The Third Suitcase

I fell in love with the month of October a long, long time ago, but the October that is embedded in my heart is the year I left home, the day after I was married and the month I was twenty.

I truly believed I carried only two blue suitcases that beautiful autumn afternoon when our car moved slowly down the street and headed south towards the tunnel where the next phase of my life would begin.  I also believed that at someday in the near future, we would return to the city I loved.  That never happened.

It was many moons and many months after that October day when I  began to realize I also packed another suitcase, possibly heavier than the other two, despite the fact that it was invisible.  It contained my dowry.  Something I was unaware of then.

As the years and the days moved forward, I began to unpack the Third Suitcase.  It didn’t contain a secret bankbook or heirloom jewels, but a wealth of knowledge carefully preserved and passed on by the elders of the family.  It also included lesson plans, ones they had used and learned from.  Each item was fragile and needed careful handling.  Every item was different; some were heavier than others, and each was a surprise until I opened it.

The one I opened within weeks after leaving my home and family came from my Father.  It was wrapped in a soft, cloudlike tissue, and the writing was firm but distinct, and simply said, “Never Be Afraid.”  He had begun to tell me that when I was a very little girl holding his hand and walking home daily from my Grandmother’s home.  That message has endured throughout the many years that have followed, even decades after his death.  If I close my eyes, I can hear him say softly, but ever so firmly, “Never Be Afraid.”  And it always keeps the demons away even when the night turns dark, and the moon disappears.

The second package was bulkier, neither fragile nor gently wrapped.  It was in a plain white box without any frills, and the writing was simple and black and white.  It merely said,. “Stand up straight, and just do it.”  It was my Mother’s voice, one that was sometimes intimidating, but seldom, if ever, wrong.  Because of her strength and determination, I faced down many obstacles, and learned to combat challenges including a new life in a Midwest state often alone while my new husband was away for weeks at a time.  It was this second package that became vital throughout the years that followed, and the complications of life that came my way.

Finally, tucked into the very bottom of the suitcase was a small square tissue and the message was brief.  “Give Them Wings,” was written in a childish handwriting, one that I recognized as my own.  I remembered writing it years, after my Grandmother’s death, and four of her adult children still remained in the family home.  Apparently, I heard my parents discussing the fact that my Grandparents had taught their sons and daughter to remain always with them.  Perhaps my Dad had offered an opinion, and I overheard his words of wisdom and wrote them down so I would never forget.

Throughout the years that followed, I recalled them, and my Husband and I taught our four youngsters to fly at an early age.  We always hoped they would never forget the route home, and fortunately, three did not.  I will never stop believing the fourth will also one day remember the way.

I have kept the Third Suitcase with me through the years.  The other two that were laden with clothing and what seemed to be treasures at the time, have long since disappeared.  The suitcase that seemed invisible still keeps popping open with messages I may have forgotten or perhaps not wanted to remember.  As I read them, a voice and a place returns, and I realize why it was crammed into the Third Suitcase I carried away with me on that beautiful October afternoon.

Each message is memorable, and possibly has become more vital as I have aged, but the first three I opened formed the talisman that I have carried with me from that day on.