We are moving in 13 days. There is so much to be done, we have too much stuff that we only become aware we have when we are moving. We spend more time making lists than either of us are used to. We have pages and pages and pages of lists. This morning we got up really early so that Joe could drop me off on the way to work and make it up to meet the painters in plenty of time.
Yep, we have painters and we have movers. We are 64 year old men, both with disabilities, both who know exactly what we can and cannot do. Younger people can do what we can’t, why not let them? So what’s left is the packing, the organizing, the changing of everything. Addresses, cable and Internet, mail, driver’s licenses – yikes.
Part of our task, is to slowly separate ourselves from living where we love to live. That was made a bit easier when I took a pretty serious fall in the bathroom. My shoulders and side still hurt a lot. It was instantly clear why we needed to uproot ourselves and get into an accessible space. But, then, even with that, we are having spasms of anxiety about life now and life after and how we will adapt.
It’s normal I suppose.
I told Joe that one of the things that I think about is the fact that we have an accessible back porch/deck and there is a ramp down to the grass in the back yard. I picture that ramp. That ramp says something to me: “You are welcome here. We planned for you. We intended for you to be here.”
Architecture can speak, did you know that?
It can forbid entrance.
It can welcome in.
It’s time to feel welcome in our own home.