So many “moving days” flash through my mind like a slideshow in an old Kodak carousel.
Up to this point, moving days that I recall have been full of happy memories.
My nervous anticipation as I unpacked my little red car to move into my first college dorm room. And the bittersweet excitement I felt when MacGyver and I left my hometown in our little Budget rent-a-truck as newlyweds to drive 1500 miles away and start our life together.
My overflowing sense of pride as we moved into the first little house we purchased years later, and the unbound joy we felt as we brought our babies home from the hospital and moved them into their newly decorated little rooms.
I can also envision moving my kids to their own college dorm rooms in the not-so-distant future, as hard as that is to believe. Just imagining how bittersweet that will feel puts a lump in my throat.
So many moving days filled warm, bittersweet feelings.
Then there’s tomorrow. A move-in day I hadn’t really ever imagined, mostly out of denial. The day I move my Mom into a nursing home.
A wonderful, safe and perfect place for her. But a nursing home no less.
She doesn’t recognize me much any more and her head has started to hang lower as if her little neck muscles are starting to give up, so I don’t think she will be sad about the move. Correction: I pray that she will not be sad, or give me that far-away, but at the same time, not-so-far-away look in her deep, beautiful, soulful brown eyes.
Our roles have now reversed. And as such, I have written her name in Sharpie on the labels of all of her clothes and towels as I have packed them for her moving day. As if I’m getting ready to take her to camp tomorrow.
It’s all very surreal in so many ways, as the snow spins in the wind outside my window this first day of May.
A new and different kind of ‘moving day’ indeed.