All the news that comes after a great love passes

My sister needs to move. A big job opportunity awaits her in a new state.

She is really excited. And, truth be told. Sad. So sad. Rightly, so.

“It’s the first time I’ve moved to a home where neither Mom or Dad will know where I’m living,” she shared over the phone this week.

And so, it is. Another first.

They’ve racked up since our dad passed away 10 years ago, and now our mom.

This move comes a year to the day after she passed.

Mom doesn’t know where my daughter is going to college. Doesn’t know about the big trip my husband and I took this year. Doesn’t know about our new puppy.

But back to my sister. And to Jerry.

Sweet Jerry, the dear reader who emailed me this week.

“I have wanted to write for a long time, and with the recent passing of my wife of 59 years, I now have time to do the things that have been on hold.”

Fifty-nine years. That’s a lifetime of sharing new developments, from the momentous to the mundane.

I wonder how many times a day Jerry turns to tell his wife something? To share that new thing, only to remember she’s not here to share.

That’s what got Sister this week.

“Mom won’t be there to bring by salt, bread and a broom,” she shared. It was a longtime family tradition.

Salt, so your life will always have flavor. Bread, so that your cupboard will always be full. And the broom, to sweep away evil and bad luck.

My sister-in-law pointed out that as my mother’s health was declining, she hadn’t been mobile enough to bring by those items to the last three homes they’ve lived in.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sister said. “It’s just different.” She’s right.

For her. For Jerry. Maybe for you, too, Dear Reader.

It’s that layer of letting go of someone you love that you don’t really think about until you go through it. All the stuff that happens now. All the stuff they don’t know.

“Go. Do,” I can hear Mom saying.

The kept promise of her voice in my head she promised would never go away. Just as her mother’s never left her.

Sadness can be no excuse for not moving forward. She would say that, too.

And though I never met her, I imagine Jerry’s wife would say the same.

“Look at you, Husband! Emailing that lady we read in the newspaper all those years.”

Jerry, Sister, you, Dear Reader, and I are doing what we must.

Moving. Gotta move. Our departed loves expect no less.

And guess what was waiting for my sister and her wife in their new home?

Salt, milk and a broom. Her new neighbor felt the need to explain, “It’s what we do when someone moves into a new house.”

No explanation needed.

My sister is home.