The baggage we carry....

 I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed for what seemed like the bajillion time, this time noticing the threads, how they intertwined along the seams but was starting to show signs of fraying and made me think of all the times I've grabbed it to pack or unpack throughout my life.  

    I flashed back to the first suitcase I remember having as a young child.  A hard shelled, bright red child sized suitcase with two metal buckle closures, and a handle made of a plastic that matched the coloring of the shell perfectly.  On the front of the suitcase was a young girl dressed in her yellow jacket taking strides in front of a white picket fence, carrying a teddy bear in one hand and, of course, carrying a suitcase in the other.  It had the following words written on it, "Going to Grandma's". I was sitting in the front seat of my Grammy's old rambler, filled with happiness, clutching the suitcase in my hands while the bottom of it rested on my lap. She had started backing out of the driveway of our house to when I hear a giant thump and the car stopped suddenly.  Grammy simply put the car in park, slowly turned to me and said to me, sarcastically, "Look what you made me do.".  She had backed into a tree in our yard and dented her car.  I cannot count how many times I carried that suitcase while "Going to Grandma's" to spend the night and I cannot remember a time I felt less than fully loved by her.  It was always one of my most favorite places to go.  

   My thoughts drift back to the suitcase I'm holding in my hand today and to the first time I filled it up with my belongings from my first home with my husband.  We were so young, had just gotten married, and found out a month later we were pregnant. Here we were, two adults (by law anyway) trying to figure out what a marriage is supposed to be about whilst getting ready for a child of our own to raise.  We didn't even know who we were on our own let alone together in this new found adult life.  We struggled, a LOT.  We argued, a LOT.  We stopped communicating altogether.  I pulled that suitcase out, flew around the house tossing the important things inside to take with me, away from this mess, away from this mistake, and ultimately, away from my marriage.  I picked that heavy suitcase up and without even one last glance back, I tucked my head down and walked out.  I came back a few days later, but, alas, that was not the last time that suitcase was filled during that marriage.  If I'm being honest, I never completely unpacked that suitcase after that either.  Years go by, a marriage ends, the relationship is rekindled but never with the same vigor or hope that was held before and therefore, it would never last. It was like the saying, "round peg, square hole".   We were meant to have two beautiful children that God blessed us with but the mistakes from both parties involved meant a dissolution that would never allow a future to be present in this life.  We were not meant to last.   

I smell the leather and so many memories flood my mind.  The salt air from later life adventures lingers inside the lining as if it were to tell it's own story of smiles and tears.  How the ocean breeze carried it out to sea and left it there to be found by someone else only to be returned to me years later with an extra destination sticker clinging to its shell.  As I put it away this time, I look at the now dated leather suitcase in my hand and notice the stained remnants of memories that this suitcase holds for me.  This baggage I carried time and time again, but never completely emptied before heading out again.  Time to dig deep and clean the dusty, tattered bag inside out.  I started with realizing what no longer fit me and tossed those items first (feelings of unworthiness and fear of failure). Then, I tossed what no longer felt like my style (indecisiveness and regret).  Finally, I found and embraced pieces that I never knew I had packed away to begin with (my voice and respect).  I pulled them out and danced around while holding them against me for a few minutes. My hands grip them tightly and a smile begins to form on one end of my mouth that spread to the other side. Swaying and moving, there in my bedroom, for a few  just reminiscing about past times and dreaming of future moments.  My eyes focus back on the brown, faded, but smooth surface of this bag that I've carried for so long, I place my hand on top just one more time and allow my thumb to carefully stroke the feel of the leather, then,  picking it up and gently placing it back in its place until it is needed again.  

     

Random act of kindness

This past Tuesday driving away from work, I’m thinking about all the things I want to get done with my upcoming days off, when I notice my battery light comes on in the Yota.  Now, being that this is a brand new battery, I’m a little alarmed as to why it’s now coming on. Then, more alarming, smoke starts to boil out from under the hood where the battery sits. Luckily, I was at a stop sign and was able to pull into the nearest parking lot (right beside said stop sign) and cut the car off. This parking lot was to Tony’s Bar. I popped the hood and jumped out, no sooner did a man pull into the same parking lot and jump out of his vehicle (barefoot and all!) to raise the hood and check out what was happening.  To be completely honest, I popped the hood but was a little terrified to stick my hand under there to raise it because all I could think was ‘what if there are flames under there?’!  As this stranger gets the hood raised we both watch as the starter cable connected to the battery literally melts away from the battery!!  Well, I’m not driving her now is the first thing that came to mind.  I figured I had better see if anyone was at the bar to ask if it was ok to leave the car there until I could get it towed home.  Then the second thing I thought was, man it’s hot out here.  It was nineteen million degrees south of hellfire in the temperatures this day and I was already starting to swelt (combination of sweating and melting). My hair had begun to be worn as a scarf and I’m pretty sure my lashes were barely clinging to the stray hair that swept in front of my face.  So, with my beautiful swelting self I walked up to the side gate of this bar to see if anyone was there.  I see a gentlemen standing at the back of the bar area on his phone. “Excuse me sir!”, I said a few times before he finally heard me.  He walked up and I explained what happened to the car and asked if it was ok for me to leave it there for just a short time. He said, “it’s no problem ma’am but I do appreciate you asking”.  He then invited me in to stand by the big ole fan he had out there and wait until help came. He was such a nice man, I looked at him and said, “well, Tony, God decided for us to meet today so let’s find out why.”  For the next hour, I was blessed to get to know a little bit about Tony. He has owned that bar for 35 years and I believe just about every year he has held a poker run for Holy Angles in Belmont, North Carolina.  He told me the story of how it has blessed his heart to be able to raise money for this organization every year but sadly this would be the first year he wouldn’t be able to because of COVID-19.  Here this 65 year old man stood telling me about how much he has loved doing this event so much he designs a new T-shirt for the event himself every year.  He then gave me a tour of his bar, offered me a bottle of water several times, and stood and chatted with me, a swelting mess of a woman, and even took a look at the car for me. One moment when he pulled that battery cable up and touched it to the battery it sparked in his hand and I thought this man was gonna get shocked and die right there in his own parking lot. I know it’s not that much voltage now but I am also the person who once when I heard the boss couldn’t eat for 36 hours I shouted “you can’t eat for THREE days?”  The looks I got on that one we’re nevertheless along the lines of ‘that black hair must be a dye job’!  

  To end our chance meeting he even called a tow service that is owned by a friend of his and assured me the car would be safe there until they got there to tow it. I guess I could have seen the car breaking down as a bad thing and been upset but instead I believe it was meant to happen and for a reason beyond my knowing. I was trying to think of a way to repay this mans kindness he showed to me that evening so I have donated $50 to Holy Angles and if anyone reading this is looking for an act of kindness to share in I hope this can be it.   I will forever be grateful for this Tony and his kindness that hot September evening after work!  So Let’s all try to be a Tony (kind, compassionate, and friendly) when encountering strangers in our daily lives! 

“The Holy Angels mission is to provide compassionate, dependable care and opportunities for high-quality living to those with intellectual developmental disabilities and delicate medical conditions through physical, social, spiritual, educational, vocational and emotional support.”