Tomorrow, we go to India. That sounds like one adventure. But every minute feels like a threshold.
We have been staying in a generous friend’s spare bedroom since we sold our house.
My mom is fading. She appears to be near the end of her story in this world. At least she is surrounded by my sisters and dad. Of course, just being with her is painful.
Then there are the logistics and the plans. I am not much worried about these. We have time in country to sort a bit and we have a place to land in every destination thanks to L, my wife.
As I get ready to test pack today, I recognize how much I count on having a book laying here and another there. I’m confident that they’ll remind me of some essential message and rescue me from the uncertainty of the moment. I’ll leave nearly all of them behind. They’re bulky and heavy. I’m going to try viewing the idea of relying on others’ wisdom as bulky – an overstuffed bag. What wise words come back to me without anxiously going after them? What notions am I grabbing onto for security?
And, because I’m trying to be honest, I have to add that I’m still sad over leaving our house. It was home. As hard as it was to keep up, and keep off my mind, it was beautiful: in itself, in the neighborhood, because of neighbors and friends.
I’ll aim to open up to this, or at least not resist this. And pack more underwear.