Boxes Can Only Hold So Much

More Bubble Wrap for the Once Fragile

Oh,  how I adore this corner apartment with its rich character detail.   The high 20 ft ceilings, hardwood floors and skylights that had me gasping when I first came to see it three years ago.  I quickly found out through the landlord’s daughter that I was the fifth consecutive “Sarah” to reside here.  Even though it lacked a bathtub, I was able to turn a small room just up the top of the stairs into a meditation room which evened the scorecard.  After Coraline came to live with me, she fancied herself to look out the window in this small room to the far away yard below.  At which point, I would call her Diary of Anne Frank because I have an odd sense of humor. (and would add, back away if you see the Germans, Fraulein Coraline!)

I’m leaving this haven that has kept me safe during such a tormented time…and I am remembering the pain that I felt as I numbly moved everything in from a jarring  departure from Connecticut.  The boxes that have never been touched until yesterday.  Ones that were numbly placed in a back corner of closet.  I found a shoebox on top of a shelf containing a stack of condolence cards…more than half, the senders have been forgotten.  I wept this afternoon as I found  a copy of my Dad’s death certificate.  Finally, it was held in my hands and reviewed.  I learned from its content that he died ten minutes after his heart attack.

I called Patrick.  He responds, “Honey, let’s just stay there, I’ll move in with you.”  But I know this isn’t fair.  This place really isn’t big enough for two people and two dogs.  Patrick then says, “he would be so happy for us.  He would be so proud of you.”  This kind true man that I love, is right.

In a very short time, I will be moving in with Patrick.  Wait, he will be moving in with me.  Actually, we will both be moving in together into a new place.  Our little home with it’s own fireplace, hardwood floors and a half acre backyard that Coraline can go and run freely…with sweet little Delilah trying to catch up.

Tonight I was told that we will be having amazing dinners.  He said, “the nights you get off at 8pm and I’m off at 6pm, you’ll come home to something wonderful.”

They alway say that when it’s right, it’s just damn easy.   Even though his past time consists of home brewing beer and my mind likes to dabble in the power of Sanskrit chanting, we just utterly make sense.  We are excited about sitting on the front side porch or listening to my parents old copper water fountains in the back near the cobblestone path.  It will be nearly Christmas in thirty days so we are deciding now where best the tree should reside.  White sparkly lights will drape the front bushes and a new spruce wreath will hang from an already perfect red door.

We will invite good friends over like Cionna and her own Patrick or Melissa and Pank.  We will serve his beer and try to keep Coraline from jumping or Delilah from licking too much.

Books will be read upstairs while my mediation room will be in a new little cubby that I can walk in with ease.  Patrick has to duck his head and laughs that I don’t.  There’s a built in bench perfect for sitting, thinking, planning and wishing.

This new home will be decorated out of happiness vs the panic of running from such despair.

The landlord’s daughter also told me while giggling and tucking her head into a crooked elbow, “My dad says this is the honeymoon suite.  The Sarahs always leave and get married.”

They say popping the bubble wrap is the most fun.  You can pop it when it’s no longer needed.  Dad, I’m okay…pop away.

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1 Comment

  1. Kerry

     /  December 6, 2013

    I was just wandering the internet when I should be doing dishes and I was so happy to come across a new blog entry for you. This was lovely. Thank you for sharing. And your Dad would be so very happy for you and so proud of the person you are today. Love you!

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