Healing is a funny thing.
The term implies that there is a definite end point…but I’m not entirely sure this is true.
This Sunday, we will shove all of our earthly possessions into a crammed Uhaul and move to a new home, a whopping 1.6 miles away.
So I’ve been packing.
And packing some more.
And it has been weird. And emotional. And quiet.
A lot has changed under the roof of this house.
And all of a sudden, amidst boxes, dust bunnies, and the contents of my closet, I found myself sitting on my bedroom floor, surrounded by my former life.
horseback riding helmets,
17 t‑shirts from Wolftrap Elementary School,
awards, certificates, ribbons,
and my expired passport.
And as I sat there, taking it all in, I was really rather dumbfounded by the magnitude of it all.
Odd, because those items are from my life.
But maybe this was the first time that I saw it all together.
Maybe this was the first time that I felt the loss of what was in one fell swoop.
And I sat there, quietly.
What do you do with boxes upon boxes of a life you don’t know if you will ever live again? Do you give them all away, or do you hold on and continually relive the memories? As we heal, do we truly leave all wounds behind? Or do we continue to carry them through life?
So many questions.
These questions, and others, have stayed on the forefront of my mind for the last 2 weeks.
And daydreamed, as I do.
The truth is, I don’t have the answers now.
That’s ok. I don’t need them.
For where would we be, without unanswered questions? How would we try new things and forge new paths?
Someday soon I’ll look back at that moment with gratitude. I’ll look back and smile, knowing that the stories in my closet encouraged me to grow.
To find new passions.
To dive headfirst into my new career.
To make new memories.
Maybe I already am.
And as I smush our belongings into the truck this weekend, I’ll be lugging along the cherished stories in my closet. I’ll remember what was and look forward to what is to come.
I’ll take a deep breath, and continue to heal.