When I was moving into my college dorm (second year of college, different city/campus) for the first time, Ivividly remember my dad intently focused on setting up my bed before anything else. I remember him saying, "just in case you want to cry and be alone or something." That memory has sunk deep within me. Thoughtfulness of any kind at ALL, like having a good memory of how minimally I use condiments when I eat, is without a doubt the most appreciated characteristic there is in knowing me. My dad, a man of few words and conversations et al, thought about preparing a place for me to be if setting up my dorm went awry or was stressful when I was 18. This memory is a portion of the foundation of my understanding of him as an adult.
This weekend has felt much like that memory. Both of our parents literally laboring over moving our belongings, never stopping, doing small things in the pauses like washing random dishes that were forgotten or strapping our couch to the roof of their car. I went to work later in the afternoon on Saturday, leaving my husband with the chaos and ultimately our new "home" for the time. He recounted to me later in a dim but lively UNO's the things they did when I left, arranging our furniture, organizing our things, putting one of their cars in the driveway to store other furniture in the garage we hadn't even thought of what to do with yet. These people, stirring about so that we can chase our dreams. You don't have words for it when you realize it's happening.
You can only stand there and know that you're young and wish that you'd remembered to wash that pan but really, you have to remember how they made you felt, and most importantly why they're doing what they're doing. Who doesn't want to believe in someone else's dreams that much someday?