Thursday, May 28, 2009

It's time ...

5/28/90 Today's the day. And as chaotic and scattered as my conscious mind has been over the last few days, today I feel surprisingly calm. Whatever's gonna happen, I guess, will happen. I won't say that I'm okay with leaving, because I'm not. This is and always will represent home for me. I guess it's more accurate to say that I'm ready to leave the tension and the sadness behind me now, and move on to the next chapter. I love this house, I love that it protected my family from snow and rain and hurricanes, and that it provided a place for me to grow and learn and love. Thank you.

The movers will be here soon to disassemble my life and put it back together somewhere else. It'll take a while for that place to become home; hopefully not too awfully long. When I went for the final walk-through the other day, I sat in the driveway waiting for the others to show up and I noticed that the only thing I could hear was birds singing. It felt peaceful. So that's a good sign.

My daughter and son-in-law are on their way to supervise the movers while I'm at the closing. This will not be easy for them either. My parents were a big part of both their lives, and this house represents that to them.

Update 6/1/09 The movers came right in the middle of writing this post, and I haven't had internet access since. Just got it back today.

I like the house, and I think in time, I'll love it. I don't know it yet, don't know its personality or its quirks. And I don't know if any spirits are here other than those I brought with me. The man I purchased it from told me his wife died the month before my mom. Her name was Frances. I don't know if she's here or not, keeping watch over her home. Sometimes I think I can feel her, like right now, there's a voice in my head saying "Yes, I'm here." If so, I welcome her to visit anytime. Perhaps she can help me to get to know this house.

There's more to say, but I'm tired and I have to go back to work tomorrow. So, until later my friends ...

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Education

I just made a decision that was a difficult one. For the past year (almost), I've been enrolled at a college in Massachusetts, working toward and M.Ed. in Psychological Studies. However, as I began to learn more and more about counseling and human services in general, I began to realize that the programs and courses they offered didn't really address my needs. I looked for coursework directly related to gerontology or death and dying, but I only found one course. Mostly the coursework addressed the Massachusetts state standards for licensure as a clinical counselor.

I've always know I didn't want to be a clinician, but I wasn't really sure where I wanted to focus, or what I wanted to do with the knowledge I'd gain. Through the coursework I did complete, I decided to focus on the aging process and death/dying, perhaps in a hospice setting.

By searching other institutions, I found a program that seems to really fit the bill. It addresses what I'll need in order to do this kind of work. The difficulty lay in leaving the college I was at. In the short time I've been a student there, I've formed relationships and friendships that (I hope) will last. Not only have I received academic support, one of my professors and a few classmates have offered personal support, understanding, and guidance. That's hard to find, and I didn't want to let go of it, especially now with all that's going on.

I hope that we keep in touch ... Beth, Meredith, Bob ... I really do.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Voices and Bridges

I sit here quietly during the night while everything around me sleeps, and I listen to the voices of the past. They all tell me it's going to be okay. Aunt Mickey pops into my head every now and then. I miss her a lot. We're a lot alike. I know she's proud of me, she and my Mom. I miss them so much.

There's another kind of voice I hear at night too ... the voice of my own fears and insecurities. This is when they wake up, just when I'm trying to sleep. During the day, I'm dealing with the chaos of moving and packing and working and studying. It's in the quiet of the night, when my imagination runs rampant with all the things that could go wrong ...

I'm so frightened. This house has always been my shell. It's always been the place I could come to when things fell apart. I have another place, a safe place, but I can usually only get there in my dreams. Even though my parents are gone, having this house, their house, provides me with a sense of safety and security from the world. Now it's being taken from me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive that. I don't hate ... that's not where I want to put my energy, but whatever was there before is gone. Too many bridges have burned. Too many.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Outta steam


That's what I am. I'm burnt ... fried ... outta steam. I'm pretty effin sore, and I have this urge to sit in the house and cry. I just want to go to sleep and wake up when it's over.

I know, I'm whining and that serves no purpose. I'm sorry. This is what happens when I become physically and emotionally overwhelmed. The movers I hired are going to finish packing, so I've taken that pressure off myself. I just need to organize some things.

I'm also very strongly considering either transferring to a university that's closer to my new home, or an on-line program to complete my Master's degree. Continuing where I am will cost a lot in time and money, both of which can be utilized in other areas of my life.

The bright spot in the next two weeks is the fact that I'm going to Texas to visit my son and his family for 5 days. Ya, I know ... bad planning, but the trip was scheduled before I knew I'd be moving. I absolutely cannot wait to see them. I really miss my daughter-in-law. We knit, we talk, we play with the girls. I love sitting and watching movies with my son, and I love his cooking. And those girls ... I think because I don't get to see them as often as I do the others, I value my time with them that much more. I so cannot wait to get there. It'll be a much welcomed break in all this madness and chaos.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Two weeks ...

... from today. That's when I'm moving.

I'm making peace with the house. It may sound silly, but I talk to it each night when I come home. I kind of walk around and recognize each room, committing it to memory, letting it's energy fill and rejuvenate me. Last night when I got home from class I laid on my bed and talked quietly with the tree outside my window, and it reassured me once again that it will watch over the house. Tonight I'm going to sit by the little tree in the front yard ... the one we call my mom's tree ... and meditate. I need to know if it wants me to take it, or if it wants to stay there. If I dig it up, I need to know I'm doing it for the right reason, and not just being selfish.

"It is all very beautiful and magickal here - a quality which cannot be described. You have to live it and breathe it, let the sun bake into you. The skies and the lands are so enormous, and the detail so precise and exquisite that wherever you are, you are isolated into a glowing world between the macro and the micro, where everything is sidewise under you and over you, and the clocks stopped long ago." -Ansel Adams

Monday, May 4, 2009

24 Days ...


... and counting. That's how much time I have left in this wonderful placed called home. I'm not gonna go into what it means to me; I've done that already. What I haven't talked about is how it's gonna affect my kids.

It was almost 3 years ago that my parents died, my Mom first in August, followed by my Dad in December. That loss was very difficult for a lot of people in my family; my parents, in a positive way, touched a lot of lives. Now, I can feel the grief coming again, for my parents. Somehow, by being in this house it feels like we're still with them, closer to them. I know that our memories and feelings will come with us, but, moving away will make it seem less tangible.

Tennessee Williams said "Home is where you hang your childhood." This is that place for me, my children, and many others in my family. This is and always will be home.