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Empty moving boxes help let go of the past
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Moving boxes waiting for the next transition
Last week I placed an ad on Craig's List to get rid of the profusion of boxes and packing material left over from my latest transition -- my move back to Colorado from a temporary state of being in the East. An abundance of bubble wrap, packing paper and brand-new boxes had nowhere to go except to the recycling center, so I figured I'd advertise and give them away to people who might need them.
The first woman who called came out right away and loaded her mini-van with as many boxes as she could. She was reluctant at first to tell me her plans. To be friendly, I had asked where she was going. Finally, she disclosed to me, "My husband and I are separating."
I wished her luck.
The next woman who came to collect boxes also told me she and her husband were getting a divorce. "I'm sorry," I told her. "I've been through it myself." She mentioned she had a high school-aged child at home still, and she was concerned that the father might get custody. "Been there and done that too," I said.
Moving boxes symbolize the change in our lives as we locate from place to place, taking with us the things we accumulate from one relationship to another. I am just one person now -- no husband, no children at home -- so why did it take a semi and an expensive moving company to transfer me and my "stuff" from Ohio to Colorado to the tune of more than $9,000? You'd think one person doesn't need to possess so much, that life could be simpler.
We develop relationships not only with people, but with the places in which we live. When I left my beautiful property in Colorado in 2007 and moved to southeastern Ohio for the sake of my husband's health, it was traumatic. For one thing, leaving Colorado was not something at the top of my list. Although our new woods property near the Ohio River was stunningly beautiful and green, I made up my mind I was not going to bond with the area. I knew my husband was dying, and I'd already decided I would return to Colorado after his passing. As a result I became somewhat of a recluse and purposely didn't make many friends.
Yet when he made his transition last September, and the house went immediately up for sale, I began to realize how fond I was of our home in the woods. Much to my consternation, something had happened in the two-year "temporary" period that actually made it hard for me to leave, after the property sold six months later, and I was faced with the major transition of relocating back to the Southwest.
My husband and I had accumulated things in that time, including new furniture we had picked out together, and somehow getting rid of everything was like giving up a piece of him. I did not want to let go. Of course some things gave me no choice. For instance, the 35-ft. travel trailer he lived in when he met me, was something I had to sacrifice for the sake of practicality. Yet it tore me apart when I sold it and watched someone haul it away. All his tools in the garage were of no use to me, so I had a garage sale.
As much as I wanted to return to Colorado, it suddenly seemed heart-wrenching to leave those 75 acres in which I'd spent the last two years with my soul mate. Along with the obvious challenges of watching him deteriorate, we'd had happy times there. We'd loved and laughed. Even in his final days, I loved him as much -- if not more -- than when I first knew him.
Transition often leaves us caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. We don't want to let go of the goodness in our relationships, yet we very much want to get over the bitterness. In my case, leaving Ohio would disassociate me with the pain of sickness and death. A new beginning in Colorado would enable me to move on with my life and begin new relationships -- with new friends, a new community, a new work situation perhaps.
Divorce, in many ways, is like death. Separation becomes necessary at times, when we come to that point in a relationship where we stop growing. Sometimes we've accomplished what we set out to do with a partner and it's simply time to move on to something else. In order for both of you to grow, you must go your separate ways. The same occurs with widowhood, although in some cases the relationship is not "over," it merely shifts dimensions.
That is what happened in my case. You see, no one actually dies. My husband and I prepared for his transition many months in advance. We knew it was inevitable, even early in our relationship, that the day would come when he would leave me. The beauty of it remains... he hasn't really left me. I feel him nearby and he actually demonstrates to me, from time to time, that he is beside me still, watching over me and tending to things that the ordinary person might take for granted. Every so often I'll notice something... a song playing when I least expect it... or the blinking of a light... and because I'm aware, I recognize the signs of his communication with me.
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There is no reason to let go of everything, which is why I have so many moving boxes left. I have filled my Southwest home with many reminders of the wonderful times we had together. It was important to surround myself, in my new home, with memories of my loved one and to include a few tokens from our home there as well. By taking pieces from our former relationships, we preserve the good things we derived from them, and incorporate them into our Total Being -- who we truly are.
Just because you have experienced transition in your life does not mean you need to completely disown the past. Even in the worst situations, something has occurred in the experience that is of value because it has had something to teach you. By acknowledging it with gratitude, you can gently bring closure to whatever the situation was, and move on, taking only the parts with you that serve you.
Maybe it's a good idea not to give all of those moving boxes away. I think I'll store some of them in my attic for the day when change once more embraces my life, because I know -- from experience -- that the one thing in life we can count on is change.
For more info: Proper sympathy card etiquette (from Monica's Flowers and Gifts)
Quote: "Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, Love leaves lives a memory no one can steal." (from a headstone in an Irish cemetery)
An Angel Among Us Departs (from the October 2008 Star Beacon)
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