We are not prepared. Virtually nothing is boxed or labeled, and yet, the truck is reserved for Tuesday morning.
I'm not ready. Dislodging ourselves from this house will be pressured and painful. I'm not ready to take apart the scenes that have surrounded me for a quarter of my lifetime. Once the images are deconstructed, they won't be seen again. The full force of permanence is crushing.
I'm scared. Moving is indeed a form of loss, and the summation of this season is an impact I'm not quite postured to absorb.
Truthfully, these are simply a series of moments of weakness, and intellectually, I know I'm strong enough to see it through. I'm just terrified of feeling the sharp cracking of my heart as we pull out of the driveway and down the street with our abandoned home shrinking in the rear-view mirror.