Packing up my life again… it’s been emotional each time. Last summer I left my marital home to go out on my own for the first time. Now I pack up my little rental house, the first place I called my own and experienced life alone, and I move away from the town that has been a part of my life since my college years. I truly am closing the door on that time. It’s difficult. Bittersweet. I leave behind a lot; Memories of half my lifetime. I am only moving an hour away, but that’s not the point. This move is symbolic of me and my fresh start. It’s both exciting and frightening and I find myself teary eyed often as I pack my life away into boxes and bins. I’m fortunate that my family starts hitting town in just a few hours- it will be nice to have them here, not just to pack and move furniture.
My children are excited about the move. Zan has known for ages that he would move when he was six (projected date his father’s degree completion) and so this was totally expected to him. In fact, as time grew closer to his new age, he would ask when we were moving. He turned six yesterday. We move Saturday. They’re both excited. They like the new house and the idea of new surroundings. I don’t think they fully grasp what this means as far as how often they’ll see their father. I’m hoping they’ll handle it okay. It may be a rough summer.
This last week has been an emotional one anyway, having unexpectedly lost someone I consider family. Throw that into the mix with all the emotions I’m feeling over the move and you’ve got yourself one fun weekend. I’m sure I’ll need a beer... or three.
