Not to you, dear walkers, but to my house. My house where we raised our two baby daughters to adulthood, where I cared for my dying husband, where I have lived for the past 33 years, that house, my home. I know in my head that it’s time; it’s far too much house for one person and two cats and I’ve seen too many elder relatives stay far too long alone in their homes as their houses crumble around them. So I know it’s time, but the hard part is that one has to actually do the deed while one is still capable and that means before one has to. That’s the only way to stay on top of it, to get out earlier than necessary. I will be turning 70 years old in the coming year and in my mind that has always been my “drop dead” date (sorry, a very bad pun)
But when one leaves a place, presumably one has to go somewhere else and where was that somewhere going to be??? The last time I moved was 33 years ago and I did it together with my husband. Now I have to do this on my own (but not without the help of my friends, thank goodness) and where am I to go? I find this time of my life to be very profound, with almost continuous losses of different kinds that I must reflect upon and absorb without bitterness.
“I’m scared”, I thought, “I can’t do this”. But then I remembered; to be alive is to be subject to continuous change and so really the challenge of selling, then buying, moving out, and then moving in, setting up, and then settling down is an integral part of life that proves I am still alive and in motion…Not dead yet, I think!