it’s a curious thing, this grief of moving. there is suprising sadness i didn’t know i’d be facing, but i know it’s what i always dread when change is coming. when it’s happening. there are so many memories we’ve made during our time in this little place, and so much of it speaks of my fierce determination to build a home that offers security, adventure and love.
after choosing a few favorites, i’m a bit undone by the tears that come when i put our beloved river rocks out in the dirt. i’m not a collector of things, though i understand why it would be easy to want to hold on to everything that has memory attached to it. to pick up a rock and study it…it brings the memory a bit more alive; the feeling of our skin baking in the summer sun as we scavenge for river rocks in a cold colorado river. setting them out feels like i’m leaving a piece of me behind somehow; i have no idea how many thousands of times i’ve looked at the display on our trunk coffee table- marveling and rearranging.
i messaged a book-loving neighbor with an offer of our little house on the prairie books and had a lump in my throat as i thought about the many hours of read-aloud through that series when the kids were smaller. it’s the fondness of the memory; of a time i can only recount in my memory bank. our treasured shared history. i smiled, wiped away a tear and snapped a picture of the sweet stack of well-loved books now offered to her little family.
these little deaths of parting with things somehow feel like a betrayal- like i’m casting aside pieces of my life; our lives together. until i remember i still have the experience. the memory and most of all the loves i shared these things with. i’ll hold on to them instead, lighten the load for our journey and make space for more rocks from different rivers, new adventures and an ever-expanding heart as we head in to a wild new space.