My sister Heather has been fighting breast cancer almost continuously for the past nine years. She is receiving the best care in the world, I believe, and each time a challenge has arisen, it has been met successfully with new drugs. This summer, she learned that the lesions in her brain are growing again. She began a new treatment regimen a few weeks ago, and her doctor is confident that it will do the job. She is a remarkable woman, and I have faith that she will continue to have the upper hand in this battle.
This latest episode made it clear to me, however, that waiting for all the pieces to fall into place for our move was wasting precious time. Life is uncertain, and if I want Sarah to grow up surrounded by my family, then I should get her there now. In other words, the best way to move to New Engl*nd is to just do it. Things will work out.
Our first thought was to list the house in the spring. After meeting with the realtors, though, we decided on October 1, since it might not sell quickly and I want to be settled in time for Sarah to start kindergarten in the fall (although I refuse to think too much about THAT right now). Then, we figured we could be ready by mid-September, and somehow that morphed into last week.
It was quite a week, with Don gone fishing, Sarah starting school, inspectors poking around, and me trying to make the place presentable. But then, Don and I have a history of doing big things all at once -- ten years ago, we married, moved, and started new jobs all within a month, and three years ago, he retired right before we went to China to adopt Sarah.
The realtors are optimistic the house will sell quickly (what else would they say?). If they're right, we could be moving before Thanksgiving. We've been househunting online and have homed in on an area roughly 20 miles west, south, and east of Br*ttleboro, V*rmont. That would put us about an hour from my mom and not much more from my sister and brother. It would also be within commuting distance (barely) of the F*sh & W*ldlife Service regional office, which leaves the door open a crack for job possibilities for me.
Sarah is beyond excited about living near her Grammy, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I know she doesn't understand the process, but she seems okay with letting another family have our house. She has welcomed the many strangers (real estate agents, movers, inspectors, photographer) we've had recently and tagged along to see what they're doing, offering much unsolicited advice. When we signed the sales contract, she sat quietly at the table and took detailed notes, which she offered to the realtors when we were done. They were good sports and said they'd add the page to our file, which pleased her greatly.
Don and I are absorbing the impact of such a big change. We both have adored this house since the day we first laid eyes on it. It is our dream home -- more than either of us ever dreamed of, really. We both grew up in much simpler abodes. I still get a thrill every time I pull into my heated garage on an inclement day and walk into the house unscathed by the weather.
And then there's the property. I always wanted to have a little farm, much like the one my mom still has. I didn't think it would ever happen, but I've enjoyed these five acres and the plants and animals they support for a decade now. I've watched the old silver maple "Grandfather Tree" stoically endure the harsh winters and generously offer shade from the blistering summer sun. I've nurtured perennial fruits and flowers, while Don has planted hundreds of native shrubs and fostered three plots of native prairie.
The goats, donkeys, and chickens have brought us (and our neighbors) untold joy. My greatest concern with the whole move is finding good homes for them, as we won't be able to bring them east with us. I worry about the donkeys the most, since they are all relatively young, donkeys live to be 40 or so, and the market seems to be saturated.
With all that said, I am still sure that we've made the right decision. Ever since we moved here, I've daydreamed about living in New Engl*nd once more, but I could never envision leaving these five acres. I've felt torn by the possibility -- wanting it so badly but unable to embrace it. Something inside me changed a few weeks ago, however, and I now know that we belong there, not here. We've been immensely blessed to make this our home, but it's time to let it go.
Thankfully, Don is a supportive, understanding partner and recognizes that moving is in our family's best interest. There will be emotionally painful trade-offs, though. We will all miss seeing his parents, Rachel, Matt, Emily, Omar, and Sophia as often as we do. Unfortunately, there is no perfect solution for a family so spread out. We will do our best to stay in touch, as we've done with my family. Leaving our newfound church family will also be tough. They have embraced us, and Sarah has blossomed in their loving care.
With all the uncertainty that the future holds, I'm doing my best to have faith that everything will work out the way it's supposed to. I'm ready for a smaller, less-demanding home, and my mind runs wild with all the possibilities for fun and adventure in New Engl*nd. For the last 25 years, I've held onto the following quote by Sc*ttish mountaineer W*lliam H*tchinson M*rray:
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.
We have begun....
