Moving

I knew it, could feel it.  Life was too comfy, too routine, too predictable. I could sense it even then, which made me all the more suspicious about what might be ahead.  Usually it’s the kind of thing you only notice when you look back.

Our latest life transition of moving to a hobby farm reminds me of a fall a couple years back.  It was October—Breast Cancer Awareness Month—and just as beautiful as it’s been this fall.  I’d found a lump back in July and finally made it to the doctor in September.  Which changed everything about October.  Likewise, we’d seen a piece of property earlier this fall, but waited awhile to check it out as well.  I never imagined anything would come of either appointment.

But it struck me this past week or so how similar buying a house is to my adventure with cancer just two years ago.  We were just going “to look” at a piece of property, never thinking anything serious would come of it.  Same with my tiny lump, just wanted to get a professional opinion for peace of mind and to be responsible.  But both of those initial meetings resulted in hours of work, our schedules got turned upside down, and everything we thought we were doing got pushed to the side; in each case we had a new priority to work on.

I’m impressed by the number of engagements we fit into both of those first weeks.  A biopsy Thursday, which left me anxiously waiting till Tuesday, when I was hit with the word cancer.  Which meant a week of everything from genetic and financial counseling to physical therapy and plastic surgery appointments.  This time around we looked at the house on a Sunday and by Friday they’d accepted our offer.  Just so many people to schedule simply to buy and sell a house!  Window washers, our realtor, photographer, realtor friend walk-throughs, keeping making it clean.  I felt grateful that I had and still have a completely flexible schedule and life.  I felt in both cases that I had a new part time job I never even wanted.  Let alone applied for.

Not only the appointments, but the amount of time I spent on the phone and in communication with all sorts of offices and personnel.  I was near to tears when day after day--as I was so sore and tired from my surgery--I'd have to field calls from the lab doing my onco type and insurance.  Reminder calls for follow-up appointments.  I remember having to go dig up tax forms from two years back to apply for some finance program in case our insurance didn't cover the procedure in question.  We needed to know about the tissue collected, if the chances of cancer returning were low or high.  It had to be done (in my mind) because that told us how aggressive we needed to be, and whether or not I'd need chemo hinged on that one piece of critical information.  So I worked through calls and issues like that.  I feel I'm paddling down that same little river this month.  So many texts and calls and emails and appointments!  Furnace tune-up, chimney sweep, window well diggers, radon mitigation system installed, signing for a bridge loan, figuring out insurance, duct work clean out (maybe), new windows to be ordered, more than enough office work to keep me occupied.

I just want some time to focus on the task at hand: packing and cleaning.  And Christmas.  Just as then I wanted to just rest and read and get better and stronger.  But it's never seemed to work out.

Both events took away some of my fall.  I hated having to lie on the couch on such beautiful November afternoons, just as I wish I didn’t have to be holed up in my basement painting trim and touching up walls, peeking through the windows at the fluttering yellow leaves instead of being outside raking them.

I’d say people who know us were surprised.  We’re usually pretty conservative, predictable, steady, rational, and content with what we’ve got.  I’ve also never really had a health issue, we’re generally pretty boring patients, fairly young; I’m sure cancer was the last thing people expected.  Similarly, we’ve loved our house.  Our kids are leaving, we’re middle-aged, there’s no real reason to expect we’d want to move.

But what stands out to me most of all about both these experiences is that we just have to be ready.  We can’t assume that just because life has looked one way for nearly a decade that it will be the same tomorrow.  Or that just because we feel strong today that we will a week from now. Which is something that motivates me actually.  I know that another learning experience is right around the corner when I'm feeling too much at ease.  And yet it's like anticipating that scary Jack-in-the-box wind-up toy from the 70s.  You know it's coming, yet nothing can adequately prepare you for the jolt it gives you.  I like to keep the lines of communication open and strong so that when I need confirmation about a decision or route we've chosen, I don't have to make a new connection and wonder if He'll answer me.  I've learned I need Him both daily and in cases of emergency.

As then, people constantly ask us what they can do to help.  And still the answer is, We’re fine, we’ve got this.  I hate, hate, hate having to rely on other people for things I can do myself.  I think we’re all kind of like that.  I hate it when friends leave their families to come serve mine.  I want them to be home, enjoying their limited time with each other.

So, just as I did two years ago, I’m doing everything I can think of to get ready.  We’ve been packing and painting for weeks.  Months, really, if we go back to ripping out all the carpet and painting the whole basement top to bottom.  I’ve taken down our decorations.  I’ve wiped out cabinets.  Cleaned the garage blinds.  All the living room and kitchen and dining room ones too.  I’ve plugged up nail holes.  Purged.  Made a timeline.  Frozen cookie balls.  Made a menu.  Changed all our utilities.  Bought and wrapped almost all of Christmas.  I’ve had the energy and time I’ve needed, and so it’s been easy.  Todd’s barely had any time at home in comparison, but he’s managed to clean the shed out, take down Andrew’s garage, move all the food storage, and pack up a good deal of garage paraphrenalia.   And yet, I know we really can’t do this all on our own.

We’re only a little family these days.  I’m not that strong.  Maybe emotionally most days, but certainly not muscular enough to move a piano or a safe or a freezer.  We can do a lot on our own, but at some point we will need assistance.

Which was maybe one of the hardest parts about cancer as well.  I hated that my mom and sisters had to leave their homes to come take care of me.  I tried to talk them out of it, but we’re a stubborn bunch.  I'll admit it, I loved having them.  I could’ve squeezed out my four drains throughout the day myself, but it was so nice to have my sister do it for me the first couple of days.  I suppose I could’ve bathed gingerly by myself, but it would’ve been even more excruciating than it already was and would’ve taken so much longer.  Those days I could barely lift myself off the couch.  I didn’t have it in me to make dinner for the first few days, and so I was so grateful for friends who helped out even though I insisted we were good.

It’s a hard thing to accept help.  How do you know when to say, Really, we’ve got this.  And when to say, You know, we really could use some help.  Todd’s way better at this than me.  And I know it’s nothing more than my pride.

I hate to think of myself as weak.  I hate being vulnerable.  Aren’t we all like that?  I’ve always felt that we should take responsibility for our own family.  If we had little kids or if one of us was sick or impaired or out of the country, or even both working or with demanding assignments at church, then yes.  But we’re strong, able-bodied, older, capable of working long, hard days.  For the most part, we really are just fine. 

Truly, it’s that I’m embarrassed.  By how ugly and weak and slow and painful and vulnerable I'd be recovering from surgery.  I didn't want people to gauge how I was feeling by looking at my movements and into my eyes; I hate being observed.  Just the other day a friend told me I seemed stressed.  I don't know why, feeding a group of 16 mix-matched folk for Thanksgiving, college son home, boxes everywhere, trying to get Christmas gathered up, letters out, packing and painting in every spare moment I had.  I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach when she said that.  I thought about that for days.  I thought I had it together. I'd felt strong.  It made me sad.  But it made me re-evaluate.  And want to slow down so I could be sweeter.

These days I'm ashamed by how much stuff we have.  I don’t even want to catch that look in our friends’ eyes as they gather to help us load and get a peek into the garage.  And then the living room.  And then the basement.  Which is why I’m vague when people ask when we’re moving.  We’re not hoarders, I promise.  It’s just that being married for 22 years with five kids and a wide array of hobbies, has made us collectors.  Bees.  Gardening.  Knife making.  Cutting boards.  Wood hauled all the way from Minnesota.  Hunting.  Camping.  Backpacking.  Sewing.  Food storage.  Crafts.  Baby toys.  Books.  So many books.  Games.  Sports.  Scrapbooks.  Clothes.  Holidays.  Journals.  You know what it’s like.  You’re most likely storing some of the very same stuff we’ve been carting around for years.  Which should make me feel better.  But you know it doesn’t.  I’m just self-conscious.  I don’t want people to give up their time to move our junk.  Especially at Christmastime.  It’s cold.  Most likely snowy.  Everyone just wants to be home with their families.  The thought of friends loading up our dumb stuff makes me shiver.

And I wonder to myself, how have I been so ignorant?  Why haven't I been more invested when my friends have all been moving?  Where have I been????  Why did I ever take their word for it that they had it all handled?  It's completely overwhelming if you have anything besides the move to think about (like dinner, kids' activities, Christmas, company).  Sure, we're there to clean, to move a few boxes here and there, maybe some food.  But why haven't I really been in on it all?  I feel embarrassed about that too.  But I'm so grateful to have gone through both cancer and another move; now it's personal.  I'll know what to do when it's happening to someone else.  Isn't that the best part of going through a rough patch anyway?

I’m sensing my pride is still in tact, which tells me I really didn’t learn much two years ago.  I thought I had.  In fact I could give the lecture about how we all need to help each other and accept help.  But maybe it’s easier when I’m sick.  It’s obvious when we’re impaired that we need to call in some help.  It’s harder when we’ve made this decision and mess ourselves, fully aware of what it would entail.  I feel like we should take responsibility for it.

 But does it really matter how we got here?  A doctor’s diagnosis or a change in plans?  Do we quiz people before we sign up to clean their fridges or watch their kids or bring them dinner?  Of course not.  We just assume the best, we serve and help however we can.  Our friends are just like that, always willing, no questions asked.

So as we move into our next home and phase of life, I can’t help but think back on how it made me feel just two years back to have our friends rally around us.  More humbling than anything we’d experienced.  I hated it.  I loved it.  I ached that I couldn’t be the one to serve.  I felt uncomfortable with the attention.  But it enlarged my heart, it increased the love I felt for my friends and family.  And I sense the same thing will happen this time around. (But I’m still cleaning the bathrooms before they get here.)