The more things change, indeed.

At some point in the next hour or so, I will officially reach the five year anniversary of my arrival in Columbus. October 1, 2008, was perhaps the longest day of my life. It started out with Bruno climbing into the cupboard above the refrigerator to avoid capture, necessitating some very rough handling by Ron. And then off I drove in the pouring rain. And before I reached Tupper Lake thirty minutes later, Sara's paws were a bloody mess from tearing her claws off against the rigid plastic carrying case. Sedated though she was, her struggles were ferocious. And desperate. And futile. And she wouldn't stop. Four hours to Syracuse and she wouldn't stop for more than a few minutes at a time. She was a wreck. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And the rain poured down. And my tears poured down. Thirteen hours after I left, delayed by a visit to the emergency vet in Syracuse to bandage Sara's mangled feet, we made it to my townhouse. The rain had stopped around Buffalo, and the night was much like this one- warm and slightly humid. Delicious. Even exhausted as I was, I noted, and felt inordinately overjoyed about, the summer-like evening air.

I am the sister who bears witness to the passage of time. Eliza, interestingly enough, is the sister who for many years created a calendar as a family Christmas gift, replete with nostalgic photographs and stories. Meanwhile, remembering her own birth year often eludes her, and she doesn't even seem to care. Rita is the sister who first set up a Google calendar, and then convinced Eliza and me to join and give each other open access to our schedules. But I am the keeper of dates. I am always late. I resist making definitive plans much beyond a 24 hour cycle. But every anniversary, happy or tragic or even mundane, gives me some kind of pause. I cannot drift through such days obliviously. The past whispers to me, and I find myself awash in memories of where and what and who and, sometimes, why. 

I titled this blog "The More Things Change..." after trying to name it many other things and finding each of those titles already taken. So, I am hesitant to assign much deep import or profundity to it. After all, how significant can a tenth choice be? And yet another part of me is inclined to believe all those other titles were unavailable for a reason. I like to consider things like that. Ascribe meaning to the randomness. It makes for a better story, does it not?

Five years post apocalyptic moving day, the blog title seems imminently relevant. The implied second half of that sentence fragment is "the more things stay the same." Change and sameness. Co-existing. Perhaps inextricably bound. Change is the only constant. And yet in stepping away from one moment and into the next the differences are mostly imperceptible. Until in a single heartbeat everything changes and it is impossible to imagine that the entire world did not also come to a standstill and undergo a rearrangement of its very essence the way you just did. The world just went on? Impossible. My world will never be the same. 

My world will never be the same. I am not who I was five years ago. Except, of course I am. No one who knew me before would find me unrecognizable now. Nor do I. I am me. I am just 42-year-old me instead of 37-year-old me.  I'd like to believe the best parts of me I've retained and what is different is all for the better. But the truth is more complicated than that. Always.

I have learned that I can love and want someone other than the person I thought I'd love and want forever. But I don't know if I believe in forever love at all anymore. And recently I've had some unsettling realizations about who and how I choose to love.

I have observed and experienced, again and again and again, how little the world is interested in fairness or justice. I knew that before I moved here of course. But I've tried to stand up to it more than I ever did. Demand that the world explain itself rather than choosing just to slam doors and fume.

I have learned that communicating and being with the people who mean the most to you is both blissfully easier and radically more difficult when you live mere minutes rather than 12 hours or 3500 miles from them. Oh, how my sisters have taught me about me in ways uplifting, terrifying and maddening. 

I have walked a crooked path towards re-embracing a faith in God. I almost said re-discovering, but that is not true. I have not "discovered" God or faith. I have chosen to believe. I have decided that choosing to believe is every bit as valid as believing without question. The determination to choose to believe is no less a blessing than having no need for such determination.

Five years. A third as long as I lived in the Adirondacks. Tempus fugit. The first five years of my life in New York defy belief in many ways. Catherine at 27 was unrecognizable from Catherine at 22. To me as much as anyone. I changed so much. But I honestly don't know that I grew. Transformation and growth are not the same process. These past five years I have grown. I am more grounded. More secure. More ... me. 

The more things change, indeed.