Front-doorToday I’m packing up the last of my stuff in my Walla Walla house. Tomorrow is moving day. I’m praying everything fits into the twenty-four foot U-Haul truck I’ve rented. I’m praying that I can drive away and never have to come back. Now, more than ever, I need to put this house and this part of my life behind me in order to move forward.

I moved my bed and most of my kitchen stuff into the new house I bought in Vancouver last weekend. From the moment I stepped foot into that house on Friday afternoon I felt myself slowly but deliberately coming back to myself. I felt grounded and stronger than I’ve felt in months. Strong for myself, not for John or my kids. I felt myself more capable than ever of standing on my own two feet and being happy on my own. I was relaxed and happy all weekend.

Monday night, I sat on my bed in my big new master bedroom in my dream house and thought about heading back to Walla Walla the next morning to tie up loose ends and finalize my move. A heaviness began to settle over me and I realized that this house here in Walla Walla, where John and I shared our entire lives together, has been energetically draining me since the moment he died. It’s not just the memories and sadness surrounding that time or the haunting memories of him crying the day before he died, skeletal and barely recognizable, half unconscious, and telling us he was sad because he didn’t want to go but knew he had to. That’s huge, for sure, but I realized it’s more than that.

This house is energetically sad. I’ve spent most of the past two months deliberately gone from here, making myself busy with things to do in Portland. Every time I drive back here, the sad creeps back in, little by little, as I drive east up the Columbia Gorge. I dread walking into the house, living and working and sleeping here. It’s just permeated with such a huge amount of sadness that it’s overwhelming. I’ve adjusted to it over the past six months and I don’t think I really even realized how powerful it was until it was absent this weekend.

It was like I could finally unpack the sweet, wonderful memories of John as I was unpacking my dishes and pots and pans. It was refreshing to be able to think about him and our life together for the six years we had before the brutal final six months of his life. And I felt such relief and happiness at those memories. They weren’t tinged with sadness like they always have been in Walla Walla.

I feel John with me more and more now. And I know he’s happy for me. I’ll move all of the good things I remember about our life together with me and I know energetically he’ll come too. His positive energy, the best part of him, will always be with me.

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