There is a LOT to do to prepare to move to Virginia. Thankfully, I’ve had a lot of help getting information, apartment hunting etc. from Ryan (my brother) and Sara (my sister-in-law).
For the next two weeks, the move planning is on hold. I’m still working on issues that have to be resolved for the move, but I put the apartment on the back burner for now. I can’t get into specifics, but the medical strategy might be changing a bit and it might be October until I can move. It might not, and I can move sooner. The thing is I won’t know the answer to some of these medical issues up in the air for at least two weeks.
The emotional part of me is a little grateful for the minor reprieve. I’m trying very hard to not get too emotional about things. I try very hard to just focus on what has to be done because it just has to be done. Still, these past few weeks I’ve been so tense and under so much emotional stress.
Every little thing I do to get to Virginia seems hard because it’s something I’m doing to lose my life here. Most of all, the sooner I have to move, the sooner I might lose Finley. I need to blog about Finley and the Finley “situation” but every time I start to do it, I just start sobbing. Finley may be a dog, but I’ve never had children. He’s literally my baby.
I am sorting all of my belongings into three piles. One is a pile of things I’m donating to charity. One is a pile of things that are precious enough I want to hold onto them, but which I know I won’t need or have room for once I get to Virginia. I’ve been the keeper of a lot of family items for years. I also have personal things I just don’t really want to part with just yet. Lastly, there’s the pile of things that will get moved to Virginia. This pile is very practical in nature. Instead of taking precious treasures, for example, I’d rather take art supplies. I’ve invested a lot in supplies over the years so I always have what I need on hand. As I get sicker and perhaps can’t get out as easily, I think my hobbies will be much more important than my momentos.
This is going to sound morbid, but I don’t know how to avoid it. As I pack my things, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever see these things again. Even if I make it through the transplant, it isn’t like I’ll ever have a lot of room for this stuff in expensive Virginia. This is why I’m finding to easier to part with things like treasured books. Still, as I pack these boxes I can’t help but think that if they are ever unpacked again, it might be after I’m gone. Would anything in each box have any value to anyone else?
For the next two weeks, the move planning is on hold. I’m still working on issues that have to be resolved for the move, but I put the apartment on the back burner for now. I can’t get into specifics, but the medical strategy might be changing a bit and it might be October until I can move. It might not, and I can move sooner. The thing is I won’t know the answer to some of these medical issues up in the air for at least two weeks.
The emotional part of me is a little grateful for the minor reprieve. I’m trying very hard to not get too emotional about things. I try very hard to just focus on what has to be done because it just has to be done. Still, these past few weeks I’ve been so tense and under so much emotional stress.
Every little thing I do to get to Virginia seems hard because it’s something I’m doing to lose my life here. Most of all, the sooner I have to move, the sooner I might lose Finley. I need to blog about Finley and the Finley “situation” but every time I start to do it, I just start sobbing. Finley may be a dog, but I’ve never had children. He’s literally my baby.
I am sorting all of my belongings into three piles. One is a pile of things I’m donating to charity. One is a pile of things that are precious enough I want to hold onto them, but which I know I won’t need or have room for once I get to Virginia. I’ve been the keeper of a lot of family items for years. I also have personal things I just don’t really want to part with just yet. Lastly, there’s the pile of things that will get moved to Virginia. This pile is very practical in nature. Instead of taking precious treasures, for example, I’d rather take art supplies. I’ve invested a lot in supplies over the years so I always have what I need on hand. As I get sicker and perhaps can’t get out as easily, I think my hobbies will be much more important than my momentos.
This is going to sound morbid, but I don’t know how to avoid it. As I pack my things, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever see these things again. Even if I make it through the transplant, it isn’t like I’ll ever have a lot of room for this stuff in expensive Virginia. This is why I’m finding to easier to part with things like treasured books. Still, as I pack these boxes I can’t help but think that if they are ever unpacked again, it might be after I’m gone. Would anything in each box have any value to anyone else?
I find myself being very purposeful about what I save, give away or take with me to Virginia.
I kept written journals through my teen years and early 20s (before I blogged). I have a shelf full of diaries. As I packed them in a box for storage at my mom’s, I wondered who will ever read them, and if so, when? Would anyone care?
What about high school yearbooks or the program from my college graduation? What about photo albums of pictures from my college and 20s days (before digital cameras)? Will anyone else really care about the photos I took on a trip to see Peter in Hong Kong? Yet, I can’t quite bring myself to throw them away. They still mean something to me.
It somehow doesn’t seem morbid to me to think of someone else unpacking my things one day. Perhaps it will be a way to remember me. Perhaps I just think such thoughts are practical or realistic. It’s funny how our things are a kind of archeological record of our lives. Will people get an insight into who I was by going through my stuff?
I’m already weary of having boxes taking up room around here. They are messy, and a constant reminder of how messy life feels right now.
I just want to put everything back the way it was – everything
I kept written journals through my teen years and early 20s (before I blogged). I have a shelf full of diaries. As I packed them in a box for storage at my mom’s, I wondered who will ever read them, and if so, when? Would anyone care?
What about high school yearbooks or the program from my college graduation? What about photo albums of pictures from my college and 20s days (before digital cameras)? Will anyone else really care about the photos I took on a trip to see Peter in Hong Kong? Yet, I can’t quite bring myself to throw them away. They still mean something to me.
It somehow doesn’t seem morbid to me to think of someone else unpacking my things one day. Perhaps it will be a way to remember me. Perhaps I just think such thoughts are practical or realistic. It’s funny how our things are a kind of archeological record of our lives. Will people get an insight into who I was by going through my stuff?
I’m already weary of having boxes taking up room around here. They are messy, and a constant reminder of how messy life feels right now.
I just want to put everything back the way it was – everything
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John