Unpacking

My brother moved to Atlanta last Monday. His wife is moving there tomorrow. Conventional wisdom would dictate that they would move together, but she had a trip planned with some friends and then spent the weekend with her family before heading out.

I had an e-mail this morning from my brother in which he mentioned that he'd spent the last week working 12-hour days and then unpacking until midnight every night. The movers arrived the same day he did, and his goal, he says, is to have everything unpacked before my sister-in-law arrives tomorrow night--so that it'll feel more like home for her.

I, of all people, should be more sympathetic to her. In spite of the mental image I had of myself as an uncomplaining martyr I spent a fair amount of time complaining about having moved to St. Louis. It's difficult to move so far away when you're doing it primarily for someone else. But blood is always thicker than water (marriage?), I guess, because my foremost feeling is irritation at her for leaving him not only to unpack, but also to create the idea of "home." I guess I feel a little sorry for him, too, because they're both going to discover what I did in my own imagined exile--ultimately, no one can create a sense of home for you. You have to do it yourself.