After being in limbo for so long, it feels odd to come home to a place that has only my husband and children as residents. Most of the boxes are unpacked and the pantry is approaching a comfortably full level. The curtains are finally up, granting us the privacy we have all craved for so long. I find myself looking wonderingly at our new home, wondering if this is all real, if something this wonderful is really for me. I guess it’s the impermanence of so many elements of my life that make me hesitant to call anything permanent. Granted, we will only live in this particular house for about two years and then will move to what will become our permanent home.
It feels like home. My husband and children are there. Laughter, tears, sibling rivalry, and every other conceivable expression of love resounds through our little place. Old, long-forgotten belongings are joyously reclaimed. We are all settling into our patterns, and the girls start school soon.
My second home — my office — even feels like home now. Today was the first day of orientation, which has been a grueling day of meetings, trainings, and a campus tour that comprised nearly 5 miles of walking. My poor knee, which has suffered so much already, has become a multi-colored pulpy mess and my cane has become a companion again.
I’m overjoyed with our new life. The girls’ school is beyond wonderful and I adore my new professional home. Chris is happily arranging his office and the family’s internet to make it suit our needs. I watch the evening light as it filters through the trees and the land speaks to me in a language I’ve never heard but understand as though I was a native.
I think I have been so tense for so long that all I want to do is sleep for a long time, if that were possible. The anxiety of years of wonder and worry is slowly draining away. It’s amazing how long I have been carrying tension, disappointment, resentment, and a cohort of similarly weighty burdens.
And such a relief to unpack them and let them exit my life.