We’re about to get flooded with Facebook Memories.
OH YOU CAN BET that pun is intended :: Facebook Memories … like it or not, here they come.
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I worked late last night and came home to a tame house and fed children. One was playing in the bath after her first day of second grade, and the other was making blasters out of Light Bright pegs near his daddy, who was folding clothes on the couch. There was music filling the room from the speaker in the kitchen, and it wasn’t necessarily a sad song but tears started to blur my vision. I’m still hoping to blame it on some sort of hormone issue but no matter the reason, the weight of this day had become too much.
I turned right to drop my luggage of the day out of the traffic flow of the house, and my purse, lunch box, umbrella and the few post-work-Target-run-much-needed groceries all toppled from my grip landing on the floor in a mess. I didn’t stop long enough to acknowledge the perfect metaphor for my day: Hold it all together until you get in the house, ma’am. Only then can you fall apart.
In one action, I removed my heels and walked directly into the chest and arms of my husband. I cried there, silently (with the exception of a few sniffle-filled breaths) for a solid two minutes. He held me tighter when my fingers grabbed for more of him and put his lips to my forehead where it meets my hair when I finally let him know it was okay to let go a little.
It’s not always like this, though I’m feeling something scary growing in the periphery. Something is building, and I’m afraid to look too closely in that direction. Dread. That’s it. I’m feeling dread.
We flooded last year. We were blessed to be able to move back into our (unfinished) house a mere five months after we unexpectedly moved out. My parents are still living in a FEMA trailer in their front yard as I type. Everyone is safe, but it’s not over. It’s not over for a lot of us.
This is a picture of my parents when they were engaged. The original is gone now, this photo of a photo was taken in the front yard of their flooded home as it disintegrated under the plastic of the album that held it. So many other photos were lost completely. My parents were in their home for 38 years before it flooded with five and a half feet of water.
A year is too long and not long enough for us all to be where we are right now. I know I’m not the only person getting a little anxious about re-living it through the memories that will pop up on this anniversary. There are so many tangible memories that this flood took away from a lot of us. I don’t want to feed it anymore. I know we need to recognize the progress and the long road ahead with some measure of time. That thought doesn’t stop me from wanting to close my eyes, lift my head and whisper into the void, “Can’t we wait just a little longer?”
How are y’all doin’ out there?
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