scribblechic

We’re somewhere in the middle of two different places. On one hand, we’ve almost finished our house projects and packed up the past. At the same time, we’ve made new commitments that have only just begun. There isn’t even time to fully absorb the reality of the work that remains despite all the effort we’ve already exerted.

Last night you unpacked a closet and I marveled at the river of items that interrupted my sense of completion. I wanted you to push everything out of sight, to pretend for a moment that we were further along in our progress. Then, today, came a new mess; a singular project that multiplied into many as dust clouded over boxes still unsealed, countertops cluttered with tools, and previously clean corners behind partially open doorways.

This is life. The vastness of what we cannot control and the clarity of acceptance when we realize we can only choose our response. We will clean and reclean the evidence of this moment, forgetting the inconvenience and discomfort. For today I want to remember the quiet beneath the chaos, when we chose not to allow the threat of destruction to override our kindness to one another.

The messy in-between is more than the physical fall out of hurried projects and limited time, it is the emotional space of so many life experiences. We’ve been here before for the premature birth of our son, the preterm labor of our daughter, special needs diagnoses and an emotionally abusive relative, but it exists in even the most mundane experiences of marriage and home making. With each unforseen challenge we’ve had to link hands and choose our path around new obstacles with old commitments.

We can pack our lives into marked boxes and clean away the dust, but the messiness of life cannot be so neatly contained. It’s been a long year, one we’ve weathered privately to guard our children against harm. In silence we lost the comfort of friends, but we mapped out a space of integrity.

We’re still in-between heartache and hope, there’s much left to do and more we cannot control. Maybe one day we’ll tell the story of this past year, but for now it is enough to start again together.

Love you.

Tagged: Husband, Moving, Musings