My friend Bruce asked if I was having second thoughts about going on the road next week.
I told him that I can’t wait to get out of here.
He asked if I was ready for this adventure.
I told him I wasn’t looking for an adventure.
The truth is, I don’t know what else to do.
When I look at our yard, my heart aches.
Ellen worked so hard to make it beautiful. She painstakingly brushed aphids off the flowers so butterflies could lay their eggs. She pulled weeds everyday for hours. Most days, she was covered in dirt, sweat and mulch. And yet, she hummed and sang all day long. She’d call me out to see a newly hatched butterfly drying its wings. We’d marvel at the shrimp plants, the Amaryllis and the beauty berry bush.
Today her garden has been overcome with weeds. The butterfly bushes have all died. Even the plants that survived the hurricane have withered away.
I can hardly go outside without breaking down.
Inside it is worse.
Although the house is in pristine condition, being here alone, in our home, broke me.
This wasn’t my furniture. It was our furniture.
These weren’t my paintings. They were our paintings.
This wasn’t my house. It was our house.
After going through the motions of life for a few months, I knew I couldn’t stay here. But I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know what to do.
I just knew I had to get out of here.
In two days, our house will be empty.
The movers will take the last few pieces of our furniture to Zack’s apartment.
Everything else has been gifted, donated or thrown away.
For some reason, putting the china cabinet out for bulk pickup this weekend hit me harder than I anticipated.
It went from being a family heirloom to sitting on the curb alongside the bed frame we bought together and the psychedelic armchair we inherited from Aunt Selma.
My house will be completely empty. Just like my life.
Next week, I will load my truck, hitch up my camper and leave this life behind in search of purpose, meaning and direction. Maybe I’ll find something that helps fill the emptiness.
Am I looking forward to it? Sometimes yes. Sometimes no.
I just don’t know what else to do.