Leaving it all behind and starting new
- Melissa Herrera: Not Waiting for Friday
- December 17, 2023
- 3733
Life spins and spits us out, most days treating us kindly, some days chewing us up. We’ve lived a simple life here on the edge of Berlin at the little in-need-of-work home we bought nearly 28 years ago — the one that perpetually needed care. But I’ve always known we wouldn’t be here forever. George came to live here in Berlin with me nearly 35 years ago, and while he’s made himself at home, the notion to uproot and move somewhere else always called him.
And why wouldn’t we do that? How could I expect him to stay content when he uprooted his whole life for me? I can only give back to him what he gave to me, preparing myself for this moment. The past several years, I’ve moved through my home silently, talking to her, letting her know we were readying to leave her. It sounds silly, sentimental even, but the happiness of those I love the most are more important than anything I could feel for a small-framed home in the country, despite all the love we felt here.
So with bated breath and excitement coursing through us, we’re moving! We’ve sold our home here in Holmes County to good folks and purchased a new-to-us home (built in 1921) in a nearby city we love. She’s solid and sturdy with all the curves I need in a house: good woodwork, a long-anticipated fireplace and a deep porch for sitting. She’s not home yet, but she will be.
I’ve been taking down pictures off my walls and sorting through the paraphernalia that comes with longtime residency. I’ve been wrapping and tossing and boxing and crying. They’re cleansing tears, ones that let you know you’re still alive, ones that let you know you are not dormant and are actively working to make decisions that will make your life better. After George experienced his heart attack, living to see many more days, we knew it was time to downsize and make life simpler. Our hours are not guaranteed, and we wanted to do this now while we could still do it together.
Right now our home is overflowing with the untidy boxes of life, the mementos we keep and hoard, so we don’t forget. Much of it can be tossed, and I’m fervently working to be militant in what I take and what I give away. I have an entire section of the upstairs devoted to what my kids can go through and take when they arrive home for Christmas, the last one we will spend together in this home that raised them, heard their secrets, absorbed their tears. I’ve been sorting through boxes I brought home after Mom died, deciding that maybe the kids would want a few more pieces of her. I don’t need them all.
I will continue to write this column because it brings me happiness. I love sharing about my life with chosen words and thoughts. And for the many of you that stop me in the store just to tell me you read my column every week, I’m continuing because of you. Knowing you’re out there reading what I have to say, opening the pages of this newspaper every week, well, that keeps me going.
Maybe I won’t run into you as often at the local markets and thrift stores or hear those beeps when many of you drive by our house, but I’ll be back. I can’t live without a Der Bake Oven cream stick for very long, nor our very well-stocked thrift stores, which are the best anywhere. Holmes County will always be home, and most of my family still lives here, especially my grandkids. But we won’t be far away, just far enough for a new start — hopefully more frequent trips to Mexico to help his parents as they age and weather life’s tribulations. There’s so much more to do, and leaving this home of ours behind — and heading to the next phase — is an important next step. We had reached the end of our time here, and we knew this.
I’ve been listening intently to this old home of ours, whispering softly to her as I work, each corner known to me like the creases in the corner of George’s eyes. I remember the way my mom would go to Berlin after they sold their home just to drive slowly by and look at the old house. I believe her heart broke every time she did. I will know the feeling now, Mom, and I also know why you had to sell and move on.
You couldn’t take all the beautiful gardens you poured your entire soul into, the home you loved so much, but you did pass starts of those gardens on to me and so many others. I have now taken a start of each one of them, and as I type this, they are planted securely in pots and tucked into my car, ready to travel to new soil. We may leave beloved places behind, their echoes ringing in our ears far longer than they should, but we take a small part of them with us wherever we go.
Melissa Herrera is a published author and opinion columnist. She is a curator of vintage mugs and all things spooky, and her book, “TOÑO LIVES,” can be found at www.tinyurl.com/Tonolives. For inquiries, to purchase her book or anything else on your mind, email her at junkbabe68@gmail.com or find her in the thrift aisles.