Songs of Farewell

I made my way to my mother’s house with a mix of anticipation and nostalgia coursing through my veins. It was my move day from what has been the only home I had known to my own place.

As I stepped through the familiar threshold, I was greeted by the sight of my mom, diligently packing my belongings into boxes.

Mom, you don’t need to do all this. But THANK YOU! This is great.

Aww. It’s the least I could do. There are so many memories packed around these walls. You know, when I look at all these things, it brings back a lot of good memories.

I know.

Look. Your blanky….Poo bear…Elmo. I still remember how attached you were to this one.

I could not help but grab them and hug them all three, just as I used to.

Mom, remembered everything.

You used to say “Emmo”  do you remember? All because you could not say his name correctly.

I remember. You remind me all the time!

Ok. Check this box. It should go in the back, of wherever you would want to store your stuff from all your sports practices in high school. It has all your sports uniforms. These are favorites, from your Poms’ competitions.

Ah, Poms! I remember those days. Mom, you’ve literally kept everything!! How many boxes did you pack?

Let me count. Seven, …eleven. Oh, and with this one, fifteen.

Fifteen? How are we going to fit all of this in my new place?

That’s why I have labeled every box so you can place them in the right rooms when you get there.

The contents of most boxes were a mystery to me, lost in the haze of time and forgetfulness. As we loaded everything onto the moving truck, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sentimentality for the items that held memories of my childhood.

She was right. Afterall, I was able to hire some movers to assist with the heavy lifting. This was quite a relief for me. I could not think of unpacking these and how long it might take me to do so.

Together, mom and I guided them with the sequencing for each box.

At some point, I could hear her say, “Careful with that one!” to one of the movers as he was trying to secure some items in the back.  

Among the sea of boxes, there was particularly one that caught my eye—a light box labeled "Electronics." Mom said that I had packed it years ago, before heading off to college. Though I did not have any memory of it.

My teenage handwriting adorned the box, flowers doodled all over and lots of stickers. I was intrigued by the content, yet I had no time to take a quick peek inside. So, I separated it from the rest of my belongings and placed it gently on the passenger seat of my car. I knew it held a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered.

When the movers finished loading all the boxes on the truck, they signaled that they would start the journey to my new place. I asked them to proceed, saying, “I’ll be there before you even get there.”

Suddenly, it was just mom and I. We were both overcome with emotions. The separation.

“This is it! You’re all packed now” she first said and then grabbed me with a warm embrace. “Take good care, kiddo. And come visit often. Okay?”

Mom, I am only four miles away from you. And yes, I will be back before you even miss me.

“You promise? I miss you already,” she replied.

She looked at me, with pride in her eyes but also a sense of sadness. Deep down, I knew she wanted nothing more than the very best to happen in my life. I was able to afford a home before my mom could when she was my age. This was HUGE!

We also had our struggles, many at a time, but we also overcame them. I didn’t want her to see my shedding a tear, so I quickly got in my car and took off. She waved goodbye until I could no longer see her from the rearview mirror.

When I got to my apartment, the movers were already unloading the truck. They had to come through a very narrow hallway to arrive and needed to get in. I helped them get inside and showed the one in charge where things needed to be placed.

In a matter of two hours, they were done. The boxes where they were meant to be, and I was in no hurry to open them yet.

After the movers left, the space—my space—was full of boxes. It looked smaller than I had imagined. But that did not matter caus’ it was mine. While I already missed the warmth of my mother, I also knew I had bright things ahead of me. This was such a significant turning point in my life—a fresh start, living in on my own, in my hometown, venturing out on my own, self-employed, with the vast expanse of the world stretching out before me—a lot to take in and requiring time to adjust to.

Days turned into weeks, and the small “electronics” box remained unopened, perched atop my fridge. Every time I reached for something in the fridge, I could hear a faint shuffling from within the box, a gentle reminder of the forgotten relics it held. But I wasn't in a rush to unveil its contents. I assumed it contained old gadgets and trinkets from my past, remnants of a time long gone.

One Saturday evening, while I sat down to enjoy some pizza, curiosity got the better of me. I reached for the box and finally decided to open it. It was finally time to see what was inside. I grabbed a kitchen knife and carefully opened it along the tape on top.

What I discovered inside left me both surprised and amused. It was mostly filled with junk, including my first Walkman, an ancient relic of portable music, and an old headset. Nestled among the clutter was a cassette tape, its label faded with time, its contents lost in the recesses of my memory.

“Wow,” I thought. “I think I had these when I was in eighth grade.”

Intrigued by the mystery of the forgotten tape, I made up my mind to listen to it. But there was a small hurdle—I needed batteries, a single AA to be exact. Unfortunately, my apartment was devoid of such a mundane necessity. So, I carefully placed everything back into the box, deciding to revisit it later.

Days passed, and as fate would have it, while waiting in line at the cashiers one afternoon, my eyes landed upon a pack of batteries. Yes, this is what I have meaning to buy, I said to myself.

It felt like a serendipitous moment, a sign from the universe nudging me to delve into the past.

Without any hesitation, I added the set of four batteries in my cart. At the cashiers I made sure they were not mixed with the rest of my groceries by placing them instead in my purse. Eager to unveil the forgotten music, I hurried home, batteries, and groceries in hand.

When I got there, I carefully put the perishable foods in the fridge and reached for the opened box on top of it. I removed the old (ancient I would say) batteries from the Walkman, cleaning the dusty interior before inserting the new ones.

I hoped the Walkman still worked but without new batteries I would not have known. With anticipation building, I placed the cassette tape inside and pressed play. This was a moment, a reunion with a piece of my past, a chance to reconnect with the teenager I used to be.

From the moment the first song filled the room, I was transported back in time. It was Billie Jean, by Michael Jackson. The beat, the lights, the moves, everything. I could not help myself trying to imitate Michael’s moves.

The song brought me back to those days, when the song was on repeat: in my bedroom, at recess in school, everywhere. It was as if the music had the power to resurrect the past, breathing life into long-forgotten memories.

As the cassette kept playing, each song carried me on a journey through my youth, evoking a whirlwind of emotions. It was as if the music had the power to transcend time, transporting me back to a different era. Each song brought back different memories and emotions at the same time.

I laughed, mimicking the dance moves I once knew so well—had perfected to be more accurate! I grinned, reminiscing about friends, and wondering where life had taken them. And yes, I cried too, as certain songs unearthed buried sorrows and heartaches, like my dad’s passing or my first crush. The music stored on this treasure trove became a conduit, bridging the gap between past and present, reminding me of the person I once was.

I listened to the entire tape and danced on mostly all of them, especially on Madonna and Cyndi Lauper. When I started prepping my dinner, the song "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" came on. It was just the perfect song for that instant.

Yet, as the final song, "Time After Time" played, I had a profound sense of closure settled within me. I realized that I was no longer that same person, but every song and memory had played a part in shaping who I had become. It was a bittersweet realization, a farewell to the chapters of my life that had come before, and an embrace of the person I was destined to be.

With a contented smile, I finished dinner and decided to carefully place the cassette tape back in its box, alongside the Walkman and headset. They would find a special place in my bedroom.

They were more than just objects; they were cherished relics of a bygone era, reminders of the journey that had brought me to this point. As I closed the lid, I knew that while I had bid farewell to that chapter of my life, its echoes would forever resonate within me, guiding me as I ventured into the unknown.

I was now on a new journey in my own place. This was a place where new memories would be created, where the person I had become would continue to evolve and grow. The music from my teenage years had served its purpose—it had allowed me to revisit the past, to honor the person I once was, and to embrace the person I had become.