Almost There

It’s two weeks before moving day. After several months of sorting and packing I’m almost ready, almost there. In my 13^th year of residency, I knew it was going to happen sooner than later when my landlord informed me that he was putting the duplex in which we both live up for sale. Once sold I would have 60 days in which to vacate. Six and a half weeks ago he decided to issue me the 60-day notice even though the duplex had not, and still hasn’t, sold. For this I was unprepared.

My landlord is a good man. In the 12+ years I’ve lived here he has never raised my rent, which includes water, garbage service, wi-fi, and tv reception, effectively making my housing affordable. For this I remain grateful—it provided me a quiet place to heal gently from a troubled and hurtful marriage with a man with whom I’d spent 17 years. So, I hold no negative feelings for my landlord regarding the abruptness of his decision. However, the effect was upsetting, upending the comfortable headway I was making towards downsizing and relocation—which had remained undecided up until that point.

Neither of the two senior housing complexes that I qualify for is available to me yet (I’m somewhere in the top third of both waitlists). Mercifully, the small house owned by my daughter and her husband, where they live with their two boys, is going to become available close to the time I need to be out of my duplex. Operative words: close to. Herein lies the source of ongoing stress and anxiety that has vexed me during the short weeks before my 60-day notice runs its course.

Under their own deadlines related to moving into their new, older house built in the early 60’s by my daughter’s husband’s grandfather, unexpected disruptions and delays pushed close to out to maybe—and maybe pushed me into near panic. I have no choice: I have to be completely out of my duplex by September 1. Also, there were water issues in the small house. Consequently, I ordered delivery of a POD in which I could store all my belongings monthly. A friend living one county over offered to let me stay with her during that time. However, she will be moving to Arizona in October. The fluids in my stomach started having a jamboree.

My one-county-over friend, who has been coming as she can on weekends to help me pack, was here last weekend. I came across two little butterfly figurines with statements written on their bases. Not bothering to read them, I offered her first choice; I would keep whichever one was left. Hers read, Your dreams are coming true. How fitting! Her move to Arizona signals new beginnings after the tragic death of her husband two years ago. I was startled, then comforted, laughing as I read mine, also fitting, so fitting: One day at a time.

I canceled the POD yesterday. My daughter needs me to start paying rent in September due to the two mortgages they now owe. One way or another my belongings will go there. Family stands ready to help with the 10-ft U-Haul I rented for the weekend. I’m almost there.