Roots

This isn't by any stretch of the imagination the best photo, but here is my parents' newly purchased home in southeast Michigan. They haven't completed the sale of their home in Greenwood, Indiana yet, but have had a couple of interested prospects, and Sunday the realtor is hosting Open House there. I'm sure something will happen soon for them. The price tag on it is a steal for the area (in the Center Grove district of Greenwood). Anyway, this is more surreal every day to me, that they're leaving the place closest to anything I'd ever call home. I only lived in their house there for three and a half years, which marks the longest I've lived under the same roof in ten years, by sheer miracle of being young and mobile. Nevertheless, I returned to that home countless times, shared Christmas with my parents there repeatedly, some Thanksgivings, miscellaneous weekend visits. My high school graduation party was held here. Curiously, I'm a little more bothered than I've even let on to myself that my parents are leaving their Greenwood house. As I've made abundantly clear to them and here and to anyone who cares about me, I believe in change, I thrive on it, it inspires new countries to form. I love the excitement and adrenaline rush of change. But some things are more difficult to witness undergo transformation, such as parents leaving the place that holds so many conversations, affections, arguments, pains and secrets of one family. I'm genuinely happy for them, particularly for my mom, who has been under a lot of stress at work, despite the fact she was offered a second trip to Qatar (the Middle Eastern country she traveled to for a month last year to work, and loved every second) and despite how desperately her employer will miss her devotion and willingness to comply. I suspect this change will remind her how free it feels to wake up in the morning and not have to battle an hour commute through Indianapolis traffic one way, how relaxing it is to browse a recipe box and plan a special dinner for my dad. Maybe she will discover a new hobby in her fifties, or revisit an old one. And as for my dad...he has been commuting to and from Manchester, Michigan ever since I can remember, sometimes for a couple of days, at times nearer a week at a time, and this location where he has accepted his new position has been wanting him full time since forever. He is morphing into an upper level management position that will swell him with even more pride as he walks the corridors laden with more responsibility, going home feeling fulfilled by having accomplished even more. Altogether this is the best thing for my parents: it will rejuvenate them, uncover new desires to explore new places and settle into a new routine. Additionally, my mom's family is geographically closer (they are in Ohio) so she can feasibly travel to see her siblings in a handful of hours versus the day trip it would have been previously. Maybe my parents will go to Toronto (my dad has been on business but never for pleasure) or perhaps they'll develop a fascination with downtown Detroit! (if ever such a fascination could exist?) No matter how this unfolds and how ecstatic I am for them, it's also a small wound. It reminds me of everything else: that they are getting older, that I'm so far away from them. They don't get to see the little miracles of my days nor do I see theirs. They aren't as close to Craig as I'd wish they were. I wish my dad could tote Craig off to a Chicago Bears game or a Cubs versus White Sox game, or that Craig could help my mom with dishes after dinner more often. Spending time with Craig and my parents at Christmas, their last Christmas in that home, my last Christmas in that home, was really comfortable, really fulfilling. Driving Craig through my old stomping grounds the way I've been privy to his old childhood streets so many times (and I love his old streets, I love his family as if they were my own) felt, for lack of a better term, nice. From a childish and selfish perspective, my parents' move is eradicating any residue of a home I may have had left. I love my family so much, I pride us in making smart choices, and I know this move to Michigan is what is best for them. But it's also evidence and a reminder to me that someday down the road I will have children whose futures will rely upon the decisions I make: the proximities to our families, the extent to which I show them this wonderful country as much as possible, their opportunities and abilities to establish roots (since I know of no such thing, what it's like to have them). Every inch of a parent's motion plays a little into his or her child, every reaction, each life skill instruction. If it weren't for my mom and dad, the strength they displayed each time we moved when I was a young girl, the thrill they experienced in their thirties and forward as they built new lives, I would not be able to pick up and wander the globe with Craig the way I can. So I thank my parents for this inadvertent lesson they taught me. But a small, very small ache in my heart does wonder what it feels like to call a friend on the phone who first discovered the playground with me in elementary school, or to feel a little bit sadder than I am that my parents are leaving the only "childhood" home I remember with as much fondness. This experience also proves that we're all so unique in our histories, textured so differently, each of us, colorful patterns painted by the things we've known. As they approach a new chapter in their lives, I sincerely wish the very best to my parents and all that they have to learn and see. I will miss our old house but I eagerly anticipate the first time I open the door and step into this new place they will come to call home.