Dishes have been a constant for Judah these past few years, but today, for the first time, his routine had an extra pair of hands.
Josey and I both have a collection of memories with our siblings that surround washing dishes, and it blessed my heart to hear and watch these two get after it. They sang, the argued, they laughed, and the worked - together. Just as siblings should.
I could hear them, over the music, while packing up our first bag.
There's something relieving about trying to fit one's life into a dozen or so bags.
It's a sifting, an organizing of what's important, and what can be left behind.
I threw away two shirts today, one of which I've had for over ten years. I bought at a thrift store and wore it often, in the summer and winter months. Then, when the collar started to fray, it turned into my campfire shirt. Throwing it in the trash today, with coffee grounds, empty water bottles, and banana peels, seemed unfair, like it deserved more. A ceremony, or something . . . I don't know. It's only a shirt I guess, but it's been with me since California, when Josey and I were less than a year married.
But, now, there's no room for it, because we need to pack baby clothes.
I love that shirt, but it's just a shirt. Just like a home is just a home and a sink just a sink. None of them are packed in the bag, they'll all be left behind. But not the memories, not the stories. They're coming with us, in droves and droves, and when their edges fray, when our memories begin to unravel, we won't throw them away. We'll do the dishes. We'll sing and argue and laugh and work - together. Just as family should. And the memories will come roaring back.
Or, like old shirts, we'll toss 'em. And that too will be okay, because baby clothes are full of promise and life and hope of what's to come. Not a longing for what was or what should have been.
It's is a sifting, an organizing of what's important, and an anticipation of what's to come.
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