The Anguish of Moving

How hard it is to leave one part of life behind and to really embrace the new chapter and the future? 

When I have the answer of how to close the door on the past and block open the door to the future, I will let you know. But until then, I am racking up frequent flyer miles on the rollercoaster of turmoil on my mental, emotional and physical states. 

The drive home, to either SoDak or Canuckland, is filled with regret, dread, guilt, happiness, loyalty, sadness and a few more that refuse to be identified. 

To be honest, I haven’t given up my dream of taking over the family farm even though the current outlook says that will never happen. Issues with estate planning and plans for transition between the generations so far have my farming future locked up in ‘it will never happen’ land.

I feel guilty that I’m gone, moved away and starting a new life with my amazing hubby; leaving my dad to deal with the trials of farming in general but also to wrestle with the trials of ‘farming’ with someone who thinks they’re ‘still farming.’ Unfortunately, the past becomes more of the present for my grandpa and his ‘solid, good business and farming practices’ are grounded in the reality of the past. Frustrating would be an understatement.   

Coming home to my parents’ place is truly coming home with the rolling hills calling to me and the constant wind hugging me in welcome. Stepping inside the house is another matter. I’m now a stranger to the home where, so far, I’ve lived all my life. My old room feels strange but it calls to me to embrace the comforts and security of a recent past. It signifies my life before my hubby. My home in Canuckland signifies my life now with my hubby. Each ‘life’ hits pause when I leave one to go to resume the other. I can’t bear to pack up the happy, memorable remains of my life before getting married. I’m not ready to do it. Some would say my subconscious isn’t ready to fully commit to life in Canuckland. Yes, that would be partly true. The other half I’d say is family loyalty. My dad never had a son to even think of passing the farm on to but there’s me. The guilt that I’m leaving my dad, every time (to return to Canuckland), to do all the work of farming by himself, is overwhelming. I don’t know how to NOT feel guilty. Every time I come back I work hard to do little things here and there so that maybe a few things are just a little easier for him. I work hard enough that by the time I return to Canuckland I’m tired, cranky with dealing the past’s emotions and need sleep like a bear hibernating in winter. My family in Canuckland like to tease that I’m on vacation every time I go home but in reality I’m working, visiting friends and family and running errands to keep this life in shape and ready to hit pause when I leave. 

The pain, the sadness that I feel every time I drive away and watch the farm grow tiny in my rearview mirror drowns me. I love my family and being close to them and seeing them all the time. I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d move so far away and not be able to call my grandma up and ask if she’d like to go for coffee. I indulge in this for about an hour and then I tell myself to ‘buck up, buttercup.’ After all, I am a Marine, I refuse to wallow or let anything get me down for long. Yes, you could point out that’s exactly what I’m doing right now, letting the past get me down. I’d then have to say that when there’s the finality of closure, even then, the past will always be there with a haunting echo much like ‘Taps’ drifting across the cemetery on Memorial day.