My heart has been screaming at me for the past few weeks that we’re supposed to be winding things down here and packing.
It’s convinced that it will be time to move soon and that I should be getting rid of things – not buying more.
That I should be downsizing and not still nesting. My heart is confused by the words that my Brain has been saying “There is no moving. We’re home already.”
My heart doesn’t understand.
Two days ago my heart really missed Her. Missed Her smell, the way she looked after Hair Cut Day (which were the best days, as She would say), Her voice, Her presence – despite what was said at the end. Despite how broken I still operate.
The agreement was that after a year of me living at my new place, She would come get Me. Her house would be fixed up and We would make the voyage Home, Her home, my new home, Our home. At least that was my understanding.
None of that is going to happen. Because reasons and changed everythings.
I keep waiting for my Heart to begin its grieving but it doesn’t want to. Instead, it keeps counting down the days and getting panicked because I am not carrying out what it thinks I should be doing at the moment: packing to move.
There will be a wall that We will hit in August/September, when it is abundantly clear that We are where
We are going to be.
Maybe the grieving will begin then.
Maybe I will finally let go of the new hope I had, the relief that seemed in sight, my redemption.
Maybe I’ll be able to cry fully for what was never really there, what I thought I had, where I thought I was going.
Maybe then I’ll finally be able to move on.