Revelations

A short time after the house sold, the husband was called away to Europe. There was no choice - he had to go. So I packed most of it myself and located container storage and supervised movers. It was an ordeal. On a lot of levels.

I was shocked at how defenseless I felt after the house was emptied. Apparently I require a feathered nest to feel secure. For whatever reason.

But on the other hand, I was pleasantly surprised how pretty the house was when it was empty. I loved the lightness of it - the architectural lines, the gold and sage paint colors, the warmth of the wood, the crisp white of the trim, the light fixtures. I've never seen it like this - empty, but elegant. When we moved in it was bright turquoise carpet, pink tiles, and bright, poofy, floral drapes and valances everywhere.

I knew I'd probably have a meltdown at some point, but I was startled to find that it was when I began packing my dishes. It wasn't the dishes of course, it was the memories associated with them. The pleasure of entertaining and making meals for people I love. How much I enjoyed all the friends and family that sat at my table in this house.  At one point during the weeping, I thought "I can't do this." But obviously I did.

As my washer and dryer left the house. I had a small panic attack. I flashed on all the seedy laundromats I patronized in my younger years. I had to stifle myself to keep from running after them, "Wait! Wait! Put them back! I need those!"

And then there was the grief.
The loss.
The especially unkind thing about new grief is the fact that it renews old grief. All the losses from the past that resurface... all fresh and new again.  I'm selling my home, but I'm not just leaving the place I've lived 24 years, the life I've made here and the friends I'm so attached to. I'm also missing terribly the dear friend who proclaimed herself my sister before she passed 18 months ago. I'm reliving my father's death, and the end the of my first marriage. They're all connected.