Last weekend I finally moved into my new home. The move was delayed a week so I was feeling very ready when it was finally time.
The movers brought an 18 wheeler for three and a half crates of stuff. They spent all day moving my stuff in while my dad and I sat on the porch and I directed them on where to put everything. I have to say, that was pretty luxurious!
The next day family helped move some furniture from my parents house and unpack. By Saturday night it was livable. The living room was arranged. Kitchen items had a place, even if I move them around later. My buffet fits, which I was worried it wouldn’t. And my bed was made.
That night I slept in my bed with Rosie. It was honestly a bit lonely. The noises of the house were strange and kept me up. At one point I woke up and sat in the living room and cried.
I am so grateful for all the support I’ve had to get this far. And I know I will continue to be surrounded by love and support. But the move has been very bittersweet. I couldn’t help but think that if X and I had been making this move together, it would be exciting. I could even imagine what it would feel like. Of course, in my imagination, it was the old version of X. But I knew that feeling.
I’ve now been in the house a week. I’m slowly getting settled. It’s starting to feel a bit like home. But it’s also been lonely. It’s kind of scary thinking ahead, with the big “to-do” items all checked off. Now I just need to live my life. I’m in charge of making it mine. The truth is the thought is daunting. And since I don’t have a clear checklist to get there, it’s pretty scary.
But tonight, I’m writing this post from my parents’ house. We’re about to have dinner together. Football is on the TV. I have my family and friends nearby. So even though I’m scared, and a bit sad and lonely, I’m right where I need to be.