the magnets of grands and great grands on the fridge mean “home.”
I think we forget that we have a past until some dramatic event hits our lives.
If you have been following the drama here, you will recall that my sister (and right-hand gal in H2H) passed away in March right after my parents announced they were moving to a Sr Community and my husband announced he was losing his job at the end of May. I have buried my sister, moved to a new home, and separated from my husband.
This week I am moving my parents. And it is excruciating.
As a professional move manager, you’d think I’d have a handle on this, but boy is it different with my parents. I am one of those lucky people who love my parents. Of course, we have had our moments over the years, but we get along and we genuinely love one another. I wouldn’t be anywhere else right now. And as we sort through the possessions they have accumulated over the years, I literally see my life flashing before my eyes. And I can’t share this with my sister, Sarah. I wish she was here.
Tomorrow when the movers are done, an era will come to an end. My mom and dad’s home has been the center of the family for as long as I can remember. I love them and don’t want them to move. I am selfish and want their home to stay intact so we can gather as a family here. I want to bring my kids to visit and learn only those things they can learn form grandparents. I want to have a place where I feel safe from life’s storms. I want to make jelly and set the table and sit and watch TV and be with them in their home. I want to turn back the clock and revisit the ordinary things we did together – I don’t want them to move.
I see in my minds eye the layers of the years we are disturbing and am genuinely sad that my parents’ home is being dismantled. I see this all the time in my work, and bravely focus my clients on the new home over and over again focusing on what they are creating and not what they are losing. Here I cannot get my mind off of the losses and my regret for . . . for . . . not spending more time here. . . for not being a bigger part of their lives. . . for living so far away. . . you name it.
What am I learning from this? Because eventually, we all go through this process . . . How am I growing? Expanding gentleness. Deepening understanding. Empathy beyond the ordinary. Greater comfort level with grief.
And, lastly, I know it will be better once we make the bed and hang the pictures. There is something final and comforting about hanging the pictures. Always is.
