They Are Here

We have officially moved from our house in Fairfax into an area closer to DC. The actual move was much less difficult than I had anticipated. I think I had done a lot of emotional heavy lifting preparing to make the decision to move, so the actual actions had less of an impact. When Matt and I completed our final walkthrough of our old house, it felt like we were in a museum. As if we were stepping into a place of significance where two amazing people once lived. The house felt barren and hollow, just memories of what was.

With a lot of work, our new house is feeling more and more like home. For months we had lived in a de-personalized house. Photographs were removed and everything that gave the home personality were removed. It was thrilling to unpack boxes of photos and mementos. I have spent time trying to replicate what we had into a new smaller space. Our new home has a ton of builtin bookshelves, so I have been busy creating little shelves of memories. A Handy Manny toolset and plastic tea set are on display, reminding us what was and the wonderful time we had pretending with Waverly & Oliver.

One of the first things I did when we moved in, was to place these painted rocks in our front yard. An obvious marker that this is our home.

Moving in the midst of a pandemic has been challenging. We have met neighbors from a safe distance. Our new neighborhood feels much more friendly and social. We love to sit on our front porch and wave to passersby. Watson and Matilda have settled in and Matilda has decided she is the block captain and watches everyone who walks by.

All of the boxes have been unpacked, yet things are still finding their place. I was able to hang some pictures on the walls, so I can see the kids' smiles. Our guest room, which I continue to refer to as the kids' room, is a work in progress as I attempt to create a welcoming space for guests.

Grieving in a new home when the entire world is social distancing is quite difficult. I have a healthy fear of Covid-19. However, I have lived in fear of illness or death for so long as a mother, that this feels strangely familiar. The isolation isn't good for my sorrow-filled heart. I am trying to remain proactive in reaching out and speaking with friends on the phone or over zoom. I actually have found myself missing watching the world busily passing by, while I watch from the sidelines. It has provided a true expression of how grief separates us and slows us down. With everyone slow and separated, I am having trouble finding my place.

I am writing this while snuggled in a blanket on my front porch. The wind is blowing the wind chimes which have my children's initials etched in copper. The birds are singing. And although the blackbirds are elusive in this neighborhood, other birds are filling in and providing a beautiful score. Our home smells like home, because of candles and oils which conjure up memories of Waverly and Oliver. They are here.