My daughter and I drove up and down the city streets, carefully examining each house, on each side of the street, looking for a purple house. "I KNOW my grandma lived in a purple house. It had purple bushes in the front. You have to see the football field first, and then you'll find it."
We found the park where she played, the train tracks that she walked, even the apartment that she once called home. But no purple house. The purple house remains an intangible memory in her little mind.
This memory tethers her to her past.
I went to the funeral home tonight for a few moments. After offering my condolences and visiting, I sat down in a chair. I tried to make conversation; when the conversation was done, I really just wanted to sit there, for a long time. But I left, because, well-it is awkward to sit in a funeral home for the sake of memories.
Memories of funeral homes, hospital rooms, dinner tables, and family photos, tether me to my past. Times when everyone is there. Present and accounted for, Sir. Times when everyone shows up.
I found myself sitting at the funeral home tonight, looking for my purple house. I long for a tangible connection to those memories.
But we all go through life, largely untethered, left with memories, hopes, and dreams. I search for my purple house every day, as my daughter searches for hers.
The primal ache of being motherless resonates tonight. Always searching for purple houses; searching for one last chance to feel, hear, smell, and breathe the past. I always wonder what I would have done with one more moment, one more kiss, or one more word.
I think that all we can do, is to live in the moments we have. Enjoy the purple house when you see it, keep it in your memory forever. Our time is now. Memories of purple houses tether us to our past, but they won't be found again.
Tonight, I look around, and I see MY house, in THIS moment. My chaotic, multi-colored, sick, emotional, exhausted, exploding with love, house. I am thankful for it, because it is mine, and it is amazing.
What holds us back, and what keeps us where we are, are often one in the same: Purple Houses. Purple houses and memories tether us to our past; Purple houses and memories tether us to our present. What needs to happen to move us forward? I have no clue, except to breathe in right now; I breathe in my house, my home, and I know my future is purple.
I went to the funeral home tonight for a few moments. After offering my condolences and visiting, I sat down in a chair. I tried to make conversation; when the conversation was done, I really just wanted to sit there, for a long time. But I left, because, well-it is awkward to sit in a funeral home for the sake of memories.
Memories of funeral homes, hospital rooms, dinner tables, and family photos, tether me to my past. Times when everyone is there. Present and accounted for, Sir. Times when everyone shows up.
I found myself sitting at the funeral home tonight, looking for my purple house. I long for a tangible connection to those memories.
But we all go through life, largely untethered, left with memories, hopes, and dreams. I search for my purple house every day, as my daughter searches for hers.
The primal ache of being motherless resonates tonight. Always searching for purple houses; searching for one last chance to feel, hear, smell, and breathe the past. I always wonder what I would have done with one more moment, one more kiss, or one more word.
I think that all we can do, is to live in the moments we have. Enjoy the purple house when you see it, keep it in your memory forever. Our time is now. Memories of purple houses tether us to our past, but they won't be found again.
Tonight, I look around, and I see MY house, in THIS moment. My chaotic, multi-colored, sick, emotional, exhausted, exploding with love, house. I am thankful for it, because it is mine, and it is amazing.
What holds us back, and what keeps us where we are, are often one in the same: Purple Houses. Purple houses and memories tether us to our past; Purple houses and memories tether us to our present. What needs to happen to move us forward? I have no clue, except to breathe in right now; I breathe in my house, my home, and I know my future is purple.
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