Last is the hardest word
The last time, the last day, the last night...
It's only in the quiet of the morning that I hear the chorus of 'lasts'. I hear it in the night as well but I've been relying on sleeping aids to quell that inner voice.
This move still feels deeply wrong on a gut level, and if I dwell on it, I'm either terrified things will go badly when I'm gone, or afraid things will go well without me. My innate sense of ironic amusement helps with the latter, and my concrete sense of duty helps with the former.
This is the last day I'll spend in the house in which I've lived the last 12 years. Younger son was starting to walk and elder son was starting first grade. Elder son turned the wheel to adulthood recently, as these things are counted in years. I signed over my old car to him. Graduation looms.That particular ending was written by time and was only sped up by situation.
I have packed my things in boxes and crates and bins, ready to be carefully arranged in van and car and trailer. Elder son and my husband will pack me up here, my husband and my father will unpack me there. Younger son will stay with my mom, ostensibly to help her out, really to help him out. Elder son needs privacy to process, and will hang at home with the dog.
Home will need a new definition. I've heard that home is people not places, but what happens when both are fragmented? The kaleidoscope is still shaking and the pattern hasn't yet emerged.
And, to be honest, I'm oddly excited. I like the idea of a new place, of my own. I've enjoyed, in a way, the decluttering (although I'm leaving so much more to be done!) The apartment is a better one than I probably should have rented, pushing the boundary of affordability. Not as nice as my house, but nice. I feel the need for a refuge since home will be elsewhere and work will be...work. At least it's a regular pay check!
I signed up to work a local sf convention in three weeks, hoping to meet like-minded folk, though blurry hours of morning in the con suite might not have been my best choice. Then there's spring break with visits and high school graduation for #1 and hopefully college in the fall and my parents are trying to sell their house this spring...
Change. It's in the air.
"To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition, the end to which every enterprise and labour tends, and of which every desire prompts the prosecution."
Johnson: Rambler #68 (November 10, 1750)
This entry was originally posted at http://vjs2259.dreamwidth.org/390673.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
It's only in the quiet of the morning that I hear the chorus of 'lasts'. I hear it in the night as well but I've been relying on sleeping aids to quell that inner voice.
This move still feels deeply wrong on a gut level, and if I dwell on it, I'm either terrified things will go badly when I'm gone, or afraid things will go well without me. My innate sense of ironic amusement helps with the latter, and my concrete sense of duty helps with the former.
This is the last day I'll spend in the house in which I've lived the last 12 years. Younger son was starting to walk and elder son was starting first grade. Elder son turned the wheel to adulthood recently, as these things are counted in years. I signed over my old car to him. Graduation looms.That particular ending was written by time and was only sped up by situation.
I have packed my things in boxes and crates and bins, ready to be carefully arranged in van and car and trailer. Elder son and my husband will pack me up here, my husband and my father will unpack me there. Younger son will stay with my mom, ostensibly to help her out, really to help him out. Elder son needs privacy to process, and will hang at home with the dog.
Home will need a new definition. I've heard that home is people not places, but what happens when both are fragmented? The kaleidoscope is still shaking and the pattern hasn't yet emerged.
And, to be honest, I'm oddly excited. I like the idea of a new place, of my own. I've enjoyed, in a way, the decluttering (although I'm leaving so much more to be done!) The apartment is a better one than I probably should have rented, pushing the boundary of affordability. Not as nice as my house, but nice. I feel the need for a refuge since home will be elsewhere and work will be...work. At least it's a regular pay check!
I signed up to work a local sf convention in three weeks, hoping to meet like-minded folk, though blurry hours of morning in the con suite might not have been my best choice. Then there's spring break with visits and high school graduation for #1 and hopefully college in the fall and my parents are trying to sell their house this spring...
Change. It's in the air.
"To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition, the end to which every enterprise and labour tends, and of which every desire prompts the prosecution."
Johnson: Rambler #68 (November 10, 1750)
This entry was originally posted at http://vjs2259.dreamwidth.org/390673.html. Please comment there using OpenID.