Left No Forwarding Address

So a week ago I was buying a house. In the next 24 hours the sellers defaulted on the contract; they did not offer anything in writing showing they would provide for or perform repairs the inspection turned up so we terminated.

But when I thought I was going to move, I marveled at the amount of catalogs and junk mail that gets stuffed in the mailbox, especially this time of year. So I told myself, just give forwarding information to magazines, organizations and people I want to have my new address (all my bills are paid online) and don’t leave a forwarding address. None of that stuff will follow you.

Then I began wondering: what kind of life am I living where people will know what kind of address at which I will ultimately find myself? Of course at that point I will be unreachable (despite what Mitch Albom’s new fiction novel purports in receiving communications), but like my parents and a few friends who have already moved into a new dimension I’d like for people to think better of where I wind up.

Nobody can send anything to me (except prayers), I can’t bring stuff, but I doubt I will miss any of what is down here. Which makes me wonder why it is so difficult to let go of some things?

I have a necktie my dad used to wear to the office when I worked with him. It has a knight in armor, lance drawn, on horseback. It’s a pretty garish tie, brown and orange as I remember, not silk even, but that tie is one of my cherished possessions. He would wear that tie on days I felt the smallest, most hopeless and wondered whether or not I could ever accomplish any of the things he was working hard at training me to do. When he wore the tie I knew he had figured out something to fix everything, and he did. Presumably when my time comes I will see my dad again, and my mom, but I still can’t bring myself to give her silver to my brother, who entertains far more than I and might make good use of it, nor can I get rid of that tie.

I have my dad’s shaver, a camera still in its box, and the barrel to my brother’s .22 rifle that Dad taught him how to shoot with. No idea what ever became of the stock.

Oh, I also have some photos and a scrap book with memories of the Nutcracker in New York which Dad took me to see every year from when I was around 8, sugar packets from a trip to Aspen, matchbooks, playbills and cocktail napkins. Somehow these tangible things make me feel closer to my memories of Dad, but more than that I guess both he and my mom still speak to me in my heart, if I make myself very still.

So families and very good friends, no matter where we go, somehow keep our addresses, and we theirs, and we don’t lose touch


One thought on “Left No Forwarding Address

  1. Pingback: Left No Forwarding Address | friendwise

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