Boxes

 Here I am, sitting in my living room, surrounded by boxes, bubble wrap, and miscellaneous items waiting to be packed. The room perfectly illustrates my brain right now. Clutter. I have so many things to do that I’m currently avoiding. Instead, I’m sitting in my chair, looking out at the sunset, listening to the cicadas, or locusts, if  they’re not the same thing. The buzzing.

As I pack, memories flood through. When looking at A home to buy, I remember driving by this one and seeing all the things on my checklist for my first house: a Wood burning fireplace, an attached two car garage, a security system, beautiful windows and tons of natural light (even French doors!), laundry on the first floor, this amazing storage room in the basement with built in shelves, two full baths and a double vanity in the master bath, and so much more.

But I saw this house after falling in love with another one. It was several blocks away. By the time we went to look at it, the realtor got a call saying it was under contract. I was devastated. I knew it was the house I wanted.

But I gave it some time. And this house fell into my lap. It had everything I wanted. It had a yard without painful stickers for my dog to play. I just needed to be patient.

How appropriate that I’ve seen this paralleled in my life in other ways.

This move has been a long time coming. It’s been part of the journey. When everything happened, I went from married almost six years to a civil annulment in under three months. I couldn’t process the drastic shift. Things weren’t okay for years. But this was yet another blow I absolutely never saw coming.

My life had been turned upside down over summer “vacation” and I didn’t know which way was up. I needed to hold on to anything that felt stable. And that was my home. The home I loved. I remember crying (which was my new hobby) and telling my dad I didn’t know how I could continue. He told me that we were a team. He mowed the huge yard, let my dogs out During his lunch break while I was at work, and dropped little snacks by occasionally. And this house was there.

Over the last year, my heart has been drifting, growing. I didn’t need the house to stabilize me. I’d made it out of the worst part and I survived. It became a lot of house for one person and her adorable dogs. Part of the healing process is stepping away from this home and the memories.

Every piece of furniture has a memory. Every room. And it’s time for new memories.

This house has been there for the highest of highs. I closed on the house the same week I started at St. Catherine’s. I loved having a place of my own. I loved making it home. I enjoyed painting trim for all of 3 days and then came to my senses. I hosted bridal showers, surprise parties, Friendsgivings, Thanksgiving for my extended family . . .

This house has also been there for the lowest of lows. The deepest hurts, the scariest times. The living room floor was my go-to where I’d cry on my knees and pray the most sincere prayers of my life.

There are six years of memories in this house. And I’m ready to make some new ones.

And so, one box at a time, I pack up and prepare for the future and the life that awaits.