Downside Up

In April my landlord informed me he was going to put the duplex I live in up for sale. Once sold, I will have 60 days to move out. I knew I eventually needed to downsize for senior housing but expected to have probably a year to a year and a half before doing so. Hopefully by then said housing would become available. I was shaken by the brevity of time confronting me. Shaken and traumatized because I’m not near the top of either of the two waitlists I qualify for.

The very next day after being informed, a relator came to look at my side of the duplex. Still reflecting a life prepared for exuberant visits from two grandboys, quilt making, and online art classes, my home looked nowhere near being staged for sale. A colorful tent stood happily in the dining room; a pile of beloved stuffed animals hid under a bench below a window; sewing and art supplies loomed under the pass-through opening to the kitchen; an ironing board claimed space against a wall leading to my office while a picture nearby sported a bullseye for nerf guns. I had thought I had time; he thought I needed the help of a downsize professional.

My world suddenly felt turned upside down.

Immediately kicking into gear, my family stepped in. Within two days my son and daughter-in-law showed up to help reduce my library to less than one shelf of books. It was made less painful because my daughter-in-law allowed me to hold each precious book, remembering how much I had enjoyed reading it before placing it in one of the seven bags headed for donation. They loaded the bags into the back of their GMC Yukon, along with my huge stack of no longer listened to CDs and drove away. The next day she sent me information about a church-run thrift store that would send a truck to pick up a load of giveaways. The grandson who took care of me during my two hip surgeries came within days to help me begin the huge task of sorting through belongings. By Good Friday I had enough done for a truck to come to empty nearly half a garage full of my stuff.

My daughter and her husband came to talk about the possibility of me moving into their small house after they move to his deceased parents’ larger home on the other side of town. Scheduled to happen sometime mid-August, timing is everything. They are basically tearing things down to studs, re-tiling, replacing cabinets, floors and windows. Consequently, their timing needs to coincide with when I'm given 60 days’ notice to move out of my duplex. If they are not able to fully move out in time for me to move in, I will have no place to go. For me, it’s like seeing light at the end of the tunnel but not sure if it’s daylight or a train.

I need to make peace with whatever my future holds. I have experienced trauma many times. Each time I had to choose between focusing on pending darkness and possible light. Each time I chose to focus on the light of hope, of trust in long-term relief and recompense. Flipping the scenarios to possibilities, I choose to know wherever I land I will make a nest filled with warmth. Things aren’t upside down; the downside is UP—happily, I’m scaling back incredibly fast!