This past week has been the most emotionally and physically exhausting time of our lives. We’ve sold our house and moved into the home of a very dear friend. We are thankful for his generosity, but are grieving, nonetheless. A part of us is gone. For the first time in our lives, we have no home to call our own.
People quickly find metaphors for times like this. They say that selling our home to correct our financial situation is like an amputation – painful, but necessary to our survival. Someone has said that we exchanged an “ace, two, four, six and seven” for a “two queens, two jacks, and a ten.” Play the hand correctly and maybe we’ll last the entire game.
We’ve imagined the sinking ship, the jump to a lifeboat. Even more so, I found myself comparing our situation to the evacuation of civilians in a war-torn country. Like them, we ran out of time to think. We threw out what we could not carry: items too bulky to transport, some of sentimental value, some, to our frugal minds, still salvageable. We balanced the replaceable value of an item against the cost of storing it; the sentimental value of one keepsake versus another, knowing one would be thrown out. There were sad goodbyes and outbursts of grief that surprised even us. In between, we held on to the sensible logic of the move. “This house is too large for us now. The new owners will be so happy here.” All of it true.
There can never be enough hours to move what amounts to a lifetime of possessions and memories. We filled a twenty cubic foot garbage bin in our driveway, two sixteen foot storage units, and still had to drive five carloads of goods to our friend’s home, forty-five minutes away. We arrived at three a.m.. While others were asleep, we tiptoed inside (limped might be more accurate), dug for nightclothes in hastily packed suitcases, and tried to sleep. My husband’s exhaustion won over and he was snoring within minutes. I lay awake, unable to stop the thoughts looping through my head: the way things used to be and how it came to this, and even more, would we get through it? I closed my eyes and replayed our visit to the lawyer earlier in the week: the look of compassion on his face when he heard about our situation; his quick glances at my husband between each clause of the contract, as he probably imagined himself in our shoes. I heard the words that seemed so out of place as we signed our house away. He said “Life is a journey.” I remembered the way he shook my hand and held it just a little longer than necessary. “Good luck,” he said. I avoided his eyes, because if I looked into them and saw sadness or pity, I would have crumbled.
So here I am, four days after our move, lucky enough to be welcomed into our friend’s big, comfortable home, but still “bleeding on the page,” as someone once said, and likely embarrassing myself. But it is honest and it is real and it is all I know how to be. Faking cheeriness right now isn’t possible.
Those of you who’ve been reading this blog since its start might say that this is our roadblock, the biggest one we have ever faced, and that the detour ahead leads to a much better place.
I hope you are right. We are more than ready for a fresh start.
hugs. jeannie xx
Thank you Jeannie.
‘Bleeding on the page’ can be a positive thing … and I can think of a million and one ways more likely to embarrass – and not one of them I would connect with the Linda I know and love. Stay strong…
Thanks Christa. I’m giving it my best.
Dear Linda, Re Crista’s comment re “bleeding on the page can be a positive thing” — make me think of bloodletting or transfusion.
Hugs from us too and I am constantly thinking about you and Steve.
MargieXX
Hi Margie,
“Bloodletting” really fits, doesn’t it? I purged possessions, and this, I suppose, is an attempt to purge the experience.
Thank you so much for your support.
Can only send my warmest hugs to you both. Certainly, I have stood in your place once in my life and I remember the anguish and hopeless of leaving my home.
I read somewhere in one of the replies to you from a friend… that ‘YOU were the reason your home has been one of warmth and love and contentment’. Although that statement isn’t enough to comfort you at this time – I send this note with warm thoughts, and prayers for peace and once again, JOY.
Sincerely
Karen
“Karrie formerly from the Bridge”
Karrie!!! It is so wonderful to hear from you again after all these years!
Thank you so much for reaching out and reminding me that we’re not alone. It’s important for us to remember that other people have survived very similar situations. We need to cling to every positive thought possible.
We have really missed you at the Bridge! Will drop you a private email tomorrow to catch up.
LInda
i love the bleeding on the page phrase. i just got up meaning to do some of that into my fiction, but am too worn out. think i’ll try go back to bed with some of those cycling thoughts.
God bless. let us know about your journey since this day.
♥ michelle
Thank you Michelle. I think I’ve been too exhausted by theday to day living of it to relive it again in my writing, yet there’s been little else on my mind. It’s consumed me. Andtruth be told, I’ve had little time to myself since the move.
But my return is long overdue, so I’ll be writing here more often from now on. I feel terrible that I’ve simply disappeared into the internet abyss. lol
Linda