This is getting serious

I’ve just spent the last couple of hours with my mother-in-law packing boxes. My life is slowly being wrapped in paper or bubble wrap and carefully layered into boxes with little white labels in the upper right corner. While I feel really relieved that packing is going well, there is a growing feeling of dread inside of me. There have been so many times in the last few days that my stomach has lurched and I’ve found myself choking on my heart. Like yesterday when my father-in-law and I were picking up boxes from the moving company and I saw the truck (or at least one like it) that will move us to our new home. You know, the house we are really excited about that I’m not sure I want to move to anymore? In the city I know almost nothing about except that it has a really awesome farmer’s market. In a province with seriously questionable humidity levels. I’m having a hard time remembering why we made this crazy decision. Ah, yes! We will live close to the family I have been missing so dreadfully the last few years.

I know that moving “home” will fill some of the gaping holes in my heart. I just worry about the new holes that will be ripped inside of me when I get on that airplane for the last time. Leaving this home will be so sad. It is our first home and we have put so much of ourselves into it. So much heart work (I know that is a typo but it worked so I’ll leave it). So many tears. So much laughter and love. This is the only home our children have known. It is hard to rip out the roots that we fought to establish. How do you hug a dear friend and then walk away knowing you might not see them again? Knowing that some of those people who are so important to us now will one day be a fond memory? And once we go, how do we start all over again? Who will be my Mel? My Kiristy? My neighbour who feeds my kids popsicles and yells at them when they run on the road?

In the midst of all this, I am trying to hold on to what is good and store it in my heart. Today I’ve captured the scent of my neighbours flowering tree blowing it’s heavy perfume in the front window. I’m treasuring the sound of my children’s belly laugh as Grandpa tickles them. I ate what might be my last vanilla croissant from that brillant Belgian patisserie on the edge of downtown. And I took a mental picture of my little girl smiling at me as she walks down the stairs with her wind blown hair, one sock and a bathing suit. Those are sweet memories that I am thankful for today.

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