Starting to Lift

Melvin on moving day.
I cried when he sought the farthest corner of the porch and just sat there, looking lost and sad.

These pictures of Melvin and Rudy (below) capture the sadness, loss, and emptiness I have experienced in recent weeks. I am starting to feel better, well enough to write again. But what kind of writer would I be if I glossed over this huge life event and just moved on to the next thing? Selling 110 Lamont Drive was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I bought that house in 1994 and spent the last 16 years pouring my heart into it. I painted it, refinished the floors, furnished it, added the back porch, renovated the kitchen, updated the bathroom, added the plantation shutters, landscaped it, re-roofed it, re-wired it, replaced the heating and air, the water heater, sewer line, and water pipes. I filled the attic, closets, and cupboards with 16 years of memories. I buried my beloved cat, Teddie in the backyard. I hosted many Thanksgiving dinners for my family in that house, including my father who is now deceased. I threw countless tennis balls for Melvin there -- many of them still lost in the shrubbery. I made a life for myself in that house. It was gut-wrenching to leave. It's hard to think about it without tears welling up. Loss. Grief. Sadness. That's what I'm experiencing. It feels bad for a time, but it will lift. . . is already starting to lift.

Rudy on moving day.

I don't like this picture of me, but that's how I looked at the end of this ordeal.
Tired, heavy, and sad.