A few years ago, when my dad told me he possibly had two years left to live, my husband and I talked about moving closer. But closer meant a big city, only an hour away. After his death we continued to talk about this possibility, especially because my mom would be so much closer the the girls. But never once did I consider moving back.
It could be trying to cling to my roots-my history. Once we sell mom's house, will there be any sign that we lived in this town? It could be the reconnecting with friends from high school and younger. There are a fair amount that still live here, and reconnecting (and yes, a lot of it has been done through Facebook) has reminded me how many great people live down here. But what really pushed me over the edge was the wind.
Every evening, but especially in the summer, a strong wind comes up off the river and blows through the town. My parents house is at least two miles inland, and the breeze still gust strongly across the back deck. Like clockwork, the wind signals that the day is over bringing both the cool and dark of night.
As I was taking out the trash the other night, that wind caught me, blowing my hair behind me, and suddenly I felt sixteen again. Not that I would never go back to being sixteen again. But for a moment, I remembered that hopeful optimism. That feeling of always being ready for what was going to happen next, and the dreams for when I finally got out of this place. And then I thought about how my life has turned out, different and better than what the sixteen-year-old me could ever have dreamed. Would the sixteen-year-old me be surprised at how much my priorities and values have changed in as many years? And if she knew what I know now, would she have been so anxious to escape. Because as it turns out, this is a really great place after all.
