Dust, wipe, polish, price, repeat...it has a rhythm to it in verse and movement. I noticed this particularly catchy cadence whilst I laid preparations to sell the contents of our family home this weekend. As I've written in the past, to everything there is a pruning season, and for our family, this is it. All weak and errant branches must be removed, for we're in the eye of the storm of transition, only the Universe knows how or where it ends.
Whilst speaking with a friend about life, love and the cyclical nature of the two, she made a comment about "tiny deaths" we all must face to grow..."like a garden". She's good at that, for shame, I kill the green stuff. Anyway, it took some time to digest this concept given my present circumstances, although, I fully understood and appreciate the analogy. But, in the still silence of my ever-raging thoughts, I couldn't see past the obvious and, everyone knows the end of a 20 year marriage is hardly a tiny death. I didn't give up trying though; journaling and walking, talking to myself and thinking, and finally it's all becoming quite clear.
With each piece I removed from our walls and tabletops, I welcomed the fleeting presence of the memory attached. I smiled often, envisioning the "shopping grimace" Joe would give as I'd pile tchatchkes into the numerous carts, bags and shopping baskets of our lengthy time together. I went from item to item, segueing from one recollection to the next: repeat, recall, repeat, recall. It then occurred to me, something's missing...something's gone...something has died. Resistance: My intrinsic urge to resist the Universe's plan for me has died a million tiny deaths. One for each attempt, both overt and covert, and in its place, acceptance has emerged, a million tiny blossoms of hope for each death.
To be continued...