The Move

Just today a friend told me about a king who wanted to know what made happy people sad and sad people happy. Spoiler alert: thinking about how "this too shall pass." And so my initially happy marriage ended after 20 years when my husband realized we were incompatible and did not want my input on the matter. He told our teenagers on our anniversary, a couple days after we celebrated with them and his parents.

He moved out soon after and took only what he wanted, leaving me with a full house of possessions as mementos. Our silver wedding anniversary was officially ignored by all involved. Even the lawyers forgot. But then he started dating. I knew this because suddenly the divorce process moved forward. By that time it was abundantly clear that the debts we had acquired due to medical issues and bad business practices were way beyond our means. We had looked into bankruptcy, but neither of us wanted to go that route, and we felt there was another way out: sell the house.

I wanted to move anyway. It was frankly too hard to manage the house. The kids were gone and I was alone in a five bedroom house with front and back yards with lawns to mow and no money to hire help. After my husband left I had started the process of downsizing by getting rid of his stuff. I actually packed things up for him and asked my son to deliver them on his visits there. It took some time, and I still find things of his here and there. But there were three other people who also had lived in the house and left their belongings there, and the financial pressure to sell the house increased with the interest on the credit cards. I was overwhelmed. Every day I put time into decluttering, and frequently cried myself to sleep at the end of the day. It felt endless and I didn't know if I could pull it off. But I had to.

I was raised in a family that is very independent-minded. We were raised to be self-sufficient. We were always willing to help each other, but we never wanted to ask for help. So it never even occurred to me to ask. Additionally, I am the youngest in a large family. The brother who lives closest to me is almost 20 years older, and I am no longer young. So it really didn't occur to me to ask for help. I kept it to myself. But then God gave me the biggest break of my life - one ankle and the other foot!

One of my first calls was to let my brother and his wife know what happened - I'll spare you the details of the freak accident. I was able to put slight weight on one foot in order to transfer between bed and rollator, and so was able to remain at home. But essentially I could do nothing but very basic self-care. Neighbors and friends came out of nowhere and brought me prepared meals. This is stunning in and of itself, but what has really amazed me is my brother and his wife. Since that first week they have driven 45 minutes or more (depending on traffic) to help me for one day a week almost every single week. My ankle did not require surgery, but it was broken in a serious way and took months to become functional. I still have trouble going down stairs.

It has been five months since my big break, and real estate and divorce contracts are now realities. My brother and sister-in-law are still helping. To them it is not that big a deal. Their help has included painting, minor home repairs, yard work, cooking, preparing boxes of charitable goods and then dropping them off, paper shredding and lugging things up and down the stairs. It's true that none of the particular chores is very difficult, but what they have done for me is more than the sum of its parts. They took me from a place of depression to one of hope and love. They saw what I needed and stepped in to care for me. They did what I asked after they taught me that it was okay to ask. There is no way I can repay them for this nurturing. This writing is my grateful tribute to them!