The house has been on the market for six months now, and we are no closer to our dream of moving down south than we were back in the spring.
The logical part of me blames the market, the economy, the fickle finger of fate. The intuitive part of me (and really, isn’t that all there is at the end of the day?) knows I’ve been conflicted about the move.
It’s not fear of a move itself. I’ve done it a lot; twice clear across the country. I relish the challenge, and enjoy the way a move clears out the cobwebs and forces a reset. Purging and organizing? All over it. Packing boxes? Just hand me the tape. Getting settled in the new place? Give me a day or two and we’re good.
So what’s really going on?
It’s my girls. This is the first big move I’m contemplating without them.
The tape running through my head says “but if I move I’ll miss them.” The reality is I already miss them! One is eight hours away in NY; the other not so far, but far enough that I don’t see her often.
When we do get together, those moments feel like they are cocooned in brilliant crystal. Catching up on hugs, gossip, all the wonderful details of their blossoming lives…these times are precious. Probably more so because they are rare.
Today I realized that moving won’t make me miss them anymore. I already miss them, every day. On top of missing them are incredible feelings of pride at who they are, excitement at what they are becoming, gratitude that we have a relationship that makes it okay to share these feelings with them.
I raised them to be independent, self-sufficient and strong women. And dang it, that’s exactly what they are. Problem is, in doing that I forgot to raise myself to be the same. It’s time to realize that missing my girls will always be a part of my life, whether I’m here in Michigan or living down south where the winter doesn’t make me cry and curse.
To all the moms out there who miss the daughters they’ve raised so well, here’s a toast. We done good.