love and loss

We have a nice collection of Milagros picked up in Mexico, New Mexico, New York and Provincetown. These probably haven't been thought of as one of the argumentative points of property dissolution, but while I'm here, I see them everyday and know there will be some contention. I don't want contention, but I want some Milagros. In my line of thinking, my heart's broken, I want the hearts. But, to be fair, everyone's heart is broken. The Milagros should be divided in some kind and thoughtful way. Just like Solomon with the baby.

Moving is a Herculean endurance test, both physically and emotionally. I'm trying to survive it but I'm bruised and achy and ready to jump ship. I have sorted through 17 years of photos documenting everything from hearts written on our sleeves to total sorrow. I've unearthed 17 years of birthday cards and love notes, sympathy cards and tear-stained notes. It's an unnerving trip down memory lane. I didn't ask for it, didn't want it, but I have to maneuver down it. It is worse than the spiral staircase and just as treacherous.

Am I taking the love letters with me? Absolutely. Will I ever look at them again? I don't know. Perhaps if there is a time in my life when I need to remind myself that I once had true love. Right now, they just impede the packing process. They are enervating.

I recently read this book by Louise DeSalvo called On Moving: A Writer's Mediation on New Houses, Old Haunts and Finding Home Again. I thought it might help explain my last 8 years-- my struggle with not feeling at home despite that this is the place I always wanted to be. And the book did help a bit. The challenge in moving is that you need to create community all over again. If you don't have community, you become far too dependent on the other and the other might want you to get over it. You miss people, you miss the tree in the back yard, you miss the farm where you go to pick your own strawberries, you miss that paper delivery, you even miss the crack in the sidewalk leading to your front door, you miss just the feeling of knowing you are home. You fall into a pit of despair. It's obvious that not everybody feels this way; I was glad to know that someone else did--that someone else being Louise. Don't run out and buy the book; you can borrow mine.

So I've never felt settled and now I'm moving again. The house I'm moving to has a bit of the feeling of my old house. I don't know why. They weren't built at the same time, the layout is completely different, the yards are not remotely similar. It's just the feeling. What is similar is the surprise I felt when I walked into both houses. I expected to detest them. They weren't what I was looking for but they turned out to be right. I am clinging to that sensation because I could easily second guess myself and fall into added years of despair. I don't think that going to happen though. I think I will eventually fall into comfort. Into feeling like I am, indeed, home again.