Being on the Other Side

It's a strange state of being, when you've been anticipating something for a long time, and you finally emerge on the other side. I am overcome by a sense of euphoria and also disbelief. For many months I have tried to envisage aspects of our new life here. Waking up in our home. Village life. The first day in my new work place. 

It still hasn't quite sunk in, even a month on. I almost expect to open my eyes and find myself back in the midst of transition, with half-packed boxes and chaos strewn across the room. It's been like this with any big change in my life. I remember my pregnancy with each of my children, nine months of wondering who I was carrying inside me, what they'd be like, and afterwards, not quite believing they were really here. And meeting Sewel for the first time after a year of talking online. That didn't seem real either.

One day reality will catch up with me, and I won't think about it any more. But for now, strange as it feels, it's also pretty wonderful to be here at last. On the other side.

The Hardest Part

It wasn't the decision to put everything in motion, or the lengths we went to in preparing our house to go on the market. Although I remember well the challenge of condensing down our belongings, and the long, late nights spent, towards the end, filling cracks, painting, rearranging rooms to bring out their best. 

Nor was it the long weeks on the market. The offers that were made just four days in, only to come to nothing. The positive viewings, and the time we spent hoping in vain for a genuine offer. The barren weeks that followed Easter, where the viewings themselves seemed to become a rarity.

Even the packing and the move itself did not quite compare, although the last few days were frantic and adrenaline-driven. Working to tight deadlines. Little sleep to be had. A long journey northwards, following a full day of physical labour. We drove into the night, knowing the end was near.

The hardest part, although not by a long shot, was saying goodbye. Not so much to the place that's been our home for the last five years, but to the friendships forged there. Work colleagues. Families we've known through baby classes and toddler groups. And, most painfully, a church where we've found so much love and acceptance. Whenever anyone said how much they would miss us I felt such a surge of guilt, humility and poignancy. It was immense.

Although not especially sad to move on, I found myself leaving a piece of myself behind. A piece I can live without, but a small part of me nevertheless. It belongs now to the people who cared about us, the people who will stay in touch and hold on to the memories we've shared together. It will be with them for as long as they remember. Just as the piece I hold of them will stay with me until I forget.