So, we’re in the middle of the great re-shuffling of rooms here at our house, which means that our house is a disaster.
And also that instead of cleaning it up, I have spent hours going through shoe boxes of old pictures, matchbooks, trinkets, and receipts that at one time seemed so significant they were worth putting in a box and storing away instead of introducing to the inside of the trash can.
It’s what I do. I save things.
Last week, after spending an entire nap time going through boxes, I found a business card with my friend Leigh‘s phone numbers on the back. Her home number is one of only a few Jacksonville numbers I know by heart, and I’ve used it often in the six years that we have been friends.
When Leigh’s oldest daughter was born, she was a delight to my then childless heart.
When Mary Bullock was born two years later, she was a delight to MB’s heart, too.
When Leigh called a few weeks ago and told me the date her movers were coming to pack up her house and move her to a new city, I felt all the air disappear from my lungs. I knew it was coming, but I had been so busy feeling happy for her that I had forgotten to be sad for myself until I wrote the date down in my calendar and counted her time left here in days instead of the years and years I had always imagined.
I had to hang up and call her back when I had composed myself.
I threw away that business card. I surprised even myself by letting go of it. But I told myself– I don’t need a card to remember this one. Besides, that’s her old number. Soon there will be a new number.
And I will commit it to memory
and use it often.