I moved a week ago. I moved from a house and a life I'd built with my kids, to a different house, and mainly the same life. We lost a lot, though. The neighbourhood is one I had literally wanted to live in my entire life. The kids' school was half a block away. Lots and lots of places were within walking distance, the best being parks and the library. My kids' best friends were across the street and they played almost EVERY DAY together. That's pretty special. I loved my little house in a way I can't really describe. I have one or two friends who "got" what everything about that house meant to me. It was so much more than just a house or a place to live.
I had to move. My house was sold. Forced moves are definitely the hardest. I didn't find joy or excitement in finding a new house. I found a good one, but we have to share the yard with another tenant and his dog (there is an apartment in the garage in the back). I don't like that. We're very close to a train track, which doesn't bother me as long as the trains keep moving. But they like to stop at that point, and that's where cars and tracks get changed and the banging and metal crashing sounds are anxiety-producing for me. We're also a block from a busy highway, and it can get a bit loud, too. It is NOTHING like my ultra-quiet little street.
In one week, I've pretty much unpacked. I make a cozy little house, no matter where I am, but I am homesick. My heart hurts and is heavy. Almost every day, without meaning to, I refer to our old house as "home" to the children. It feels like a death. I don't minimize death, believe me, but I am grieving right now. I feel misunderstood in that grieving, and that is also difficult. Well-meaning people tell me that it's not a house that makes a home, it's the people who live there. That may be true, but it doesn't take away my grief over the loss. And it IS a loss. Why can't I mourn and wail and be SAD? I just need to be sad. Because I am. I am. Some do understand and I lean on their compassion and empathy. One friend sent me this:
So, I don't apologize for my sadness and my pain and for wanting to talk about the loss. This new house is not some new chapter in my life that I'm excited about. It may bring (and I sure hope it does) joys and good memories into our lives, but I wasn't looking for a new start or a new chapter or a fresh perspective. I didn't want this and I need to be able to FEEL that. I need to not have to put on some fake face and say, "Oh, this will be fine. It's just a house." Nope. That's not me. I will be grateful to God for providing, and I will find His blessings, but I won't pretend that everything is hunky dory. And I know He understands and has compassion and patience for me.
In the chaos of the packing, moving, and unpacking, I kind of forgot until today that it's been 5 years since C walked out on us. Back then, I read that it takes 2-5 years to heal from infidelity (whether a couple reconciles or not). My life is nothing like it was 5 years ago. The kids and I are in a good place and the memory of their father ever being with us fades more and more. Obviously, the two younger ones don't have any recollection of him in our lives (he never was in R's), and E has grown and matured and healed and is becoming a confident, pre-teen. There is nothing abnormal in him that tells me that he's still in pain over it.
I'm pretty content with life, overall. I don't think about C, or what he did to me. If I do, it's very rare. It doesn't hold any sting when I think about it. I can remember the sting, but I don't feel it at all. If I do think of him, it usually relates to the children, and if I do feel resentment, it, again, usually has to do with how he treats THEM, not me. It's strange how you can be completely intimate with someone for 10 years and then that person essentially becomes a stranger. It's been 5 years. Half of our married life, and he's just some distant memory of someone I used to know. I feel good. I feel healed. I guess I'm textbook, in the 2-5 year time frame. It doesn't really matter anymore. I feel 100% complete in my family of 4 and it has no trace of having anyone missing.
I love Willow Tree figurines and have many. Many represent bits of my family or my emotions. As I was unpacking them the other night, these two ended up standing next to each other, without my intending for them to. And I looked and thought, "Hey, it's my family!" And I felt truly happy. No pangs of sadness that there isn't a dad. Just... it's my family. THAT is what we look like (only the kids are a bit older).
This has felt like a bit of a disjointed post, but it is good to see healing in the midst of new and different pain. It is good to know that nothing in life stays the same and while it seems that the good never lasts, I know that the bad doesn't, either. My last photo is of my heart.
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