I wrote this post nine years ago; it is from an old blog. We had been in Texas for one year, and I wrote it reflecting on that time, and am reposting it today.
One year ago today, we woke up 1,000 miles away, climbed into our family truckster, and rolled into Texas at 4 a.m. Because it was the beginning of April, we got into the car wearing winter jackets and shed them the second we exited the vehicle. We would not wear them much over the next year.
We walked up four flights of stairs (seriously?) to our temporary apartment. The girls and I had never been to the new digs, yet they felt oddly familiar as G.R. had lived there a few weeks, and Nora requested nightly tours via Skype.
The apartment was empty, save for unfamiliar furniture chosen by the relocation company. The fridge held no family pictures or funny magnets, and the counters were void of brightly colored preschool art. This space, ready-made for a family, felt like a stranger’s home.
I remember Nora running to the bedroom the girls would share, so she could finally lay eyes upon the Toy Story poster G.R. had hung up to welcome her, as seen during Skype sessions. Nora then spotted the surprise I had sent to the apartment; a stuffed unicorn that transformed into a sleeping bag for her to cuddle up in–-a meager offering. We had taken Nora out of preschool six weeks shy of her graduation ceremony, and moving our five-year-old away from her friends and family was by far the heaviest part of our move.
Arriving at this peculiar new place at 4 a.m. was too much. We glanced around, then somberly called it a night. G.R. spent that night in the girl’s room with Nora, and I brought the baby to bed in our new bedroom.
Hours later, we woke and began Day One because life consistently necessitates getting up and starting Day One. Whether it is a good or bad change, you put one foot in front of the other and figure out your new normal, and you have to start with Day One.
We do this after high school, after college graduation, when a relationship ends, when a job begins, the day after a loved one dies, and the day after a loved one is born. Mothers experience an especially emotional Day One when returning to work after maternity leave ends. The list goes on and on as all significant events bring a Day One.
The next morning, I remembered a poem we first heard at our dear friends’ wedding, The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer.
My first act of self-comfort was to pour over the poem while drinking my morning coffee.
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
G.R. and I were in it alone, both together and separately, for the first time.
Three-hundred-sixty-five days later, I look back now and have such a tender heart for those people starting Day One.
There were lonely moments during the long hot summer, where few people left their A/C and came out of their houses. There were exhausting efforts placed in putting ourselves out there to meet other people. There was stress as we built and moved into a new home. Oh, and our baby girl had major surgery that year. Because, why not?
I chose to ‘fake it till you make it’ and set out to be happy. Which meant endlessly chasing opportunities to create a life for my disoriented family, mostly because it was my only option.
Some days, I won. I pushed myself beyond my limits, and the prize was meeting new people. My little family was good about looking to the light. We laughed at our misadventures and found a new place to eat Sunday morning pancakes. We joined a small group and bought warm weather clothes. We breathed Texas in with pure relief. We glimpsed how this would come together and be our home. Some days, I failed miserably at staying positive. Feeling lonely and unseen, I blasted Raffi, Elmo, Laurie Berkner, or a vacation bible school soundtrack in the car to distract Nora from hearing me cry.
There were many rough days. Once, Evie’s tiny hand discovered a Wendy’s napkin near her rear-facing car seat, and I only found out that she had been silently choking when Nora noticed and cried out. I pulled over and experienced a scary minute that lasted for years while I worked at pulling it out with my hand with 911 opened on my cell. On another fun day, Nora smacked her head on a water slide, and the lifeguard had the entire Lifetime pool shut down in one heartbeat. An ambulance came, chaos surrounded me, and there were no friends to make me feel less alone while people’s stares burned a hole in my soul, or to hold my baby as I signed papers with a shaky hand.
During those days, I/we gave up. I went home and watched every season of Mad Men while the girls napped or played upstairs; sometimes, you need to wallow for a moment, but we never camped out in the sadness.
Who knows what day it became official, but one day, faking it stopped, and we had made it.
I am sharing our story knowing that some of you started a massive Day One this past year. Know that I see you, and I know it feels overwhelming. But also know that I do not doubt that you will, no matter the outcome, survive and thrive.
Like us, you will step through each day, one by one until you finally reach the one-year-out mark. And when you finally take a second to look behind you, you will see the sacred trail of resilience that stretches out for miles and days.
As we transplanted from the north to the south, I also learned lighter things:
When you want to say something mean about a person, but still appear kind because you’re a Christian and a lady, you say bless her heart! Example: ‘Well bless her heart, doesn’t she have quite the assortment of short, tight dresses?’
I have learned that fire ants hurt like a b*tch, coyotes are just a thing people live amongst, june bugs hit your face really hard, and that, if it snows, you can use wool socks on your kids’ hands and let them sled down hills in a laundry basket.
Evie as a toddler, cruising along in a laundry basket. For someone who had never been in a sled, this seemed reasonable.
And I have learned that, if my husband comes home anytime in the next decade to tell me it is time for a relocation, I am going to look him straight in the eye and say, ‘Bless your heart, you are so funny!’
If you are on your Day One, keep on keeping on!
Our little Texas Bluebonnets are now 13 and 9.