Reflection, September 11, 2017

June 24, 2018
In memory of my Aunt Christel who passed away this year in Hamburg, Germany.

September 11, 2017

I was putting on a duvet cover this morning and recalled the first time I had ever heard of or seen a duvet cover. Writing this is also reminding me of the first time I was asked by the landlord, "It's a nice davenport, isn't it?" and I nodded yes, having no idea that the davenport was the sofa in the furnished apartment my roommates and I had rented for senior year of college. I thought it was something to do with the woodwork on the porch. Back to the duvet cover.

We were visiting Uncle Alvin and Aunt Christel in Germany for the first time and they greeted us with great excitement and warmth to their home in Hamburg. Before settling in, Aunt Christel showed us the bedroom and went to get a clean duvet cover for the quilt on the bed. I remember her showing me how you grab the top corners of the quilt and hold them inside the corners of the duvet cover shaking the whole quilt until it falls into place inside the cover. I thought the buttons at the bottom were especially wonderful, buttoned inward and leaving the bottom closure flat against the bed.

This morning I put on a freshly laundered duvet cover in preparation for my Aunt Cordelia's visit next week. There was something reassuring about being able to create a space that would welcome her and Warren. I'd just read recently two perspectives on top sheets. I never use a top sheet; only a duvet cover. I was glad to hear that one perspective was joy over having a fresh duvet cover against your skin without the fuss of an extra sheet between you and the quilt.

I have been alone in this house for over four years and I don't think a day goes by that I don't try to envision what it will feel like to leave it for a new home. That vision is filled with memories and fears. Memories of the people who have called this home, of Emma's high school years, of proximity to work and the community that has kept us in NYC all these years. Fear of creating a space without Gregory in it. Fear of living in a space that my parents will never know. Fear of the reality that this next move is mine alone. Fear of being unknown to new neighbors; unfamiliar with new patterns of living. Fear of letting go of the objects that surround me by intention and default. And yet, in this fifth year of living alone I am suddenly more able to think about this move than any year that has passed.