This is a strange time in my life. I’ve been through a lot in my marriage. The ugliness at the beginning of the year, the subsequent dealings that went with resolving it, the felony (HA!), the resulting house mess, the stuff going on with my oldest, the things hackingmy closest friends off at the knees, my hubby going in for surgery three days before we have to be out of this house, the loss of my familiarity, equilibrium, family, friends, church, home and comfort zone. I know all the optimistic and realistic things about this, being a generally optimistic and realistic person. I know that we will have a new place and a new routine. I know that my hubby will recover and be better than before. I know that I will eventually consider my new home, well, home. I know that I’m not really losing my friends or family. But it feels that way. It feels like the end of my life. Not all the time, just in weak moments. I’ve mostly been stomping on any sadness or fear because I just don’t have time for it. It is a luxury I can’t afford at this point because for all practical intents and purposes, the only human holding this whole show together is me. I’m taking care of the hubby, comforting the kids, packing, cleaning the house, arranging things and what have you. I’m not saying that I’m not getting any help, because I am. It’s just that mostly, it’s just me. I don’t have the time to mope, I don’t have the extra energy to give it. In weak moments though, I think about it and cry just a little. Not enough for tears to escape, just enough to well up. I see flashes in my mind, of my oldest son playing with his cousins, both honorary and blood. I see my SIL holding my youngest. I see my friends while we hang out on the deck and laugh about everything. I see my family all lined up in a row at church. I see the baptism of both my babies at the gentle, loving hands of my pastors. I see my babies coming home from the hospital. I see us all snuggled in on the couch watching a movie when it’s cold and snowy outside.
I hear things too. I hear the voices of my family and friends singing happy birthday to each other, my children, their children. I hear the sounds of a hundred barbecues, the sound of the tears we all shed over hard times, the murmurs of support given when needed.
I have so many memories, sights, sounds, smells and feelings that live here, but as of Sunday, I no longer do. I no longer have the option of running into my family at church, or even having the casual knowledge that it doesn’t matter, because I’ll catch up with them later if I don’t. I can’t have dinner with my mom on a whim. I can’t run to a pal’s house at 9:30 at night because we’re both feeling awake and in the mood for company. That has been my life for so long, and now that’s not my life anymore. I’ve never had a problem making friends, and it’s never bothered me much when one left because I knew we wouldn’t lose touch and that I’d see them again. It’s just that this has really been the golden time of friendship in my life. I’ve been through some viciously hard things in the last year, as have my friends and the closeness, trust and fun that has come out of it has been the very best in my life. I don’t think I could ever top it. We’ve come such a long way, and still have far to go, but it’s just painful that I am not going to be here for it.
No matter my general outlook, this is the end of an age. The last ten years have happened here, with these people. The best things, the worst things, the most joyful things, the hardest and saddest things. The people I love the most have been here. The people who have taught me the most, loved me the most, laughed with me the most, supported and cared for me the most have been in this place. I’m taking a few of them with me, but I’m leaving so many behind.
It hurts my heart.