One of the first things I see every morning is my great-grandfather’s suitcase. His initials ‘S.S.’ are embossed in gold on the front, just under the worn, leather handle.
It’s an odd-sized case; not sure what you’d fit in here. Maybe a weekend’s worth of clothes? Or maybe, people just traveled with less. Yes. It’s probably that. Less.
I know they had less.
Funny, I think I used to think that was a sad thing. Now, I think it’s a healthy, life-focusing things. And perhaps they had less because that’s what they could afford, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about having less regardless of budget; regardless of the ability to have more.
And no, that’s not just because I don’t like to do laundry. Or put things away.
But I digress.
I heard stories about family. About living ‘over top’ the grocery store. About helping his relatives get to this country. About how generations lived together and supported each other. About struggling.
I never heard anything about him traveling.
But here is this sturdy suitcase with a worn handle and a slightly frayed lining.
I wonder where it’s been.