Wednesday, May 15, 2013
For just one day, well okay really one week, I allowed myself to feel the greif of moving, of leaving the place where I have been or been very close to for all of my 33 years.
I voiced the worries over the overwhelmingness of moving; of moving with a tiny baby; of moving while homeschooling; of moving away from our family support; of sorting or packing one more thing; of living out of suitcases for weeks.
I allowed myself to mourn the familiar; to know how comforting is is to drive on familiar roads, where I instinctively arrive at the expected destination; to pass expected landmarks where memories have been made since childhood; to let the memories on each corner flood in and sink into each moment.
I said yes to each offer of help from family and friends. Each time knowing that these helping hands will be too far away very soon.
I allowed myself to check the rearview mirror. To look back. To feel the wight of the memories and the loss of not seeing them in every corner.
And as Lydia and I drove away from our house after the last box had been packed and loaded, I let the huge crocodile tears come flooding. Our home of eight years. The home where we have brought each of our babies. Where were have grown from a family of two to a family of six. Where evenings were spent pacing a fussy baby. Where first steps were taken. Where birthdays, Christmases and anniversaries have been celebrated. Where first words were understood, spoken, read and written. Where we returned to the safety and familiarity of after each summer in California.
I am incredibly excited about the future and where we are headed, but it's admitting that this is hard and it is ok to let the sadness have a voice and a moment, knowing that it every bit of it has led us to the moments to come.