We’ve
decided to exchange our one-bedroom for a relatively nearby two-bedroom with a
little more wiggle room. It’s something we’ve been considering for a long time
but finally it’s time. More room and a change of scenery will be good for us.
So we’ve given notice and plan to move around the Fourth of July. We’re still
working out the exact timeline for cleaning the carpets and painting and
actually moving the furniture and household goods. And then there’s
transferring the utilities and forwarding the mail and saying goodbye to our
first place together and finding a new route home.
I
hate moving. I’ve done a lot of it as an adult and I’ve always hated it. This
time, the actual packing up and moving is not what concerns me—I know our
friends will be glad to help. It’s leaving our first home together and the
place where we knew Toby—where he lived with us. It’s the memories these walls
harbor, that are palpable to me when I look around and will be less so when I
no longer come here. The memories and the emotions are both sweet and painful
and the whole thing seems incredibly intense right now.
So
I am being gentle with myself, planning and preparing on paper for now and
leaving the surface of things intact until the week before. My heart is already
in tatters—I can’t bear to live with everything torn up yet. The week before,
yes, but not for a whole month.
Toby
would be six months old now. It feels so unreal. Sometimes I wake up in the
morning and feel the awful reality wash over me again as if for the first time.
And I realize I’d had a few minutes or hours of oblivious respite from the
awareness of loss that is my constant companion.
So
I will continue to be brave, one moment at a time. I trust Him, even though I
don’t understand. Thank you for continuing to pray for us.
Oh,
and if you want to help us move, text me. (Praying counts too, but you don’t have
to text! Although it’s always nice to know that you’re thinking about us!)
