It’s been almost a month since the last time I posted anything. Not that I haven’t had anything to say, mind you. The thing is, I have barely had it in me to sleep, never mind getting cogent thoughts together.
Yep, I’m freaking the eff out. I’m moving. Mom is moving. She’s going south to be closer to my brother and his son, and I’m going all the way to California, where I know about 8 people. And I’m FREAKING. OUT.
How we got here
For weeks, mom and I were joined at the hip. We spent half the time at her house, half at my apartment 50 miles away. We’ve been sorting, packing and trashing every belonging in each of our homes.
As you can imagine, going through 40 years of my parents’ life together, book by book, trinket by trinket, is as emotionally wrought as it is tedious. Mom and I have been through sobbing tears, hysterical laughter and everything in between. And on top of all that, my poor dog got fleas, then she got so stressed out she couldn’t eat. That’s why, for the past week, I’ve been at my house alone while mom kept going at hers.
She and I got through so much here at my place, but I feel like my stuff is reproducing like so many rabbits — I box it up, and in the morning it has multiplied and restocked the shelves!
Let the freakout commence
So now, a week before my move to California, I’m doing at my house what I’ve helped mom do so far.
I’m also facing my own emotional, tedious realities. I’m letting go of the weight of past hurts, trapped in reminders like a wedding dress, a box of photos — my own years of trinkets. They aren’t all bad. I’ve found gifts from my parents, jewelry I thought I’d lost, all sorts of stuff. It’s just all very heavy to deal with, emotionally and physically.
What does this have to do with my family’s health? Well, a few things.
Obviously, the grief and emotional seesaw are both tearing us apart. I’m shocked how easy it is to allow food to comfort me — if it weren’t for my trusty Lose It! app and an inborn discipline to fill the thing in every day, I’d probably blow up really fast.
But really, the freakout is wearing all of us thin. We aren’t sleeping. We aren’t eating right. We aren’t exercising enough (I still can’t make myself run).
And of course, I’m stressed to the point that rambling thought is the only kind I have anymore.