I handed over the keys to our little yellow house last month, and with one last look, I stepped out the back door for the last time, walked down the path for the last last time and closed the back gate into the alley, for the last time. Moving has been such a process for me. Both literally and figuratively. I don’t know how many trips back and forth it’s taken to clear 13 years worth of stuff out of that house. I also don’t know how many days of processing it’s taken and will take.
That house saw me live, die, and come back to life again.
My husband left me in that house.
I met Josh in that house.
I celebrated nearly everyone I love in that house in one way or another. My babies came home from the hospital to that house.
Even though I never really loved the layout of that house, every single square inch of it exuded my personality. It was also falling apart.
I walked out that back door, slightly wistful, but also so relieved. I didn’t have energy for that house anymore. And I know, so deep in my bones, that it’s time for a new start. I’m so excited to get to start my new marriage with a fresh canvas in a great house, on my favorite Main Street.
Life is not what I thought it would be. But it’s hard and good. Bitter and sweet. And I’m looking forward, not back.