Road Tripping

 

We are in Memphis, Tennessee. Don is browsing in Goner Records and I’m enjoying a coffee next door. On yesterday’s LP perusal, I found a cozy chair and read a few too many bleak bits of news, so I am here today to bring a little light into the world. That’s what Emily would want.

Here’s what’s been happening: we are down south picking up our car from dear friends who gratefully and gently used it while we were in China, and we are driving it back to Canada. We’ve been to Nashville, now Memphis, and our next stop is New Orleans. Then we are going to boot it home to Canada, pedal to the metal, because we are missing Charlotte and we also want to start getting ready for our imminent move to Vancouver Island.

I find myself talking back and forth with Emily all the time these days. Of course, both voices are mine (and I’m doing a lot of it out-loud, under my breath), but I just feel the peace washing over me when I converse with her, so whether people think it’s real or not, I don’t care. It feels real and I am honouring and loving our playful banter.

One of our favourite things to do is go thrifting and it’s a whole new can o’ worms here in the south: different merchandise, fun styles, lots of polite ma’ams and accents that I don’t understand, so I often find myself nodding and smiling, even though I’m not sure what I am responding to.

After a pothole-filled drive to the LP store (People living in Tennessee probably need to set aside a special budget for tires each year), Emily ‘said,’ “You guys make sure you have a good time. And don’t rush Dad. This is his happy place.” Hence, here I am in the vegan cafe.

When thrifting, Emily’s common refrain is, “Those look like pajamas, Mama, so they’re probably perfect!”, “Don’t buy it unless you love it,” and yesterday’s was, “Don’t feel obligated to buy something that you know I’d wear - our styles are radically, different, Mama.” Also, “You look so cute, Mama.” That is sweetness I will take, every loving spoonful of it!

We’ve been listening to live music on Beale Street each of our evenings here in Memphis. It’s pretty quiet as it’s early in the week, and I’m thinking tourism and the economy here in Memphis is not what it used to be. There are a lot of boarded-up places and hard-living is evident throughout this city. It’s a place definitely tinged with heartbreak, ongoing reconciliation and a complicated history. 

Last night we heard a woman named Baunie and her small band singing the blues. She was truly magnificent, though the bar was nearly empty. It felt a privilege to be in her space listening to her soaring, booming voice, her beautiful energy coming through her bodacious body. Don got very emotional, and did some full-on crying in the bar and I just rubbed his back and let him feel it all. As he said, “They don’t call it the blues for no reason.” So true.

During a break, we went to speak with her and Don told an abbreviated version of our Emily story. Her eyes welled up for us, and she said, “I just couldn’t even look your way when you were cryin’ because I knew I’d cry too.” She told us she’d be praying for us and talked about all the child angels in heaven. It was very touching.

We are settling into crying, laughing, enjoying, mourning, remembering, forgetting, doing and not doing. This is the routine or non-routine of our life right now. I truly hope there will be more of the happy and less of the sad. The shift is already happening. TIme is indeed passing. Our grief remains, but our capacity to hold it grows.