Our landlord is a wonderful man. Our moving out and the sale of the house is beyond his control. I do not feel anger towards him. But I do feel frustration in general at having to pull up our roots.
We were never guaranteed that we could stay here for more than a year. But we wanted to. And our landlord wanted us to. We all hoped that we would settle in well, like it, and stay.
We had free reign over the back yard. We said we saw it as a blank canvas, he said do whatever you want to it. We put up the chicken coop, the garlic bed, we planted a lawn.
Where there was a snarly blackberry patch along the side of the house I made a garden. A thriving garden. I pulled so many weeds. I laid down soil. I tended and tended. And I got attached.
I got attached to the house with its sweet and mellow colored walls. With it’s hardwood floors and pretty trim. All the windows; the way the air flows through it.
I had visions of each room arranged just so. Of my stepdaughter having middle school sleepovers in her room; giggling all night long. Of me, fermenting pickles in the basement. Nearby would be our nicely stocked bulk shelves. All around me the basement would be organized by topic: kids, camping, fabric, tools.
I got attached to the idea of this as our home. Of us five years from now, with my daughter going to school nearby. Of me riding the bus to work.
So when someone says ‘you have to move,’ it is not just the finding of a new home. It is not just packing up your belongings and transferring them to a strange location. It is giving up these dreams. Giving up the thought and the reality of us as residents here. Giving up the budding friendships with neighbors that, with time, could have turned into something deeper.
It is very sad for me. It was hard, a year ago, bigly pregnant with River, to give up my old home, all the plants we had planted and the neighbors we had and their cat who is my cat’s son. But we did it and we moved here with the hope of settling in and making it our home.
And we did. And now it is time to move again.
I am a bit heartbroken, to be sure. But I have been heartbroken so many times before in this same way that it has worn the edge off a bit. Being a traveler I have left so many places that felt like home. They were all my homes. My friend told me I can have more than one home, and I have to agree with him or else my heart would break.
So on from this home and off to the next.
Sadly, it is time to pack.