Starting at the End

“What we call the beginning
is often the end.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.” TS Eliot (Part 1)

Twenty-four years in North Carolina is at an end. In one week, I will turn my windshield toward the west; and keep on going until I reach the ocean (almost). In a few minutes I will attend Pullen Church for the last time, after finding sanctuary there nearly 19 years ago. I have been looking toward the start of something new; but there can be no beginning without an ending. And so, the end of my years in North Carolina is where I start from. This week I am looking back, as I prepare to look ahead.

My life, all our lives, is a garden. I cannot thrive without sun and rain. And I have had both in abundance over these years. The passion flower and the catbrier grow in my garden. There is no perfect 
in a garden, and certainly there has not been in mine. But I like where I am. Kristen Armstrong said "clinging to the past is no way to live. We need both hands free to embrace life and accept love, and that’s impossible if one hand has a death grip on the past." I loosened my grip long ago, accepting that what dreams I might have had for one path were not going to be attained. But there are other dreams and other paths; and my hand has opened wide.

My children grew up here. It was a good place to raise children. And I am proud of them for moving on to places that suited their adult selves; places their father and I explored with them and showed them how to love. My marriage and my self as I knew it ended here. And my authentic self was revealed here; and in spite of pain and bumps, I am proud of myself for stumbling on along my path. All four of us in my dear family that now includes many more have moved into our own fullness and not stayed mired in past hurt.

Yesterday I visited Oakwood Cemetery to say good-bye to all my friends there; people I did not know in this life but have come to love: Mary of my garden; Ouida clearly a powerhouse in her too short life; Elizabeth who suffered too much grief; Mabel who died on my 11th birthday; still beloved Ashley Nicole who should have been graduating high school but is forever five; elderly statesman Bartholomew whose bust towers before the sunrise; and Emmie, Johnnie, Annie, and their two infant siblings whose parents endured unbelievable loss.

There is a lilac on a fence in Cameron Park﹣I think there was a photo of its intertwining vine in a previous post﹣that was cut down this week so the fence could be painted. To move on, roots and vines have to be untangled and disengaged. It is a painful necessity. At the moment of my father's death, just after Father's Day and my birthday, 17 years ago, I was walking through an incredible dance of hundreds of fireflies. My sister believed it was Daddy telling me that he loved me, and that he had let go of his disappointment and anger at the choices I had recently made for my life. My last week in my garden, as I sat on my patio, a firefly came right up in front of my face and hovered there blinking before darting off again. A dear friend, who knew and remembered the story of 17 years ago, opined that it was my father calling me home. This week, as I sat on the sofa inside my borrowed home, a firefly brushed my face, telling me it was time to make an end and move into my beginning and that all will be well.

I have been thinking about what I will miss about my time in this state, and what I will not. I am a bit surprised that the love list is so much longer than the not love list. Maybe embracing the positive is part of saying goodbye.

I will not miss:
Hot summers
Plaintain weed

Cockroaches

Catbrier

Humidity

Mulberries
Heat
Conservatism 

Humidity

Air conditioning, and the need for it


I will miss:

Nicholas, Kristy, Max, and Ethan
My banana tree

Thunderstorms
Fireflies

Springtime
Crepe myrtle trees

The Appalachian mountains
Cardinals

Passion flowers on my fence

The church windows in my garden

My bedroom under the eaves

Montreat campground site #29
The Fresh Market
Oakwood Cemetery
Cameron Village

Tufted titmice

Pullen Church

Julie’s yoga, a block from work
Ceiling fans, whether or not they are needed
The outdoor tables at Cafe Carolina
Most of all: my friends

“We do not mind our not arriving anywhere nearly so much as our not having any company on the way.” (Frank Moore Colby) We do need before, during, and after friends. Friends who love us and accept us no matter what; and who let us love them no matter what. I am grateful for mine. Thank you Santi, Grace, Vee, Laura, Katie, Charly, Dori, Suzanne, Gayle, Dorothy, Laurie, Mel, Katherine﹣my before, during, and after friends; my company on the journey.

Ben, upon reading my post A Thread Runs Through It, wrote the following lines. I have been holding onto it for this looking back into fullness and forward into mystery:

Like a silk worm
suspended
looking back, the thread
looking ahead, empty space
and continuing to move into it
trusting yet wondering
and creating
yet more thread

And now I turn my face to beginnings.

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” TS Eliot (Part 2)

Things I will fall in love with again:

Being near family
Fir trees

Rainbows
Cool summer mornings and nights
Snow-capped mountains
Driftwood-strewn beaches

Snow
Living on the side of a hill﹣Up!

The trails through the woods of my childhood
Rainy days (to a point)
Fog in the valley

The way the color green smells

New old places to explore

When I took this photo in a Seattle community garden last summer, it was my future that was shadowy. Today I turn toward the path in the sun. I am not finished with this Venture called life.