If I was someone who felt the adventure in a move I think I might have done more of them over the years, but I’m not and I didn’t. I was at the mercy of my parents when I was growing up and they were keen to follow where adventure took them. I was born in Winnipeg – by the time I was fifteen we had lived in five different cities, eight different houses and I’d attended seven different schools. We were nomads. I swore if I was ever blessed with children of my own I would stay put. And I did.
I’ve lived on this street for more than thirty-one years, I’m the old-timer on the block. This house has watched our kids grow up and me grow old – we are imprinted in the walls. The house has borne witness to our very best and our worst – it’s weathered storms and basked in glories. It’s been ‘home’. And now I’m leaving.
It’s too much house for me these days, there are rooms I don’t go into for days on end. Spiders are having a heyday in dark corners and dust goes undisturbed for weeks. The yard has been getting away on me for years. It’s time to go. The house needs a fresh start and perhaps I do too.
I’m very fortunate to not be moving far and the house is fortunate too, it’s staying in the family. It is at home with the family who will be making it their home, and this makes my move easier on both of us. I love the fact two of our granddaughters will grow up immersed in the memories of this house – they will pedal their bicycles down the same cul de sac and chalk the same pavement their mother did. Their laughter will float into the essence of happiness this house has been drenched with.
This house was our home and we made it a good one, but that ‘we’ is now just me and I’m rattling around in the emptiness he left behind. It’s time, time for me to start the next chapter of my life. I sure as hell didn’t see myself here when we walked in the front door way back then – leaving never crossed my mind. But here I am, packing the essentials, gathering my memories and making a move.
I’m following adventure, albeit hesitantly. I’m fighting the urge to live in the past, it’s not easy picturing tomorrow when I’m so comfortable back there. I’m not really saying goodbye to the house, more like see-ya-later old friend. I’ll visit and look beyond the facelift it’s going to get and listen for echoes of the past. I’ll remember and he’ll be in those memories. And I will come home for a bit, if only in my mind.
New post at allaboutelva.com (link in bio)
#blog #mystory #widowhood #wlritingaboutgrief #lifelessons #movingforward #recovery #grief #newyear #changes #memories #home #thisoldhouse
Comments (4)
You are doing ok. Keep going.
❤️ onward!
It’s too bad you’re moving, but glad you won’t be far. Glad to hear the street will returning to a new group of kids, although it will never be the same.
Michael – you’re right, it won’t be the same but could easily become its own sort of special.