Ouch!

Those who read this who are less emotional than I may roll their eyes once, twice, and even thrice.

I closed up a little orange house in Clearwater, Florida this morning:

I closed all the windows, drew all the curtains closed, flipped the circuit breakers to off, and checked twice, even thrice all the possible safeguards to protect this little place that was my mother's home and that has now fallen into my care.   I stopped on the walkway, closed my eyes, and prayed... not just for the walls that make up the house, but for the love and warmth that now make it home.

Reluctantly, I stepped into the driver's seat of the minivan, started it up, and backed out of the driveway. The six animals in the back were busy adapting to the new routine of traveling.  I couldn't help but say quick thanks for how good natured every single one is, both canine and feline.  The husband too is good by his nature.

As I travelled out via the surface streets and then down the long causeway that separates Tampa Bay from Clearwater, I held my breath and my tears.  If I could make it to Interstate 75 and its standard neutralized freeway scenery, I could make it without crying. I could feel my heart lurching, protesting the severing of attachment that had to happen as I made my way across the country.  Fortunately, technologies of phone, e-mail, and the occasional old-fashioned letter would prevent those attachments from lapsing entirely.

I could feel the tears lurking underneath my driver's composure, desiring to burst into one very messy crying jag.   Perhaps, only because I was driving and felt compelled to do so safely, I made it to the Interstate without crying.  As I headed north, I could feel my heart chastising me... reminding me that it will have its time to cry, that I will not escape the need to express all those many emotions that rolled around inside of me.

In the interim, as I wait for my heart to demand my attention, I can be both calm and immensely grateful for the new additions to my memories.  Long walks with Trudy on the beach.   Long talks with Marilyn over breakfast.   Couples dinners that are just as much as an adventure as the one-on-one times.  An incredible farewell dinner, courtesy of our neighbors Deb and Tim.  Sunsets with Jennie and Mike.  Smiles and conversation with Cindy.   New friends, including Marilyn our neighbor.  And the list goes on and on and on and on.

It's time to go back.  God said so, so I'm going.