I know. It’s been a bit. Sorry. But I promise, for the next hour or so, I am devoted to providing you some updates on recent events.
We closed on our house approximately two weeks ago, and things have become a blur. This move — though we’ve had numerous in the past several years (this one less than ten minutes) — seems to be the most difficult one for me. And I know why, too. It’s a myriad of reasons and emotions.
Our realtor, an amazing man whom I hope I don’t have to see again unless at a social outing, often reminds us that the average homebuyer changes houses every seven years when I state, “I’m not doing this again.” But this time it really does feel different. We’ve spent nearly the last year living with my in-laws, or as I put it (because our society gives a negative connotation to in-laws) “second parents.” I can never thank them enough for the hospitality and gratitude they have shown us. I’m not the best at thanking and showing emotion, but I am forever in their debt. So right now, I am thinking about how they’ve grown accustomed to having their daughter and granddaughter (and me tagging along, 😊) daily and how now that has changed. It’s a transition, even though we are six minutes down the road.
Everyone is happy, but everything is also bittersweet. My parents are moving into our finished basement. We’ve worked for years to find a way to make this happen, and I think we’ve all, at some point along the way, given up hope, yet here we are. Tomorrow, (okay, later today) I leave to head their way. My wife made a comment earlier, something to the extent of me going to the house I grew up in for a few days for the last time. That hit me really hard and really fast. I suppose I hadn’t quite considered it that way. The house, big, old, secluded, and so full of memories, will become a place in my mind and heart only very soon — and yet it’s what I’ve wanted for so long . . . to get them from there to here. The Cherokee-deeded land has been in the family for so long, so many generations, and it can’t be left to me as a second descendant, so when mom and dad go, there’s truly no looking back or, for that matter, a reason to go back.
I’m also thinking now about my parents. I feel my mom was ready to go some time ago, though I know it’s going to be transition period. How happy she will be though because she will be so much closer to her siblings, and, oh yeah, her cool cat granddaughter. I worry a bit more about dad. It’s his family that was there for so long. I know he will be okay, but I worry about the transition process more for him. When I get there, I’m going to enjoy those last few days, and when I drive out the last time, I’ll have my happy cry — at least there will be three hours to get it out of my system — and move on.
Throughout this process, I have also grown an immense amount of appreciation for moving companies. Sweet Jesus. In all of our moves, this was the first time we have ever used movers; we have always done it ourselves with the help of family. We just felt this time it was worth paying, and we were absolutely right. I met these fine folks at the storage unit, and within four hours, they had wrapped, taped, packed, moved, unloaded, un-everythinged (?) and placed the items where we wanted. Honestly, it was a whirlwind. A hurricane? Something like that. With my wife at work, I am so grateful my second mom was there because I couldn’t move fast enough telling one person where to put one item before another was at the door waiting. I saw young men carrying couches on their backs and three full boxes of heavy books (I need to quit reading so much — okay, not really) on their backs with clasped hands. I can’t even touch my hands behind my back. Sheesh. What an incredible experience. I can only hope the movers my parents are using are as good. Here’s hoping.
We spent our first night in the house last night. It felt good. Tonight is better. The family is more complete because this evening I transitioned Lucy, our feline friend, to the new digs. After the initial survey of the land, she made herself content by plopping down at the top of the steps to rule over her new domain . . . as cats do. The family will be complete in another week when I can open the basement door and listen to dad watching another episode of one of his favorite shows and the gentle, rhythmic hum of mom’s sewing machine.
If I can add anything — and if I’ve said it before it’s worth saying again — savor the time you have. Savor every moment of it.