Recon Missions: Moved In, But Not Out

I keep going back, less and less often now. Each time I find myself there for shorter periods. I pull up in front of the house, take a deep breath, hold it, open the front door and run in. I grab a few things or don't. I wander around, open cabinets that have a few items left, bedroom doors that reveal rooms with a few stray things inside, and a garage I cannot begin to pack. It holds His Things. Too many of His Things.


You see, while the kids and I have moved to our new home, our old home is still there. It's the home filled with the memories of Us. Of Him. Of our children and our pets and our lives together. It's where we lived and loved. It's where he took his last breath.


Welcome Home


I don't think I can pack the rest of it. I don't think I can move the rest of it. Yet, I have to. The landscapers have come and readied the yard. The painters will need to come to prepare the inside for a new family; paint over what made it Our Home, cover Peanut's black walls and Bug's kiwi bird.


My daughter's tree will still grow in the front yard. It will still be our house, but it will no longer be Our House.


And the attic. Fuck. I haven't been up there in so long. Christmas decorations and bins filled with memories from years past. So tempted to lock it and leave it.


So tempted to find a way to stop time or fast-forward time or make it all not be this hard. Do they make a giant broom that sweeps it all under a giant rug? What about a shovel that scoops it all into a moving van in one push?


Do they make anything for these tears that won't stop falling?