Wednesday, June 15, 2011
I set off to prepare myself for a long awaited night’s rest. It had been a tedious, wearisome day, emotionally and mentally. Traveling is exhausting, which I have never been able to understand. All you are doing is sitting and waiting for a plane, sitting in a plane, and sitting in a car driving to your destination. It sounds like the most relaxing activity ever.
As I pulled my pajama shirt over my head, I looked around the room. My eyes wandered to the framed Tiffany poster on the wall, then to the pink girly bed spread; my eyes kept traveling through the room until they came to rest upon a collection of photographs displayed upon a photo board. I stepped closer to view this family’s precious moments captured on thin pieces of glossy paper. This was their life. Their little boy, who was now in his 20s, was around 5 years old in the pictures. In one of the shots, he was diving into a kiddy pool. In another he was perched high upon his horse, smiling from ear to ear, his posture straight as a board, holding himself so high and proud. The landscape in the background of each picture was the country.
How different life would be growing up in this place, I thought to myself.
I pictured my kids running out in the wild, fishing, hiking, riding horses, enjoying the freedom to explore the landscape. Life in the city seemed like a bore compared to the possibilities of adventure here.
“Raising our son here was wonderful. There couldn’t have been a better place to raise children,” Carrie had said in response to my inquiring. The large house was empty now, but at one time it thrived. It became grand central station to their son and all of his friends. They were the parents that embraced everyone with open arms. They were the ones who loved the unlovable kids, the rebellious teens, with grace and generosity. Their son knew that he and his friends were not only welcomed, but wanted in this home. Their son and many of his friends now thrived because of it.
I stared at the pictures. Could this be the best environment to raise my children? But is environment more important than keeping them near the people who love them and are deeply involved in their lives?
I turned my gaze away because something was pulling at my heart strings.
I lay my head down on my pillow slowly. As I lay there in the dark, my husband had already dozed off into a deep sleep and was just about to start "puhing". The uncertainty about my life and where we were going began to take a toll on me. Even if we decided to move, there would be an uphill battle to fight with all of our loved ones who would be pulling all stops to talk us out of the idea. Something began to form in the back of my throat, a lump. I tried to swallow it, but I don’t think a crying lump is swallow-able. All it is really, is a swelling of your glottis, and you can’t swallow your glottis. My eyes began to water. A tear began to form and I quickly wiped it away. I tried to think of other things, distracting me from my emotions, but my thoughts kept circling back to fear, fear of the unknown.
“God, I don’t know what to do.”
I breathed deeply, and before I knew it, I had dozed off into my own sleepy state of unconsciousness.