Moving next door

The funny thing about grief pamphlets and books is that they are all the same. Same words arranged differently into sentences shaped into paragraphs that really only relay the same message: you will grieve, then you will move on.

But I don't want to move.

I was happy in my old place. The foundation was strong, the walls were up and the doors were open. Life flowed in and out of open windows, and as Spring slowly started to freshen the air, we were happy and ready to welcome the next season of life. Then suddenly we were evicted. No notice on our front door, no calls informing us we had to be out. We were tossed out with no where to go.

So we stay with family. But we don't have all our stuff and the pillow in the spare bedroom is too soft. It doesn't feel right. Something is missing. They bring us more stuff- toothbrushes, pajamas, clean shirts. A few days later they bring more. Runners, jackets, vitamins. We have everything we need but I want to go back. I wasn't ready to move, and I want my old house back. I was happy there. And no one can bring the one thing I really need back. They tell me no one can. It's not there anymore to bring back. Your life will be different now, I am told. The person you were will never be the same, they say. We can't get that for you.

So I will do the next best thing. I will move next door. It will take time to build my new home and I will need some help but it will happen. The thing about moving next door is that I can still see my old place. I can still feel connected to it. We share a fence and we have the same view. I can still see into the windows and there is still life inside. Spring is still announcing its arrival, only at my new place different things are growing and maybe that's ok. Slowly I will lay down a new foundation, new floors to walk on. I will bring most of my old stuff but that one big thing has to stay at my old place. Too special, too wonderful, too good for this place. I had seven months to enjoy every last bit of him. And I did. We filled our old home with so much love and so many memories. The amazing thing is that I can bring these to our new place. I can remember whenever I want. Replay moments in my head as often as I can. So while I quietly rebuild next door to my old life, these things won't be packed into boxes with dishes and clothes. These things will stay with me, in me. I don't want to move. But carrying you in my heart now means you can come too after all. And that's all I want.

Chantal