This weekend I went back over to the other house to finish packing up the last of our stuff. Standing in the door way of the home we built together, my eyes filled with tears. I remember when they laid the foundation of the house, how excited we were. How shocked we were at how easy it was to pick our flooring and wall colors together while we watched other couples in the design center fight and bicker. We thought we were better than them because we would never fight over trivial things like wall color.
Standing here, the house smells different, I've only been away for a week, but it doesn't smell familiar to me anymore. The pictures that remain on the walls have a family in them that I have trouble recognizing. Yet there I am, smiling out at the world, from the wall, not a care in the world, a Christmas card worthy picture of the 6 of us.
Feeling a little overly sentimental and nostalgic I head up the stairs to the girls rooms, we box and bag up their remaining things. I look at their curtains still hanging, that they had helped pick for their rooms, and the weight in my chest seems to shift to my stomach and I feel a little nauseous.
Separations are just plain difficult. It's been nearly 4 months since I knew things were unraveling on us, and even now the pain of it sometimes sneaks up and overtakes me. There are good moments now too though, in the new house, it really feels like my space. It has me written all over it. Romantic charm meets rugged meets French cottage. I love my new house. It's small and cozy. The girls and I all piled into the one chair that we have in the living room right now (with both dogs) to watch America's Funniest Videos the other night, and we laughed until our cheeks hurt.
As for him, I miss him. He seems different every time I see him now. It's hard to decide what is different and what is just things that I never noticed before. I am back to running this week, I am ready, need to feel the constant under my feet. The constant makes me feel alive.