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.
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