Moving is unsettling. That is no surprise to anyone who has placed her worldly belongings in banana boxes, uprooted, and moved on.
Home is typically one’s safe place. It’s a retreat from what stresses. It’s where one gets centered before facing the world again.
Moving removes that locus in the most unsettling of times.
After nearly ten years in this home, it is time for a new thing. As I move through the process of organizing, minimizing, and strategizing, I am faced with my past, present, and future. Simultaneously.
Three Goldens lived here. Only our Roger remains. We moved in with a cat, and now have two. My children were teenagers and are now grown, amazing adults.
The big red couch is gone. The green chair. Boxes are piled. Walls are blank. Spaces are empty of things, but the memories remain.
I think of all who gathered at my kitchen island drinking coffee; the ones prayed for in the sun room; the many meals served around our kitchen table.
My eyes fix on the garden. The trellis Joey bought for Joe’s 50th birthday.
I envision the irises from Kevin and Yvonne. The flowers planted in memory of Cassie. Chats on our patio. The blackberry bushes. The fig tree. Laurie’s garlic.
While there is much to mourn, there is much to celebrate. And while we say goodbye to this home, we enthusiastically say hello to the new. I anticipate writing on the screened porch, watching birds at the feeders, and cutting flowers into bouquets for my new neighbors.
And friends old and new gathering around a new table in a new room in a new home. Drinking coffee.