There's something about the sound of packing tape that brings on a certain excitement about moving into a new home.
I've heard it multiple times over the past few days as I put boxes together, one after the other, for our impending move.
In the beginning, I felt a surge of energy and nostalgia as the flashbacks of previous moves entered my mind. But then I remembered, we don't have a place yet to call our own.
In three days, all of our belongings will be out of this home of ours at 418 Root Street, and in this current moment, we have nowhere to go.
Many fingers are crossed within our circle of friends and my husband's hometown/
our current community, but we are are at the expense of the owners of the rental properties, hoping that one has a kind heart and are understanding of our family's challenges.
Yesterday I had a mini breakdown, and maybe I needed to. The tears and anxiety hit hard for a moment, somewhere between the solo back-and-forth trips from our almost-former home and the garage. The packing and purging have been therapeutic at times, but it's also brought back three-and-a-half years of memories.
This was where we moved shortly after getting my husband's diagnosis of young-onset Major Neurocognitive Disease, after living with my in-laws for a few months when his symptoms increased in numbers, frequency, and severity and our financial struggles made it impossible to stay in our apartment after his debilitating symptoms prevented him from working as a teacher.
This house was our Covid home, with us moving in on March 1, 2020, so these walls know how we bonded together through the pandemic with family naps, Taylor Swift & Jonas Brothers dance parties, puppy & kid cuddles, and our beloved nightly family time.
It was also the place where we began our lives as a family of four, as we brought our sweet golden retriever home on April 24, 2020 and immediately felt that she was the missing piece to complete our family.
Our home was where my daughter turned four...then five...then six...and lastly, seven. It saw her grow up and got to watch her friendships blossom through many playdates and sleepovers that were filled excited barks from a puppy, endless popsicles and snacks, and requests to "play again tomorrow." For our only (human) child, these friends have become similiar to siblings, and we love their presence in our home as much as they enjoy being here.
Maybe more than anyone else, this house knows just how much my husband and I have struggled- differently, equally, separately, and together. He's had his ongoing symptoms, and I've fought to keep going, sometimes with tears and prayers more times than it may outwardly appear. It also knows just how many glasses of wine I've had and all of the crime shows that I watched.
Yet, despite all that we are going through right now, I've also had a resurgence of strength and hope, and eagerness to keep going, even if it's just being honest about our continued challenges and saying yes to those willing to step in and help.
Today I also realized that as much as I have been hurt by our landlord's decision to tear down this house despite sharing my family's continued struggles, I am also just ready for a new beginning.
Maybe that's what our family really needs, and this is the Universe's way of helping us have that. If so, okay. I am ready to create our new home, because all we really want now is a place where the four of us can continue this journey of ours together.