A bed, a desk, sofas, chairs and bookcases
The day finally arrived yesterday for moving furniture to my tiny new apartment. It all went well. The movers were great. I forgot how strong people can be after doing that heavy lifting for a living. Amazing what they can do, getting a pull-out sofa bed, which to me weighed a ton, down a double series of steps from the upstairs middle bedroom/study. Same for the three huge, custom-built bookcases made by my brother years ago. It was nothing for them. I am still in awe.
The only problem was there was no parking in front of my house, so the movers had to haul my furniture on dollies half a block down the street where their truck was parked. I had bought four orange safety cones to block off a couple of spaces, but they never became available. Very frustrating. But the moving guys made things happen regardless.
Gone now from this home I have loved so much for 25 years are two sofas, end tables, the three bookcases, a desk and computer chair, a dining room table and three antique chairs, one of them 250 years old. All of this was Mom’s, brought here from New Orleans. I gave away all my meagre furnishings 12 years ago when I moved inro Mom’s house to take care of her as her dementia got worse.
When the movers left and I had come back to the house, it was a strange feeling to see so much gone, including the living toom sofa where I spent so much time napping and reading. It was very comfortable for such an elegant looking piece of furniture. In Mom’s final weeks I slept there a lot, including the night she passed. I was roused from sleep at 2 am on a late January morning almost two years ago, the exact time I was supposed to go to her room and give her morphine, only to discover she had passed only moments before. Those moments are forever seared in my brain. I thought I was prepared, but I wasn’t.
This house holds every kind of memory imaginable. I simply can’t grasp selling it. A dear family friend’s offer to buy the house, which we had elatedly accepted a month ago, fell through, and we are nowback at square one.
Life is nothing but constant change, I tell myself , as I ponder tonight the loss of this cherished home in the not too distant future. Sooner rather than later, I feel sure.
A dear friend wrote these supportive words to me a couple of months ago. She relates to what I am going through so well. As with her, I am moving only a short drive from where I am now. It’s probably going to be a long time before I drive by the “homestead” once I have fully moved.
Here is what she wrote:
Have you moved into your new place yet? I know it will be an emotional experience for you. I felt depressed for some time after moving from my mini farm to a more suburban area for my husband’s health. It was a simple homestead, but it was where I felt most at home and at peace. I hid my depression well from my family. I still miss it, and it’s just a short drive from where I live now with my daughter and granddaughter. But it might as well be on the other side of the world. It was a way of life I had to leave behind…
Indeed, my new place will be on the other side of the world.
The sofa before, but with less clutter since it was the night before the move.
Today, where the sofa was:
I feel the pain of loss in your words. Very insightful, thank you for sharing.
But, I comfort myself by being aware that the more we learn to live with loss the easier it is to deal with loss. The math is interesting, in that it feeds back into itself, you know? It is why older people seem to have wisodm, I think, they have more experience with loss.
You already seem wise, so you know this passes.
@sisyphus I do indeed! Loss has been with me in one form or another my entire life. And life has continued. At 70 I have learned many of the lessons that come with suffering and loss, but alas, remembering and being willing to apply those lessons is the hard part.
Leaving this house is one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced. The latter half of my entire adult life is associated with this place, this family home. And one’s identity is intricately tied to “place.”
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Such sadness in leaving a dear place. The rooms around us hold our hearts and the rooms within us.
@bluejeansndreams There are many rooms from my past that I remember with great fondness, but none will have the lasting impact on my life,emotionally, as the rooms of this beautiful family home.”
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I’m sorry that the house sale fell through, but the perfect family for the home will come. I feel that a home has its own personality, just as the owners have theirs
Being able to express your feelings lightens your burden and the memories will always be in your heart.
Its not the the things but the memory of things that’s important -(author unknown)
@seafarer Wise words, my friend. Thank you!
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I understand and wish this could be gentler on you. I had to sell my home back where I used to live from up here in Canada, 2500 miles away. Even when my former partner was about to pass away, I couldn’t go visit or anything because the pandemic had already begun and stopped travel by then. That was the house that I had moved into at age 3.5 when my parents bought it. Then, later in life I visited there often and lived there for a short while twice. And when they became older and ill, I returned again to give them care. Ended up buying it for myself and then partner and about 26 years later had to sell it after my previous partner had passed. Big hugs.
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