Moving is always an emotional process, compounded by inherent stresses of packing, consolidating, giving away, throwing away… how do we accumulate so many needless belongings?
This time, I resolved to pack all the memories in three boxes: one for me, and one for each of my daughters. This has proved to be the least efficient phase of packing, mostly because I’m a sentimental pack rat.
I was braced for more sadness, or even anger, over items related to the recent divorce… but I think I’ve waded though enough of those emotions over the past couple of years. Instead, I held onto a few small items that evoked tenderness. It was such a sweet, potential-filled dream. I like remembering that part.
The passage of time, hard work, and this recent relationship at its best and highest have brought a great deal of healing. I enjoyed pleasant nostalgia looking back at pictures of the girl that was me as a young mother with her young husband, both confused and ill-equipped but otherwise well-intentioned people.
Finding pictures of my tiny baby daughters, with their wise eyes and chubby legs, evoked the strongest emotion. They were so tiny; needed so much. I worried that they would be at such disadvantage growing up in two homes and having a struggling-to-make-it Momma. But now – we are so strong! Three healthy, tall trees, growing together. I still shelter them, but they are independently phenomenal little people.
I wish I could comfort my frightened, lonely, but determined younger self, show a picture of life as it is now, and say: “It really does get better, and better than ‘okay’ – it’s going to be amazing!”
The demons that have taunted me for years don’t have a place in my next home. Sure, they still try to needle me, to edge into my thinking. “If only…” and “If you were smarter or more patient…” and “This isn’t fair…” Those whiny voices are silenced by the reality of my life, which is: I’m blessed, capable, surrounded by intellect, friendship and love, and I’m happy.
I can close the storage box on them.