Saturday night, I had this dream. And I know there is nothing more boring than listening to someone describe in excruciating detail something their subconscious mind thought about while sleeping. But a quick summation: we were moving to Omaha. I was having arguments with realtors on the phone, I was breaking the news to friends and family, and I was making a list of everything I was going to have to do: find new doctors, new schools, new house, new friends...it was so upsetting in the dream that I told (dream) Mike that this must just be a bad dream.
The next morning, we went to church, and after communion I sat and idly watched people coming back from communion (we were sitting up front, which is rare for us, but Mike is a confirmation sponsor and there was a rite of welcoming, etc). And I noted how many of the people I knew. Which ones I knew from school, which from committees, from neighborhoods, from RCIA, volunteering for the the picnic, girl scouts, and so on. I have worn many, many hats at St. Pius, and having done so, I know a lot of people.
This realization combined with the dream about moving shook up my day. And my week. I moved so much growing up, that I never really had a chance to realize what it does. I was never in a place long enough to sink these kinds of roots down--I was always this somebody who was in that class for two years or lived in the house on the corner for 18 months. Now, though, I've been in this house and parish for almost 11 years; in St. Louis (contiguously) for half my life. Packing up and leaving now? Not only would it be shatteringly devastating for me, but I began to realize it would change people I left behind, too.
I'm not leaving. I told Mike Sunday afternoon about the dream, about what I'd been thinking all morning. I reiterated my plan to have folks from the coroner's office come to take me out of my house when it was time for me to leave (meaning, I hope to die here--not soon, but that's how I hope I'll wind up leaving). He gave me that look that Dara gives me when he's out of town. Sort of a "I am resigned to your craziness" look.
Stand in the place where you are
Now face west
Think about the place where you live
Wonder why you haven't before
77. Doberge Cake
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I've never made one before.
It's Mardi Gras, at least for a little while longer, and I lived in
Houston, which is close enough to East Texas and Louisiana ...
4 days ago
4 comments:
This post is so familiar to me, yet also so scary. I know we will be moving again. Possibly the next move will not be the last. And I hate every single move. Every time we pick up and go I tell myself, "I've got the stability of my Lord and my family to keep me grounded."
But truthfully? Every time I feel grounded I get uprooted. And I hate it.
Even worse, hearing you reflect on your childhood, I wonder what we (hubs and I) are doing to our children. We took our job here to get into the "system". Our next move will be to get back closer to home. But how can our kids have a stable life if they are continually living somewhere different?
I think I'll go cry now.
But, it is a great post. Wonderfully written. I feel like you, but we're just opposites. I lived in one house as a kid till I was 15, then moved to a new house down the street. Now, as an adult, I've never been in the same city for more than 4 years.
hmmmm.... (sigh)
Unlike you, I hate to think that I will die still living in the same house (though like you I intend the event to take place many years hence). We've been here for 16 years now, and I'm scared how time is whizzing by.
I moved quite a bit when I was a kid too, and then when I got married I kept instigating more moves. We have owned 10 houses in 40 years. Now I'm realizing how I have missed putting down roots all these years, and how much energy has gone into adjusting to new places, making new friends, etc. But I think all this time I was just making my way to Vermont.
Lali: I hope you stay. I hope I do too. Great post, B.
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