Yesterday I wandered room to room, tracing the outlines of the french door windows, running my hands over the door handles and the fixtures in the bathrooms, breathing in the smell and the energy of each space. I’m taking in each and every bit of this house that was here when I arrived and was what I fell in love with, and I’m taking in all the changes I made to make it my perfect nest.
This cozy healing place was perfect for me all alone and yet it expanded perfectly for the children. Everywhere I rest my eyes triggers memories of beauty and love, some tears but even more comfort. And Joy. We danced on the sofas and coffee tables after dinner. We snuggled by the fire. We baked at the holidays.
A lifetime of art from preschool to master filled the walls and shelves. All treasures. I healed here. I loved here. I wrote here. I laughed deep belly laughs and I cried large alligator tears. I was so wholly happy here. So full.
The house is now empty. The treasures are waiting for new walls and shelf space in a new home on the far coast. The new home is ready to receive us and hold us as this one has. But before the hello, I am stuck in the goodbye.
Tomorrow I will no longer live here. All of what this house has been in this lifetime now must be stored in my heart and carried in my soul.
Tomorrow I will no longer be able to touch it. I want to hold this house the way it has held me tight.
Because tomorrow I will no longer live here.