Things change rapidly from one moment to another. Seven days ago, I learned some pretty rotten news about my mother. Seven days before that, I had a miscarriage—an incident about which the majority of our families were kept unaware. We needed to grieve privately for the baby that barely any even knew about. Now, fourteen days from today, Miles and I are returning to our homeland. I am sure there have been but one set of footprints in my life these last weeks.
I keep looking for the deeper meaning of it all. Where is the lesson? What am I supposed to learn from this? I rationalize to myself. I pray. I stare at blank walls, empty canvasses that cannot interrupt the picture my mind paints. "Searching. Your eyes are always searching," Miles often says as he breaks my trance. I look over and smile shyly. His eyes are always sad as he smiles back. Miles wanted to be a psychologist in another life, and I, a philosopher. We work hard during these times to balance both his need to talk and my need to think.
Little wrenches keep hurling themselves toward the spokes and making for a very rough ride. Today we went to Sprint to get Miles' cell number ported back over to an account there . At the cost of signing up for a 2-year plan, we got a really great deal. The gentleman who helped us was very kind and seemed to be about our age. When we told him we were moving to Wisconsin, he laughed good-naturedly and admitted he was from Ohio. We sat in the car afterwards and I mused, "Is there anybody in Wilmington who was actually born in Wilmington?"
I talked to Mom on the phone last night. She has that lovely sort of voice that causes butterflies to slow their wings and coast to listen. She is all kindness and warmth, and she is the kind of person that we should all strive to be. It has been a mere three months since I saw her last, but it has been a difficult three months. I will be glad to hug her again. Two weeks...
