Not Enough Room

In case you haven't heard, my house sold while I was in Maine visiting my son Brad and his girlfriend Shelby. Yep ... my little house across the street from the trail ... my little house with my Goldilocks deck ... my little house with my awesome handmade storm fort ... my little house where my kids grew into teenagers and young adults ... come December 5, my little house will no longer be mine. Though it probably goes without saying, I have very mixed emotions about my upcoming relocation to a new abode. I've never lived in an apartment before, so naturally I'm more than a bit nervous about Ollie barking during the day while I'm at work and getting us thrown out of the complex, not having a garage to park in, finding a safe place to walk each evening, where I'll keep my bicycle and all kinds of other things.

My newest worry about apartment living, however, is a big one ... one that fits in well with my fear of storms, a sinkhole in the grass swallowing me up or being sucked out of an airplane while I'm trying to pee in one of those stupid little boxes they call restrooms. My newest fear makes my normal ... yes, I said normal ... worries and fears seem ... well ... more normal than they ever have before. These days what keeps me awake at night is my fear that I'll end up living above or below a meth head who ends up blowing us all up or that my next door neighbor will be a serial killer who's on a mission to off gray-haired 50-something women who love wiener dogs or that my apartment will be some sort of alien abduction headquarters and Ollie and I will be sucked up into a spaceship in full-on War of the Worlds fashion. What's that you say? Irrational thinking on my part? Nope ... perfectly valid, totally sane scenarios to fear.

My daughter Meghann graciously spent last weekend manning a garage/moving sale at my little house, and let me tell you ... that little gal of mine is one tough cookie when it comes to standing her ground on garage sale prices. All I have to say is good luck if you're trying to bargain with her ... geez, Louise, my baby girl is serious about garage sale revenues for sure, which is good for me because she managed to make a nice chunk of change for me over the weekend. My emotions were all over the place as I watched my stuff being sold ... one minute I was feeling good about getting rid of things that I've hung onto for way too long, and the next minute I was bawling my eyes out as a nice older couple loaded up my patio furniture and drove away. By the way, don't ask me any questions about my patio furniture ... it deserves a post all its own someday when I can type it without soaking my keyboard in tears.

All three of my children have been after me to sell my house for several years and now that it's sold, they've adopted a new mantra ... a mantra that I know in my mind is true ... a mantra that my heart is resisting big time. Three words that are quite difficult for me to process right now ... not enough room. My kiddos keep telling me that I won't have enough room for some of my things when I move and that I have to get rid of them. In the spirit of being as open, honest, real and transparent as I know how to be ... I'm kind of having a rough time with that reality. Lest you think I'm just a materialistic old bag, let me assure you that it's not letting go of the things themselves that has me reeling ... it's the memories and the feelings and the love that those things represent that has my gut churning and my heart aching. Letting go of the things isn't the problem, it's letting go of all the moments that are wrapped up inside of those things that's hard ... moments with my children ... moments with my mom and my extended family ... moments with my friends. It's the moments that are hard to part with, friends ... it's not the things at all ... it's the moments tucked deep within them.

This week my assignment from my children is to come home from work each evening and tackle one cabinet or one drawer and choose what I'll have room for and what I won't. Which I might add is rather tough to do since I've never lived in an apartment. Oh, and by children I really mean Meghann since she's the only who lives near enough to me to actually see how much stuff is in my house. Earlier tonight as I sat putting the things I want to keep in one pile and the things that need to go in another pile, I began thinking about those three words ... not enough room ... I thought about those words and the intensely deep lesson they've caused me to learn in recent weeks. Not having enough room in an apartment to house all the stuff in a house is one thing, but not having enough room in a heart for people who love and care about someone is another thing altogether. It hurts like hell to know there won't be enough room in my new apartment for the dining room set my mom gave me more than 27 years ago. Truth is, though, that hurt will eventually go away ... that hurt won't take up permanent residence in my heart and soul or gnaw at my mind for the rest of my life. But the hurt that comes from knowing there's no longer enough room for me in someone's heart? That's the hurt that feels as though it will last forever ... that's the hurt I never ever want to bring upon the people I care for, because ... well ... because the hurt of being kicked out of someone's heart is the worst kind of hurt there is.

Think there's not enough room in your life? Measure again, friends ... there are some things you should never discard or give up. Think there's not enough room in your heart? Measure again, friends ... please measure again. Trust me ... there are things ... and so much more important, there are people you should hold onto forever. Measure again, friends ... please measure again.