Going thru stuff with the mind set of letting go is not easy.
Granted, afterwards it feels so good, and it makes the saying “Less is More” be more alive and real!
But the before, gearing my mind and heart for this.
And the during, touching, holding, thinking – is this just filling space?
Do I want to keep it?
Will I actually use it?
Do I need it?
It is very emotionally and mentally exhausting.
So far, I have done this to my collection of pens, pencils and markers.
And to the silverware, as well as to the utensil drawers.
My sewing box.
Also, to the different “junk” drawers, where I have put stuff that I really had no other place to put it all.
I am using Ziploc bags to organize as I go.
Hooks, nails, screws. Buttons, needles, bobbins.
All those little things that need to be contained for moving.
All total, I was able to take away a good-sized box of “stuff”.
Less is more room.
As I sat here with a cup of coffee this morning, thinking back on doing this, and thinking forward to what I still need to do – I took a few deep breaths.
And let them out slowly with purpose.
Letting go of my hopes and dreams – of having a place to really call “mine”.
Where I could put away the totes, the boxes, the bags, the containers.
Where I could have everything out and open.
Realizing that I have held to these hopes and dreams a big part of my life, and even tighter since Rick died.
Hopes and dreams that have crumbled and fallen thru my hands like sand.
Leaving me with dirty hands and a sick heart.
Rick and I moved so many times thru the years.
Always in search of a better home, a sweeter neighborhood, a job with higher pay or needed benefits.
A better school for the kids.
A church that needed us more.
Always in search of something better, or more . . .
Rick never wanted to own a house, or land.
He always said that he did not want to be owned by anything, so he refused to own anything.
He called himself a gypsy.
He wanted the freedom to come and go at will.
Not be “tied” to any thing.
Before we got married, I had dreamed of a home.
A house, land, a fence, flowerbeds, a garden, trees, a creek, a swing under the biggest tree, a covered wrap-around porch.
After we got married, and life began for us – I gave that dream up.
I focused my “home” dreams on Rick and then on our kids.
Determined that no matter where we were, what we were doing, WE would be HOME.
Our hearts would be HOME.
Our love would be HOME.
No longer was a building HOME.
And yet, the dreams weren’t given up.
Just tucked away for another time, another day.
All those years of moving and chasing Rick’s ideas and dreams, I thought I was doing what was best, good and right – being that supportive wife.
Looking back now, too many questions and “just not sures”.
I really thought that at some point we would settle.
- Maybe while the kids were still at home, before they grew up and left. But we didn’t.
- Maybe after they began their own lives, so that we could have a place for them to come HOME to – with their families. But we didn’t.
- Maybe as we got older, and weren’t as able to lift, pull and tug, as what we were once. But we didn’t.
Before that time, Rick’s health turned, and we found ourselves on that downward spiral – ending with his death.
And beginning my life as a widow.
With no roots.
And no wings.
In these 8 years since he died, I have moved 8 times.
Each place held hope & dream space in my mind and heart.
That this would be HOME for me.
That this would be the last place I would move to – so I could unpack.
And each place, I have had to leave.
Move to another place.
Start over again.
The first 5 years, 99% of what I had managed to hold on to was put in storage.
Off into a corner, or a storage building.
The last 3 years, I have moved 4 times.
Each of those being a place that held promise of longer term staying.
So, I unpacked.
I put away the totes, suitcases and containers.
And I accumulated more stuff.
Mainly to fill space.
Living alone is different than staying with someone.
Living alone is different than being married, too.
The empty spaces now scream – almost as loudly as my heart and memories do.
And now, as I sit here days after the landlord told me of his plans to move here himself – promising to give me at least 30 days’ notice to vacate before he moves in – I am overwhelmed.
Emotionally and mentally.
When I moved into this little house last November, I allowed myself to unpack my thoughts and dreams of a HOME, again.
I could see myself living out my days in this little house.
I had even entertained thoughts of buying this property and really making it MY HOME.
One conversation sitting at the kitchen table.
Not just crushed thoughts and dreams – but pounded them into nothing more than the tiniest crystals of sand.
Too tiny to hold.
I had already begun the process of minimizing and organizing.
The desire to have what was most important to me had already taken hold of my heart.
But most of that “begun” was in thoughts, prayers, making a list, preparing to do the work.
Now, it’s time to do less talking and preparing.
Time to do more work.
Work that I can do.
But work that my heart screams against - simply because it means another move.
Not just a cleaning of my life and letting go of fillers.
Gut punches of reality and realization.
Letting go of the hopes & dreams.
And giving myself time to grieve, to cry, to be angry and frustrated – all over again.
A time to rant against Rick for not being here with me thru all of this.
A time of processing my words before I write, before I talk.
A lot of thinking and praying going on.
Where do I go from here?
Heaven only knows.
I have been, and will continue to –
- Ask, but giving God the space and time to give me what HE wants me to receive.
- Seek, but allowing God to lead me so I find what HE has laid out for me, those things hidden to me, but not to Him.
- Knock, praying that God will go before me and open doors that no one can close, but also to close doors that no one can open.
God is the same God – yesterday, today and tomorrow.
God can do anything that He wants to do.
I don’t want anything except what HE has for me – nothing more, nothing less, nothing else.
All I can do is this day.
I can just breathe.