If I've learned anything about moving in the last year, it is this: moving should be done like the removal of a Band-Aid...quickly. Painful, but quickly. Just rip it off. Don't do it millimeter by millimeter while pausing and waiting for the sting to subside.
I could have possibly made the situation harder to deal with by delaying some of the inevitable, but in truth, it all works out the way it is supposed to. With the husband being relocated so quickly, there was no way I would have been able to get the house ready for sale in the beginnings of winter. Then those days called Holidays came. After that, it seemed silly to move with the school year being nearly half way through. And let's not forget snow storm after snow storm either stranding us here or there.
Oh, but then, spring came and I realized now is the time to start doing all the outdoor/painting etc things that didn't get done. May arrived and guess what - the husband was shipped off to California for two and a half months. I would have been living in a new town, in a very small apartment, by myself with the kids anyway. What was the point of moving when we were still going to be separated...at least I would still have our families to support us.
The end of May brought us a stroke of luck when a friend mentioned her friend had been looking for a house for months and just couldn't find anything she liked. Hmm, I thought. I've been listed for months, so something tells me this house was not on her interest list. However, it took two looks and a couple negotiations and this family felt our little home was just perfect for them. After all, it was a blank canvas and she had painted visions in her head. Potential.
The husband and I were not back in the same household again until nearly the end of July, where we had one week to pack the rest of the house, schedule moving, and clean up. In that third week of July, he put in more than 2,000 miles and two round trips in two different sized moving trucks, unloading them into two storage units. We were a pair again, a set of two, which seemed to be the resounding number for everything we were trying to accomplish.
We spent nearly three months in that tiny hovel, trying to live new lives, driving back and forth between communities for school until our house finished.
Then came October 31, which in retrospect, has become the day of many major events in our lives. In years past, I recall my dad having what may have been a heart attack when I was in high school - the details are foggy; as a child I was denied a toilet by a nun when trick-or-treating. I went into labor with my daughter on Halloween. Last year my husband flew out of town for this job interview. This year, we closed and moved. See what I'm saying?
We are now settling in, finding a routine and adjusting. Life has been as scattered as the writing above. I believe now, that we humans are resilient and adaptable. The kids are enjoying school and their activities with new friends. I am finding friendships and motivation. My prayers are less of desperation and more of thanks. We are whole again.
The pain of the Band-Aid has healed. This is probably the lesson I have learned about the quick and painful ripping - The husband and I operate better as one team, not two separate teams and I am grateful for him. These decisions are hard and without him being around I learned to rely on him more, and not be so independent.
