the countdown begins

We are leaving Colorado on June 11th, and the U.S. on June 15th. Sixteen days from now.

This last stretch is trying me. Other times we’ve moved, the kids were much younger. They were affected, of course, but this will be their hardest move yet. Chris and I are fielding daily questions and doing our best to share coping techniques, but recently I found myself literally paralyzed on my bedroom floor for a solid thirty minutes.

I did eventually get up, but I’m not sure I’m qualified to teach emotional resilience.

Still, I’m trying.  I think the best course of action is to feel the feelings, talk about them, cry when needed, and then distract myself. Bridgerton has become surprisingly useful for this.

I’m also rereading Demon Copperhead. If you ever want to completely fall into another universe for a bit, it’s an excellent escape into the hardships and survival of rural Americans. For me, it’s a 10/10, and I reread very few books so that means something.

I’m writing this today from Water World, where I brought Colin and some friends as a birthday present. Later this summer he’ll miss his swim team’s day here, and I keep hoping he can fully enjoy today without the future stealing too much of the present. That feels like the challenge for all of us right now.

I think this stage may be the hardest part because everything we love is still right here in front of us, but there’s a countdown ticking. The familiar rhythms of home are being interrupted because everything needs to be emptied. At some point, I’m going to need to clear out our kitchen stuff and use paper plates, and reduce our wardrobes to a suitcase of clothes. 

There are important documents I need to gather and organize, and I’m still trying to sell some things. But with 16 days left- the clock is certainly ticking.

Once we get to Spain, I imagine some of the grief will be displaced by the shiny newness of a different place. That doesn’t mean we won’t still be grieving what we left behind, but maybe the novelty of a new space and new experiences will help carry us forward through the toughest part. 

Or maybe I’m completely wrong, and the adjustment will feel a hundred times harder once everything around us is suddenly unfamiliar. Menus, directions, safety signs, conversations, movies, advertisements — every written word and overheard sentence reminding us that we are no longer home. I’m sure there will be moments when that feels exciting, and other moments when it feels profoundly lonely.

I’m writing this to share the difficult middle (beginning? Middle of the beginning?) that we are experiencing. I keep telling my boys that just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s the wrong choice.

I’m just here… doing my best to cope and telling myself I am brave even if I might need to lay face down on the floor a few more times.