I sit here in the silence, fingers hovering above the computer keys, trying to find the words to communicate all the thoughts and emotions tumbling around inside me.
Change happens, I know that. I don't like it, but it happens whether I like it or not, so I accept it. So if in this post you hear two different voices, that's just because part of me is trying to hold fast to something that I love which is going away, and part of me is trying to be an adult and come to terms with the fact that it's going away whether I'm happy about it or not.
The past few years have been a whirlwind for everybody in my immediate family. My dad graduated with his PhD, I graduated with my Associates, my younger sister graduated from high school, my older brother graduated as a Doctor of Dental Surgery, and those who haven't graduated from things are still living busy lives. A lot has happened, but we are a tight-knit bunch and our support group is strong.
The younger of the kids don't remember too well all the moving around throughout the years, but the older of us do. We remember the insecurity of a new home in a new state, the uncertainties associated with new. We remember very well the novelty of living in one home for longer than a year or two after my dad retired from his military life. We recognize what a tremendous blessing it is to have a home, to have roots, because for a long time, our only real home, only real consistency, and the only certainty we had in this life, was each other.
For this reason, as I've said previously, my family is tight-knit.
And that is why it is so hard to accept that one of us is leaving. My brother who just recently graduated as a dentist has found a job an hour and a half away, joining another dentist in his practice. An hour and a half, you ask? That's not very far. That's true; it's not. It could've been three hours, or twelve. It could've been China. An hour and a half isn't much to complain about. I understand that. But a downside of the tight bond my family shares is that distance is felt more acutely. An hour and a half is a painful distance to accept.
Today was moving day.
Last night my brother and his family stayed at our house. Even though it was late and we all had to be up early in the morning, my two brothers and I sat on the couch for a while and watched funny videos on YouTube. We laughed until we cried watching baseball bloopers and Jimmy Fallon lip-syncing with Emma Stone. And at one point, I sat back and took in the moment. The sound of the laughter, the lateness of the hour, the three of us, comfortable in the closeness of brushing shoulders and bumping knees. It was a scene that had happened many times throughout the years. Laughing over videos late at night, Jim and I chugging coffee against our better judgement while Josh would politely decline. But suddenly I realized that, quite possibly, I would never have a moment like this again. Just me and my brothers, laughing over stupid videos late at night. This might be the last one.
Our lives are changing; slow but sure. My brother was the first to move away, but he won't be the last. Eventually, the siblings will be scattered around. We will find spouses and build families and move to where the jobs are. Life will change and be different, and it will happen so slowly that we sometimes won't even realize that it's changing. One day we just wake up and realize that it's been years since we've gone to coffee with our sister, or heard our mom play piano, or played a rowdy game of cards around the kitchen table. Or worse...maybe we won't even realize.
Last night, when I was relishing the brief moment with my brothers and trying so hard to commit it to memory, I got a little bit mad at myself. Why had I never done this before? Why had I never basked in the joy of a moment, until it was possibly my last? Why does it have to be the last one before I see it as precious and so very special? Wouldn't it have been better to have an entire arsenal of memories to call upon when my brothers are far away and I miss them?
Time is short. Lives are here and gone. Nothing is for certain and life is chock-full of surprises, good and bad. I don't want to have to search and hunt the dark recesses of my mind to find vague, hazy memories of my family and the good times we've shared. Unfortunately, I can't go back and re-remember the past. What I can do is enjoy the heck out of the time I have left, committing to memory all the good times that I can with the ones I love. Then, perhaps, if the Lord wills that I should live to see old age, I will be able to hear a song or smell a scent or see a sight that will open the memory vault, and I will be flooded with glorious, vivid memories that have stood the test of time. And I will travel back and live the good times all over again.
And again.
And again.
