the re-opening

one of the bonuses of mike being in the US, is that sometimes when i call him, and he is visiting with some of our old friends, i get to say "hi" to our old friends.  this has happened twice and both times, i started to cry.  i didn't mean to.  i was totally surprised by my reaction.  i just heard the voice and remembered.  i heard the voice and i imagined mike standing in their kitchen, or sitting on their couch, and i imagine their kids running around, and i imagined the knowness of it all- the familiar- the eyes i've known for so many years- the hugs that have brought so much peace through many hard times- and with the sound of those voices- something unlocked- and i cried.

i cried like something had been uncovered.

it made me begin to reconsider compartmentalization.  it made me wonder if i've become too good at it. if i've learned to separate and box and store things away too well. 

i do believe that in order to function well in life, we need to be able to compartmentalize. i think it's something that men tend to do "better" or i should say, more easily, than women.  but i also think that women's "inability" to separate out our lives, is also what makes us beautiful and connected and present and engaged.

i mean isn't there something dangerous about living in only part of your life?

i know with zoe, in order to not be consumed during very hard seasons, and even sometimes to get through the shower/ bedtime routine, it can be a survival tactic.  step out of that part of life.  engage in another.  but.  what about boxing my past? what about boxing my deep old and dear friendships? i feel happy here- where i am- in my days, but am i just denying all the boxes of my life in the US? am i ignoring things, times, people who have shaped me and formed me and grown me and stood long beside me?

today i found myself reaching back into my mind, and my past, and my memories. i found myself unpacking.  pulling things out from years ago- things stored and tucked away.  the white emptiness of a new england winter sky- the dark bare branches that polk at it, so stiff and asleep.  the lonely feeling of looking up at that contrast from lying on my back in the crunchy snow as i feel the slow cool wetness soak through my hood, and if i stay long enough, the smell of the wet down in my coat.  the hot/cold feeling of fingers in wool mittens as i pick the clumpy icy balls off the yarn.

i remembered the pure joy of unwrapping scarves and removing hats and gloves and tossing them so high into that empty air, throwing them into the unwaiting arms of that massive bare tree and the laughter of my brother and i as they stuck- caught- waving like kite strings enlivening the space, coloring the coldness of that winter day- bringing out beauty and happiness.  it was too good, too beautiful and soon we had all the hats and scarves and mittens in the house flying through the air, some falling, some sticking.  that sleepy tree was awake and alive and all the woolen knitted things clung like leaves while we rolled with laughter in the old snow.

maybe i'm just remembering.  maybe it's totally normal to cry when you haven't spoken with someone who you love in a year.  maybe it's not about separating or boxing at all. maybe it's just fine to be fully happy here but also to feel that deep longing when you open a beautiful old box that is so full of you and your life and your friendships and your past.   maybe i just opened a beautiful present- the voices of my people. and maybe now it's time to spend more time reopening my packages. maybe it's time to be here, but also to spend more time listening to the voices of those i love across the ocean.