Change

To the next person who tells me “change would be good for you.” Let me tell you a story.

Change.

We are all shifting and moving simultaneously day to day; transitioning from one action or idea to another. It’s inevitable. It’s a part of life. I get it and need that as we all do. But, I’m not entirely sure how much change I can take. And surely, I could use a rest from its path for awhile.

The change that you speak of is bigger than yesterday to today. It’s resonates larger than turning on heel, changing directions when you are walking to the kitchen and you meant to head to the living room.

When I hear “change will do you some good” my mind twists with exhaustion. I’m drained already by the last six years of uncertain transition, evermore the last two years.

From long hauling it across the country, on one of the best adventures with my bestie, also known as my mother and sister-in-Christ, leaving behind some key people that had a hand in changing my life for the better to restart life elsewhere.

Change.

To spending every waking moment possible with my bestie before her life, taken too soon from this soil in 2019. My memory of her is never too far away in my day to day. Nor, the last time I spent with her.

I let a song that she and I shared infuse me, as I paced a worn path in her hospice room wearing a shattered tear stained face. Staring long and hard at her lifeless body, I waited for her to open her eyes and tell me to come lay next to her.

Change.

To walking through four years of caring for my last grandparent, a woman whom I adored and held back grieving for my mothers death to care for. To watch her slip away in 2020, four months after my mother’s death.

Change.

Shifting from one place to another, temporarily living in open places provided by God’s grace and mercy. To picking up jobs to make ends meet and resting on the love of family, moving along with life’s demands, until another inevitable untimely death of my father in 2021.

One of my last recollections of him also lingers in small breaths. Every once in awhile the big brown eyes of this once estranged man drifts into my memory and stares deep into my soul, his last words, “I love you,” falling from his lips, before I recall leaving him for the last coherent time.

Change.

To the last remaining parent, my stepfather, who feels the weight of his children’s loss and we too feel the weight of his. We are vessels building a relationship without the anchor that held us in place, but at least we are building.

Change.

So the next time you want to tell me “change will do me some good” please try to hold your tongue. Give me grace, because I’m still trying to mentally, physically, and spiritually deal with all that I lost and all that is still moving and shifting.

These last few years are like a shattered glass on the floor. The pieces swept up and tossed away, but small shards still remain under the fridge and between the crevices of the stove.

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