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July 26, 2016
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Lost & Found

My daughter, while hauling a trunk from storage took the liberty of further exploring her mother’s past. “Mom, who was Wentworth?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. She had found a letter I wrote that spoke of our long walks by the river, of my cutting school to be with him. Her interest was piqued. “Wenty,” a large dark companion of my youth had been my brother’s canine, I informed her.

There were other letters in that trunk, some written by actual humans. After re-reading some of them myself, all I could say in exasperation was, “Men!” None of them were from my husband. The person I was before I met him had been patient to a fault. I was seeing that for the first time with the advantage of my new perspective.

Moving is about more than finding a new home or even a new neighborhood, it’s about finding things about yourself that you’d forgotten. It’s a gift that eclipses all those possessions we struggle to collect and store and the best way I know to rediscover your life.