Almost exactly two months ago I visited a library near my school, and thought I would drive around the neighborhood. Oh my! I found a house that I liked and called a realtor whose name I had kept. Through personal soul searching and persistent paperwork I now own this house. I may write about it later, but now I only want to share that I am moving in a couple of weeks. I am leaving my home of thirty-four years. I am crazed, sad, excited, exhilarated, nostalgic, and hopeful.
It’s difficult to be in the middle of such an emotional event and also write about it. I am not yet ready with words that will express the meaning of leaving a place so full of memories. I will, just not today. I was given several poetry anthologies that are about home as friends realized I might be looking. My husband has been ill for several years and is no longer in the home with me, so it has become time to look for something different. My new home is close to my work, close to my husband and close to my daughter, and it is going to be a good, good place to grow into.
What I have recently discovered is a book about moving written for children, titled Moving Day by Ralph Fletcher, illustrated by Jennifer Emery. It covers the goodness of the place they are leaving, the friends and the grandparents, as well as the toughness when considering the weather in the new place, leaving friends, leaving grandparents. It talks about the emptiness of the house when everything is gone, and the new house with its strangeness, waiting to see if it will fit. It is perfect. Although I am not young and moving two states away, bits and pieces of these poems have touched me. I want to share just one poem and if you know of others experiencing such a change, share the book’s title, please.
This poem is titled Defrosting The Freezer, and begins
One container of spaghetti sauce
Grandma made before she died.
You can find the rest here.
As you might imagine, each part connects to my move as I clean out, prepare for some kind of estate sale of those things I am not taking, give away much, throw away bags full. Many parts will not physically travel with me, but much will travel in my memories. One cannot live in a home; create what works for a family and a life without saying numerous goodbyes. It is a journey that I willingly take, and fortunately for me, poetry has been my companion all along the way.
photo credit: bjornmeansbear via photopin cc