This weekend was tremendously stressful. On Saturday, I handed over all my papers and got the keys to my new apartment (soon to be shared with Hanna) and shuttled boxes all day. My mom is also moving out and she was trying to get all of her stuff out of the house as quick as she could also. It was a long day and it was cold. My arms, legs, and back all hurt like crazy. Fortunately for my mom and I, the rush of getting out of the house overshadowed the emotional side of it all.
It wasn’t our family home. It was the house my mom moved into after my dad died and she couldn’t afford our big house. Maureen had already moved on, so we were already 2 family members down when we moved in. For me, it was an in-betweener house for school breaks and summers. I never got really attached to it, but I still liked it. I liked that it brought me to a different community than the people I had grown up with.
I was the last one to leave the house. I had planned to get a move on right after college, but then my study abroad drained me financially so I stayed there to save enough money to move out. But then I couldn’t find a real job anywhere and ended up working 2 jobs that still didn’t pay me enough to afford rent anywhere else. I also liked living with my mom. I didn’t like her choices a lot of the time, but my mom and I are still close regardless of what has happened.
The weird thing now is that I don’t even have a home to go back to. I have my own place, my mom is in her own place, and all my family is scattered. We don’t have a home base anymore.
I’m glad to be moving on and living like a person instead of holing up in my room and sleeping in a nest of Taco Bell bags and empty wine bottles but I’ll miss the feeling of returning home.