Wednesday, July 18, 2012

"And so it goes."


The truck is loaded and gone, the house is clean and empty and eerily quiet. I wander outside and consider the peach tree which, thanks to an early spring, is loaded with fruit for the first time. In contrast, a single apple hangs from the other tree, grown to large proportions thanks to it's uniqueness. The space where the swing set stood is barren, and I remember how Jon and my dad rushed to build it in the days before and after Isaac was born.
Back inside.. still that unnerving quiet. The kids are with Jon's parents now, as my own parents and I finish the last minute cleaning. Everything went very smoothly. Packing and loading went exactly as expected, and we used about as much space in the truck as I predicted. Not everything made the final cut, but all items found good homes which is as much as I could ask for. Cleaning went faster than expected, minus an unfortunate incident involving my foot and the sharp edge of the shower door. [At least both parties had been recently scoured.]
The other aspects of moving - paperwork, logistics, phone calls, maps, planning road trip activities - are also complete. We need only pack the cars and go.
All of these steps were made possible by the heroic efforts of our friends and family. My mom took the brunt of  child care during moving day(s), arguably the hardest job. I wanted the kids to see what was happening to the house, to ease the transition and help them understand that their treasures are in fact coming with us. So they observed, played with some friends, and tried to "help" as much as possible. It was rough at times. And as much as I wanted to involve the kids, moving is grown up work. Suffice it to say, my mom had her work cut out for her.
Meanwhile, Jon played the giant game of Tetris that is loading a truck. He's always had a good eye for this, and stacked our bins and boxes and furniture higher than I thought possible. By the end he was more mentally tired than physically tired. Thankfully, over the three final days many friends helped with the lifting and carrying and cleaning. One dear friend even provided breakfast that first day. Others came to say goodbye, making me wonder again why we are doing this.
These are my thoughts as I walk through the empty house, checking the cupboards and rooms one last time (yes, there is a forgotten item in the very last cupboard), making sure everything is in order. Not just for our benefit, but because I want the new people to enjoy this house. As my neighbor put it, home selling/buying can create a seeming enemy where none actually exists. We've certainly had that sensation, and it's not a nice note to leave on. So, I try to make peace with this transition as closing looms.
And now here they are - the sobs that I knew were coming (better now than at the closing!*). Past moves were welcomed, but this one is different. This one is the giant tree stump being pulled slowly and painfully from the ground. Am I saddened by the roots pulled up, or afraid of the unseen place where the stump will land? At last, I think just the former. So the sobs don't last. The carver will turn the stump into a beautiful sculpture no matter where it lands.
So even as the kids cry and ask to go home, and even as I find it hard to lock the door that last time, and even as we allow ourselves this time of mourning, I know the intensity of feeling will pass. Adventures await, and community is where you make it. And between here and there, are many wonders to behold - World's Largest Wind Chime, anyone?

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*Update: I cried at the closing. And I really don't recommend it.

1 comment:

  1. Oh Sharon, HUGS to you as you walk through this transition.

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