Eight days. Just eight days! I am getting to the end of this part of my journey, and I can hardly believe it. I'm to the stage of making lists so I don't forget anything. Probably an unnecessary measure for most of the list, but I'm beginning to feel so scattered. It helps me to focus my thoughts, so I'll list away!
I have been thinking about so many things in the past few days. Right at the top of the stack of those is that the kids, my kids, won 't be able to see the old house before it goes. Well, the Wichita branch can, but he is the least sentimental of the kids, I think. It has been a good exercise for me to be here these months. I've been able to let some old memories go, enrich some, come to terms with others, and really treasure many more. I have grown in the experience, and I've become more at ease with myself. This last point is, of course, about the most important I've ever tried to accomplish.
For those who haven't read this blog from the first few posts, let me fill in a bit. I've never lived alone until March of this year. I went from my parents home to my first marriage. When I divorced, I lived with my 2 children. Then I married my second husband, and we were together for 31 years. When he passed away last October, I spent 5 months traveling, visiting with family and friends. Since me living alone was a completely new persona, I had very little idea of who the "alone me" was. I'm still working on that, of course, and part of the process was to deal with the emotions associated with this house, our family home for 30 years. I’ve felt several times as if I was done with that, but then I turn another another corner or open another memory laden page, and I’ve been pulled back into it.
I believe this is why I’ve struggled so with the rejuvenation of the house. I’ve tried to do too much, wanting to put it back to the best possible condition. Perhaps I’m just too physically tired now so that I’m turning loose without resistance, but I really think I have finally reached the place of being done with the house. When I say that, I mean “done” in the sense of able to let it go, move on with my life and learn about myself as planned. I look around here now, and there is a bittersweetness about it. But there is no hold on me as there was before.
This process of grief is a challenge. It is so multifaceted that it seems impossible to recognize all the nuances. Perhaps we aren’t supposed to do so. The part that is the “moving on” is really hard. I’m ready to move on, but I don’t know exactly what that means. Oh, I have plans. Sure I do. But they are plans drawn on a canvas that is as itinerant as a mist over a lake on a cool morning. They just keep shifting and changing with the breeze.
My journey appears to be about to take a leap, and I’m eager to go. It will continue to challenge me, I’m sure, over and over. I wonder about all of you. What has been your greatest challenge? Give me some stories to take with me!