Today’s #reverb10 prompt was one I read just after midnight.
December 3 – Moment.
Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).
(Author: Ali Edwards)
I thought about it all day.
I wanted to be creative, like my friend Eloiza at Deepening Wisdom, who shared her moments in pictures. (Aren’t they cute?)
But I didn’t have any.
Another #reverb10 participant wrote about the moment his daughter was born.
My childbirth experience was 19 years ago.
Truth is, I just didn’t want to bore you.
Or me. 🙂
But as she often does, my sister-friend, Sally, reminded me of my every day moments: When I see my daughter or when my hubby holds my hand or gives my a hug. I come alive in the moments I see a comment from one of you, or I get a note in my inbox from a friend, or when I go on Twitter and see some of my tweeties sharing their day.
I realized that I feel most alive in the moments I feel love(d).
Another “unexpected” blessing of 2010: I realized that LOVE is EVERYWHERE in my life.
I just had to look.
And expect to see it.
But in choosing to stay true to the prompt, I wanted to recall a particular moment.
It was the day we moved out of our last house.
I hated the place.
And the landlord.
(Ok, well, I didn’t “hate” him per se, he was just incompetent)
The house was a piece of shit.
I tried to love it.
And most days, I succeeded. We even talked about buying it and remodeling because it deserved to be beautiful again.
But we knew, deep down, we’d never be happy there.
So when the job offer came, I was over the moon. (Note: from offer to unload, it was only 30 days. I think a record for a corporate move!)
We. Were. Leaving. That. House.
I still remember walking through it one last time.
It smelled like lemons from the cleaning products I used in the kitchen and there was a faint waft of baby powder mixed in from the carpet cleaner I’d used upstairs.
The sun was shining through all the sorry-ass curtains he’d left us and I walked from room to room, saying “thank you” and asking the house to be good to the next residents.
I didn’t want to leave any negative energy behind.
By the time I got to the door, I was limping. Every part of my body was aching from the hours of cleaning. I stepped outside onto the porch and looked up. The sky was baby blue and I noticed the buds on the neighbor’s tree. In her window, I remember her calico scowling at me because she was tired of being disturbed by the slamming doors every time we brought something out to the van.
My heart leaped as I closed the door for the last time.
I climbed (more like, crawled) into the van, looked over at my darling husband and smiled with tears streaming down my face. He kissed me and whispered, “We did it.”
Meaning, the seven long years of hell we’d been through were finally over.
Two job resignations, two failed business start-ups, letting our only child go 1000 miles away to boarding school, clients who didn’t pay, neighbors and (former) friends gossiping about us, a basement flood, days with no power or heat in the middle of winter, weeks we didn’t have enough food, leaving the house we’d built, with the last memories of my mother alive and healthy.
But the worst of it had been the countless nights we’d spent apart over the previous two and half years.
And now, we were starting a new phase of his career that would allow him to be home every night.
Yes. We’d made it.
I don’t know that I could convey how I felt in that moment. But I was reminded of the scene in The Color Purple when Whoopi Goldberg’s character, Miss Celie, finally leaves Mr. (Danny Glover)
As the car is pulling away, she says, “I’m poor. Black. I may even be ugly. But dear God, I’m here! I’m here!”
That’s how my moment felt.
It was damn good to be alive.
To be here.
I’ve included the video since I can’t act it out for you. 🙂 The scene is about 7:50 in.