As I sit and type this in my parents' kitchen, it's hard for me to encapsulate what the last two days have entailed. Yesterday, chaos consumed us as we moved, cleaned, moved, and watched warily as "professional" movers threw about our furniture. I made six trips over to my parents' house to drop things off (which cost $75 in gas--ugh).
The rain that pounded the night before gave way to a stifling humidity that left The Banker and me drenched in sweat (not to mention the movers, too, whom I could begin to differentiate by smell). We couldn't get everything out of the house by the buyers' walk-through yesterday evening. Still, the house was orderly and clean enough to pass snuff, and we returned this morning for three more trips hauling our junk.
For starters, I didn't realize we'd accumulated SO. MUCH. STUFF. Loads and loads and loads of boxes. And secondly, we weren't nearly as prepped as I thought we were. When we move into the new house, over a dozen boxes will lack labels and will hold a mish-mash of random things. And how I hate hodgepodge while I'm trying to neatly lay out a new home! But what caught me most by surprise was the heart wrenching sadness that took hold as I prepared my home for someone else. I sat on the empty floor of Becca's nursery and just balled--my sobs echoing off the hardwood floors and the naked walls.
These new people? I'm sure they're nice enough, but they're not good enough for this home. This place that we lovingly updated. This place that we filled with craziness and junk and love. I know every inch of that home, every squeak in the floorboards, every knot in the floor. And it's not mine anymore. My first home, the place I brought my daughter home from the hospital to...it's all gone now. And it still hurts enough to bring tears to my eyes. I know we couldn't stay where we were forever, but leaving hurt so damn bad. And I doubt I'll ever come to love another home as much again.
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2 comments:
I hope your new home holds as many possibilites as your old home realized for you. Congrats on working so hard on the moving process.
We have had the same experience leaving our old homes. When we moved out of the townhouse we lived in when we were first married I came upon my wife sitting on the foot of the bed (the last thing to be removed from the bedroom) weeping because we were leaving this little, rented space that had become so sweet to us. I think (hope) it is a sign that your life is full of love and vitality that the physical space in which you have made your home has become so very dear to you. Soon your new home will be as dear as the old was - it just takes a little livin' and a little time. God bless you and your many activities - and Happy Birthday to the Banker!
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