Going West

It’s the end of an era. The other day I was walking with Veda to school and I said, “You know, we didn’t walk on sidewalks when I walked to school.” After her initial shock and horror wore off she asked me why. “I grew up in a small town, not a city. And there weren’t any sidewalks on the way to school.” She looked at me for a minute and said- “But mom, you’re growing up right now, in Philadelphia.” I was nearly speechless. “You’re right Veda, I am.” 

My near-decade in Philadelphia has been….. to be honest, words fail me. I have been held. I have been taught. I have been freed. I have been healed. I have been broken. I have been filled. I came here on a whim, heartbroken and in spiritual turmoil. I was what I considered a failed missionary. And in this place, I found acceptance. I found love. I found encouragement. I found myself. I found a home. 

I have made friends here that will last my lifetime. I have grown emotionally, spiritually, mentally, intellectually. I have learned incredible amounts about incredibly important things. I have learned that humans can be enormously complex. And that love can be simple. I have seen darkness. But I’ve seen even more light. 

On New Years Eve at the Parsons’ House, I fell in love with a dying man. And when he got out of the ICU, I bewitched him into falling in love with me. We were wed here. We bought houses here. We made, grew, and are raising three children here. We’ve faced incredible loss. We’ve experienced overwhelming joy. We became a family. We made a home. 

We’ve felt the life of it’s rivers, and we’ve found the magic in it’s forests. We’ve fallen in love with it’s wildlife, on land and in air. We’ve communed around fires, and broken bread around tables. And leaving feels all kinds of wrong. 

But then- there is Oregon. We decided to move back out west soon after we lost my dad. The weight of the importance of family was overwhelming. That has only grown more and more evident with each child we’ve welcomed earth-side. We’ve dreamed of being closer to family both in struggle and in peace. For sharing in life’s trials, and in it’s joys. Our children feel it too. 

We thought we’d be here longer. That we’d have more time in this complicated and beautiful place. But our journey west this summer awoke in both of us an eagerness, and a peace, that now is the time. We felt alive in its wild landscape and calmed by it’s slower pace. But mostly we felt the miraculous bonds of family. To be close to them is to be more whole. We came home to Philadelphia filled with excitement and trepidation. 

We found a house. A lovely little blue house filled with awkwardly shaped rooms, and delightful built-ins. The previous owner was a woman named Wilma. She was a homemaker who “enjoyed gardening flowers, and her art projects.” She passed away in April, a day after her 90th birthday. The backyard is spacious and adorned with mature apple trees. It’s settled a few houses down from the canal, and a few blocks from the river. There’s a park around the corner, and a good public school. And best of all, it’s a ten minute walk to Ami and Bompa’s house. 

Our offer was accepted last week and Matt flew out to see it the next day. I could hear his excitement through the phone. Out of all of the houses we looked at, this one feels like home. If all goes well, and we're really hoping it does, we will close early November, and move soon after the holidays. To even say that gives me butterflies. I can’t imagine the pain and excitement being so real. I feel it now, and even this surely can’t compare to what we’re in for. Saying goodbye to our home and to our community. A surrogate family that has held us, supported us, loved us through so much. There are no words to say how much we will miss you. But we will. Tremendously.