The Fire & the Flood: On Letting Go

Monday, 01 December 2008

LIME CITY — A Perrysburg Township home was destroyed by fire late Sunday, and investigators are trying to determine what caused the blaze.       This photograph and the accompanying article were part of a link sent to me by my friend Sharon, whose childhood home is pictured here.  This is what remains of a place where she spent her early formative years, and a place that I first came to know in the late 1980’s when I began to pay visits to my college friend and her family.  I have more than a few fond memories of parties, beautiful sunsets by the pond out back, and a growing bond of friendship; Sharon’s recollections seemingly outnumber the stars. Her parents moved on from this place a few years ago, just as mine did from the home that we knew for more than thirty years.  Our former home has been forever altered as well, water damaged by careless new owners.   Two homes once meticulously maintained are now a shadow of what we knew. All of this brings so much to mind.  First, that Sharon and I were both blessed in a way that is beyond what many people in this world ever know- we had lovely and solid places to go home to for so many years…addresses and phone numbers indelibly etched in our minds.  That was a fortune right there.  Eventually the lesson was learned that this wasn’t to be forever and I, for one, have yet to fully memorize my parent’s new address.  Something of a protest, perhaps. But the second thing is this, and that is a lesson in learning to let go.  Because it is one thing to see the people move on from the place, and it is another to see the place forever changed, and to wonder what that means for your life history.  It ceased to be your home when the sold sign went up and the moving trucks came, but still it was this place you could drive by and point to and say, “That’s where I grew up- that’s where this, and this, and this happened.”  It is something of sacred ground of your past. What now?  A lesson learned, a grasp loosened, memories cherished but reality made more manifest through destruction of the tangible.  A reminder that things fade, even die, but that there is still something in that air when the debris is hauled away- the love we share with one another in these places that remains with us always.

An Unexpected Messenger: Antoine, Part I

He came hurtling across the parking lot at me, calling out as he did, “Don’t put any money in the meter- you don’t have to pay on Sunday!”

Wake up, Maggie…

A new life has arrived in our family, and this photo with her daddy says it all regarding our feelings about her- congratulations, Bobby, Dena, & Max. 

Watching Max grow

My great-nephew, Max, is a working his way toward his second birthday this summer.  For twenty years there have been no babies in our immediate family, so we are fascinated by him as if we are creatures from another planet who have never seen a toddler before.  He charms us effortlessly and we are delighted by the smallest gesture of affection that we receive from him.  In about one month, he will be joined by a sibling, a sister already named Maggie.  But until she arrives and I am doubly under the spell of these tiny ones, I’ll be chasing around the little guy who wears these black Chuck’s…

Thinking…

At times, life feels something like this photo of an oft-used telephone pole…depending where we are in our journey, we post a bill telling the world that something or someone is important to us, but then later it gets removed, or maybe stapled over in favor of a new thing.  All those lonely staples, they represent whatever mattered enough at the moment, right?  This sounds harsh, perhaps, but I don’t mean it that way.  There is a sadness to it, I suppose.  But it seems to be the way of life, always searching for what is worthy of putting on marquee for all of the world to see. 

And that would be my philosophical musing for today.