Hello from gloriously sunny and breezy Vermont. Happy Father’s Day to all you dads and step in dads, and thank you for your hard work raising your children. This is the first Father’s Day that I’m dad less, and I feel all discombobulated. My husband and I walked to the cemetery where he’s buried. Though his stone isn’t there yet, you can still see the lines from when his coffin got lowered into the ground. One good winter and those marks will be gone, and I won’t know exactly where his body is anymore. Sometimes I don’t exactly know where his spirit is either. All I know is he’s gone and from here on, on this earth, I’ll live without him.
I’m blogging from our back yard in one of my double Adirondack chairs, surrounded by trees and bird sounds. Part of my sadness today comes from knowing that soon we’ll be moving into a home that doesn’t have this old oak and that bush of white lilacs. And that blooming pink rosa rugosa right near the compost bin. Where we’re going, everything is new. You can still see the grass seed sprinkled on the ground. We can’t plant perennials there, but we can have container gardens. I thought I’d get an old wagon to fill with annuals. Maybe a hanging plant at the door. Something easy and cheerful. That’s what our new place is like. Easy and cheerful. But much, much smaller.
All those months of wondering and doubting and feeling trapped from the pressure and the broken things and the endless house things gone wrong? They are coming to an end now. Serena has several housing possibilities with a decision made hopefully this week, and the rest of us have a new course ahead. I’ll miss the idea of this place. And hoeing it out will be a huge task. But our new place? Peace. Ease. Grace.
I leave you with the newest picture of my two girls. I’d do anything for them. Is that how you feel about your children?
Check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.