Hard

This move is hard. It surprised me.

I don't know why it surprised me, because of course it is hard. My mom is dying; we are leaving the home where our children grew up over the past almost 12 years; we are saying good-bye to good neighbors; we are moving to a smaller house with a much smaller kitchen and no lake down the street. Maybe it surprised me because mentally I had it all worked out, why this was beneficial. It puts my mom's mind at ease about her beloved house; we are in a more central location; downsizing is good; economical boon.

I know all this is true. I guess my heart hasn't caught up to my brain just yet, which makes my heart a little sore. I'm sure it will get better. Of course when we moved from our last house 12 years ago, the house we brought our babies home to, I lay on the empty floor and cried, so maybe it will get worse before it gets better.

Hard to say.

ETA: I may have turned a corner with the move and mourning our old house. How? The oddest thing. God reminded me of struggles we have had during our time in that house. Some we walked through together, some were veiled in secrecy, some I didn't even know about until they were over, and some I could barely keep my own head above water so everyone had to fend for themselves. Yes, the lake house is full of memories, but not all happy ones. A fresh start sounds good.
Let's do it.