New Home, Same Old Me

I can't believe it's been 6 or 7 weeks since I posted. Actually, in terms of all the events that have transpired, it seems much longer than that.

I've had a hard time lately.

We did move, about 3 weeks ago, and we are in our new house now. It's taken some time to recover in body and spirit from the preparations and event of the move itself; and even more time to settle into the new place. Physically, we have the basic provisions and are chugging along pretty much normally. Everyone has a bed to sleep in, and plates to eat from; we have refrigerators, a washer and dryer and a van. Hubby has a good job, where he's been working for the past week-and-a-half. We've reconnected at our old, well-loved, church. The children have made new friends: just this afternoon we had 9 children playing in the yard. Everyone is enjoying the peaceful, although ghostly dry, scenery around the house.

The family in general seems to be quite happy.

Mama, however, ain't happy, and that's the plain truth of it.

I am finding that in some ways it's harder on a person to be unhappy in easy times than it is to be happy in hard ones. You can't hang that unhappy hat on its post of trial and let it rest there, and you have no right to wear it: so what do you do?

I can't even put my finger on what this feeling is: an emptiness and a vague disappointment and a loss of any kind of interest, or even hope.

I can't put my finger on exactly why, either. I miss my family, it's true. I miss my sisters and my mom and dad and all the people who were in my corner rooting for me daily; all the ones who love me and adore my children. I know what it is like to be so far away from the ones closest to you: I've done this before.

The first time, I didn't know how, day by day, experiences not shared would drop away, irretrievably, into the vast abyss of time; and how the dividing chasm widens--imperceptibly and relentlessy-- as the tangible, actual, living you is replaced in the lives of those you love, by your memory.

The first time, I didn't know this would happen until the excitement of the new, succeeded by the comfort of familiarity, had already provided buffers against the realization of what had been lost.

The first time, it was temporary.

This time, there is neither the excitement of the true new, nor the comfort of real familiarity. Familiar things are strange, and different. The sense of emptiness and loss overshadows everything.


And the solace that was once found in the words "One day we will..." no longer exists.

I think this is the first time that I have really sensed the finality of a door that has been firmly closed. It feels like losing a limb, or one of your five senses, or your best friend.
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