Letting Go


My trip home to Tucson was remarkably healing.  I went home not knowing what feelings and emotions to expect as I had left so abruptly and unwillingly.  Every friend I visited added to my healing.  Every moment nothing short of what I needed.  I had friendships restored.  Picked up right where I left off with other friends.  Had conversations as blunt as the days I ran 20 training miles.  Anyone who has had the privilege to run 20 + miles at a time (especially in the heat) knows that delirium sets in and anything goes.  Think conversations about diarrhea, smelly vaginas, and then circle back to sexy talk about Channing Tatum.  I miss those frank discussions.   These are friends that love me for who I am and know they are safe to drop any nasty or colorful topic that has crossed their mind and I’ll reciprocate.  I love these women!  I had time with friends who spent hours helping me find direction and peace.  Who reassured me that I am indeed sane and normal but also gave me areas to work on.  Every day I was embraced in hugs, showered in tears of my own healing and the healing of others, and was in each moment a better person because of the people I am honored to have in my life.  I left Tucson feeling full.  Full of love.  Full of hope.  And full of the confidence I need to move forward.  I also left Tucson knowing that Portland is now my home.  Clarity hit me like a ton of bricks a million times this weekend but one specific moment made my life crystal clear.  Here’s a portion of the email I sent to Mark telling him about my experience.  *Note: ST is what we call our Tucson home we are selling.

I missed being able to talk and share with you the little moments I experienced and discovered today.  You really have become my very best friend and I love that!

Then lots of personal talk and a little Tucson love and a little Tucson bashing.  Beautiful night skies.  I do miss those.  I don’t miss the hard water or the desert.  Blah blah blah…

To close this long-winded, one sided conversation I want to tell you about our ST home.  It’s beautiful.  We did a really great job making that home.  Gorgeous.  Gorgeous.  Gorgeous.  But mostly what I saw were memories.  Distinct memories.  Memories of painting with the boys, taking them to our beach, having cookie parties, swimming, pulling J’s first tooth and P’s first success on his 5 dollar goodwill bike, the first day G came to live with us, talking with owls, sitting on the steps listening to S’s fears, and so many more.  And memories of us.  Nights spent on the deck under the stars, the spa under a full moon, double rainbows, New Year’s Eve, talks about losing religion, balls out fights, your 30th birthday party, poker with your brothers, and the final tears when we had to say goodbye.

That home, inside those walls, holds our story.  A love story so beautifully scripted that I think the walls were gifted our presence.  I hope those walls will learn a new love story and that the next family will find ST to be a home worthy of housing their memories.

It’s hard to let go.  In fact I would say it’s a visceral pain.  But today I cried because the memories were so perfectly beautiful.  I cried because time is slipping and our boys are growing up way too fast.  And I cried because I now recognize that ST is nothing more than where our stories were written.  It will likely be one of the best chapters we will ever write because in that home we became six.  We wrote chapters that helped us become who we are now.  But the story is still being written.  Just housed in new walls.  ST is now part of that memory.  An empty house.  Not a home.  Seeing it empty made me feel what my life would be like without you guys.  Completely void and empty.  Wherever you guys are is where my home is and where I want the next chapters of my story written.

I love you, madly.

And with that I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  As one of my favorite sayings goes, “To be rich in love is to be rich in life.”  In that case, I am the wealthiest woman alive.


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