to live in Hamilton, chatting as we would for thirteen years.  Here she gave of her self in love.  Here she created a community.  Here she served.  She always served.  The tragedy is she was going to get soup for her guests when she fell. 

I thought as they were taking it away how like a Christian altar it is.  Of course it is.  No one could deny that.  Then I thought how like a side altar it was.  Side altars often get more use in the West, as they are smaller and more intimate.  My dad said Mass everyday on the side altar in Ionia, Michigan. The kitchen table was were we heard the news, and the stories that bound us together as a family.

Letting Go of Mama

Letting go of Mama is so not easy.  Tomorrow, I go and decide what goes to donations what won't be used again.  A young woman starting over will be taking some furniture away.  I know she will take care of them.  Some of what we are keeping is fine things that Mama loved.  Some, like the kneading board, are not worth much money, but were so part of Mama and what she did.  I find it hard to explain why using her things she used to cook with is so important to me, but it is.  I have this spatula from my grandma whose handle is broken and I use a rubber band to hold it together.  I would never part with that.  I remember her cooking with that and I feel close to her.  The same is true with Mama's things.  That kneading board is hand made.  It's not complicated, but I know she worked with it for her family.  I've had a conflicts with some of her friends, but as a friend of mine reminds me they too are letting go of Mama.  It's really not the broken snow blower or broken chair.  They just don't want to let go of her.  I know I don't.  I would be rather listen to her complain or give me advice for ten or twenty more years than have to sift through her things. 

Finding the Pain

I knew I hurt.  I did not have time to check it out.  I did not have time to think.  Ever since I inadvertantly took wheat and dairy out of my diet on the first day of Lent, I have been trying to figure out what is going on with me and why I hurt.  Well, I don't have joint pain and I can breathe.  I wonder how long it's been that I had not been breathing with my full capacity.  Now, I have narrowed the next pain to lower back and neck pain.  It's no wonder I took a stress quiz this morning and tested out at 348.  After 300, the quiz makers stated, you would expect real heath concerns unless one removes the stressers. Oh gee, why didn't I think of that?  I will be taking myself to a chiropractor and MD to check it out.  I know my stress lives in my neck and lower back.  I did not expect to be looking at this stuff.  I expected to move through it to the next stage.  Looks like I was mistaken.   What a Lent this has been!  Sometimes, I feel like I'm clutching at something to steady myself.  Today, I have no soft words.  I feel a lot of pain.