Julia and I will be starting a new year, and I guess a new life, in this house. We sold ours, by some miracle of God (or St. Joseph), in the rough Florida real estate market and we're moving back to Charleston after Christmas.
It's what I've been wanting since shortly after Mike died -- to be back in the place we considered "home," where we were surrounded by friends and fun and good memories. But now that it's becoming a reality, I'm starting to get nervous.
Mike and I bought our house when I was four months pregnant. We couldn't wait to move in and get things set up for the newest member of our little family. It's the place we brought our baby home from the hospital and sat around looking at her thinking, "Now what do we do?" It's the only home Julia has known and it's the home where Mike and I lived together the longest.
I have a job here with flexible hours and good health insurance. I have a few really good friends here. Like my friend Sara, who came to the hospital when my daughter was born and was there for me when my husband died. That's a lifelong kind of friend.
But it's also here where I feel like I'm moving through mud. Where I keep thinking Mike might walk through the door around 8 o'clock for dinner. Where I sometimes look over my shoulder at work thinking I might see him at his desk. It's where Mike was sick and where he died.
I'm not foolish enough to think that moving to a different house in a different town is going to magically make me feel better. But I think it will help for me to be surrounded by people who loved me and Mike and who can make sure Julia knows what a good man her dad was.
I don't have a job there. And that's ok. For now. I'm going to stay home with Julia for a little while so we can adjust to our new surroundings and routine. We've had a rough couple of years, and I'm looking forward to taking a break.
But it's so scary making such a major decision without Mike. And part of me feels like I'm betraying him by trying to move on. I sure hope I'm doing the right thing.
I keep turning to the Bible verse that our friend Monty read at Mike's memorial service. He told me his pastor called it the West Virginia Psalm because it talks about the mountains, so he chose it because he knows how much that means to me.
I lift up my eyes to the mountains -- where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip -- he who watches over you will not slumber;
Indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you -- the Lord is the shade at your right hand.
The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm -- he will watch over your life.
The Lord will watch over your coming and going, both now and forever more.
Psalm 121