It’s going to be very difficult to leave here. There isn’t a season in the whole wheel of the year I don’t open my eyes each morning to insane beauty right outside my bedroom window. In the spring, I wake to lilac blossoms. Come summer, it’s a swathe of yellow, brown-eyed-susans. Autumn is a blaze of sugar maples that go from amber to russet to scarlet. And this is what I wake to in winter. White. A fresh canvas. The silence of snow.
I’m the country mouse heading back into town, where there are all sorts of perks I don’t get out here in the back of beyond. As I said to my Frankie D yesterday, I’m still equal parts excited about and dreading the move. I can’t imagine the last night here. Just trying to seizes me up inside. To never see those lilacs, the brown-eyed-susans, the autumn leaves and untouched snow. To never hear the peepers across the street in the marsh those cold first days of March, the cacophony of crickets in August and September, or the owls hooting in quiet October. To step out of this house, away from this land, and know it’s no longer mine; the memories made are finite after all.
I’ll never look out on Christofer’s tree again, and yet, I’ll never look out on Christofer’s tree again. The splatters on the wall, the roof he built, the little reminders of him every day will no longer be right there where I can see them–and yet, they’ll no longer be right there where I can see them.
There is always a before, and an after. Before Brian died, and after. Before Frankie D, and after. Before Christofer’s accident, and after. Before he died, and after. There are hundreds of before and afters in all our lives, some joyful, and some shattering. This before leaving the log house on the river and after comes with equal parts. There is no better, no worse to it, but a balance of both.
I am aware that staying here is remaining static, while moving away from it is going forward, and so I move forward. I promised my bear, my amazing children, and myself. I’m ready to leave, it’s just not going to be easy.
Modesty Is For Suckers 
❤ ❤ ❤ {{Hugs}} to you and Frankie D. as a new journey awaits… ❤
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I feel the exact same way. I’ve been making notes & writing down memories about our wonderful house when they hit. Going through old pictures as we decided what to keep and what not too, really bought them home. Maybe I’ll share then all in a blog post, too, or keep them private. Haven’t decided. Our house was busy for 22 years. Lots of foot traffic from 6 yr olds to 22 year olds to 30 yr olds to 55 yr olds. My neighbors called it “Candlyland,” because the kids were always here and the party was always here.
We lived, laughed, cried, argued, partied, made decisions & everything else imaginable in our house, and it showed, but I would’n’t have changed a thing. I made Billy take off all the molding in the kids room where we measured them (and their friends) through the years and replace them. The girls would write Ellie notes on the inside of the molding in her closet in marker, because they knew I didn’t care. And I’m so glad that I didn’t care because now we have all those memories to bring with us. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with 6 panels of closet molding in whatever house we end up in, but I’m sure as hell not throwing them away, that’s for sure.
It’ll be hard, but you’ll make new memories, just like we will. ((Hugs)) ❤
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I feel the same way. I’ve been taking notes and writing down memories of our wonderful house as they hit. Going through pictures while going through all our stuff and decided what to take and what not to, really brought it home. Maybe I’ll post it on my blog when we leave, or maybe I’ll keep it private. Haven’t decided.
Our house was alive and bustling for 22 years. Lots of foot traffic from 6 yr olds to teenagers to 22 yr olds, from 30 yr olds to 55 year olds. My neighbors called the house “Candlyland” because they kids were always here – and so was the party 😉
We lived happily, laughed, cried, argued, mourned, celebrated, made decisions and every other thing imaginable in this house and it showed. The house always had our backs.
I made Billy take down the molding in the kids room, where we measured them and their friends for years, and replace it. The girls would write notes to Ellie inside the closet molding in marker, because they knew I didn’t care. And I’m glad I didn’t care, because we now have all those memories to take with us. And they are so much fun to read. I don’t know what I’m going to do with 6 closet molding panels in the house we end up in , but I’m sure as hell not throwing them out.
As hard as it’ll be, you and Frank will move forward, be happy in the new place and make new memories, as Billy and I will. ((Hugs)) ❤
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I think of you all the time as I ponder these thoughts, Deb. We’re in this together, huh? (((thanks)))
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I guess life is filled with before and afters. What an interesting way to look at it, Terri.
Change is never easy. Sometimes it’s forced on us, other times we make the choice. You have done a remarkable job of putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward, through all life has thrown at you. No, it won’t be easy to leave, but who knows what interesting and new things lie ahead. I can’t wait to hear all about your new memories in your new home! ❤
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❤ I'm excited about moving. I really am. I'll be so much closer to you! That's a huge perk.
Thank you for all your love and support. And for your kind words.
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What’s that thing they say? ‘No one said it was going to be easy…’ That one. The good is going to be so good. The past & it’s attendant memories will always be there. Just not so bright, not so intense – easier on the heart… You’ll be fine, cariad… xXx
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I will. I know I will. But thank you, darling. ❤
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