Since my previous post, I’ve received a tremendous outpouring of love, support, and insights from so many people. Believe me when I say that, aside from the day of my wedding, I have never felt such love and gratitude for all the people who share in our life.
My closest friends reached out and reassured me of their loyalty. Family members and relatives shared their inner demons and marriage struggles. Other couples (married or not) have reassured us that what we’re going through is not abnormal and worth fighting through.
Even people who lie on the peripherals of our social sphere have offered companionship, coffee dates, kind words, and a glimpse inside their own hearts.
To all these people and more, I can only say:
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
(And also, here is a photo of Grand Traverse Bay for you. It is one of my favorite pictures and it fills me with joy:)
Your words, gestures, and vulnerability make us feel less alone. You encourage us to turn towards each other and ourselves. You provide a safe haven during a very rough storm.
One thing I feel I must say, though.
Continue reading “Thank you.”
I’ve officially moved out of our house and in with my parents. The house hasn’t sold yet—a few showings, no offers—but my move to Chicago seems likely to happen before the house sells. Overall, it makes a lot of sense: I can focus on things I need to do without worrying about trying to live a “perfect” life free of clutter, unopened mail, dirty dishes in the sink, an unmade bed…I’ve walked away from our house and I’m ready to move on.
It’s not, easy, though. I miss our house a lot. Sam and I lived three other places together prior to purchasing our home, but they all felt temporary. Nothing grounded us or felt like our own space until we finished renovating our house and lived in it as our home. Sure, it was a little strange at first to be homeowners and own a space foreign to both of us, but now it is the only place I think of when I say the word “home.”
At the same time, it doesn’t feel the same to be in our house without Sam. I only know the feelings of each room when he’s occupying them with me; I am familiar with his messes and can differentiate them from mine, and it’s comforting to know he has been somewhere near me. I’ve not had that feeling in nearly a month now. It’s hard to feel his presence in the kitchen when I’m cooking, or lurking in the office when I’m reading in the living room. The house isn’t our home without him there, and it felt uncomfortable at times to be living in a place alone where we’d always been together.
Continue reading “The Dirt of Life”