homesick

I stoop to unpack yet another box of books.

They are endless, no? Despite the overflowing bags we ran back and forth from the secondhand store in the days before we left, I am still faced with more pages than I will ever read, and now I have to find room for them here, in this full-but-empty second floor.

I am tired of unpacking.

This move has left gaping holes in my life, and it feels that with each new shelf and space I fill with things, my heart gets a little bit emptier.

Every book gets heavier, bearing with it the weight of all that was and never will be again.

It’s not easy, this making a house a home. A home is not made with full shelves and fresh curtains, no matter how many hours they took this beginner to sew. I’m homesick in the most basic understanding of the word – I miss home, my home, the physical space where so much good grew every day.

The other morning, I woke up – sun streaming through the window above our bed and I was completely, utterly disoriented. I blinked my eyes, thinking for those few brief seconds between asleep and awake that the walls beside me were once again soft green, and the earthy leaf-strewn curtains were hanging to my right, the way they did in our little 900 square feet on Sloan Road.

But when I was fully awake, senses stunned and mind a-flutter, reality provided its unnecessary check.

4 months ago, I fell in love with this new house. The original doorknobs and scuffed up hardwood floors, the once-warming radiators that now sit silent, the sun-filtering stained glass windows and the seeming expansive space that I was certain would be home to many a spilled glass of wine, nights of endless laughter, new friends and old gathered around our table.

Those things have yet to happen, which of course is not necessarily a bad thing – just different. Everything about this place is different.

I do have faith that our little house, with its creaky wooden floors and seeming lack of insulation, will soon feel like home. But in this still-busy season of dinners spent curled up on the couch rather than surrounded by everyone we love, it still feels empty.