The part about wondering where your belongings ended up hits hard, friend. About a year ago, my father unceremoniously showed up at my office to dump five boxes of "our" stuff outside of my truck, only letting me know when he left the parking lot: family pictures, Christmas decorations, and random things from my childhood room, haphazardly thrown in torn boxes and dumped outside. Thank god for my brother-in-law, who was able to help me load everything into two trucks and decide whose storage it was going to. But there is still so much at the house I grew up in that I wonder about. My grandmother's heirloom dining room set, the pawprint of Moo, my suitcases, and photos that adorned my room. I didn't know I wasn't ever returning to that "home" again, or at least to the home I left. It's been a cruel uprooting, and I'm so grateful I'm strong enough to stay steady. These are the parts of life we don't talk about, though, you know? The parts of life we hide because we're embarrassed, ashamed, or otherwise unable to word appropriately. I've learned that home is a feeling, and I'm grateful I have that feeling in so many aspects of my life, but mainly in myself.
It's heartbreaking, hearing you know this feeling all too well. It's such a difficult thing to reconcile and all the unanswered questions surrounding the things you held dear being suddenly gone... it's a loss, nonetheless. We *should* talk about it more, if only to not feel so alone in the feelings. <3
The part about wondering where your belongings ended up hits hard, friend. About a year ago, my father unceremoniously showed up at my office to dump five boxes of "our" stuff outside of my truck, only letting me know when he left the parking lot: family pictures, Christmas decorations, and random things from my childhood room, haphazardly thrown in torn boxes and dumped outside. Thank god for my brother-in-law, who was able to help me load everything into two trucks and decide whose storage it was going to. But there is still so much at the house I grew up in that I wonder about. My grandmother's heirloom dining room set, the pawprint of Moo, my suitcases, and photos that adorned my room. I didn't know I wasn't ever returning to that "home" again, or at least to the home I left. It's been a cruel uprooting, and I'm so grateful I'm strong enough to stay steady. These are the parts of life we don't talk about, though, you know? The parts of life we hide because we're embarrassed, ashamed, or otherwise unable to word appropriately. I've learned that home is a feeling, and I'm grateful I have that feeling in so many aspects of my life, but mainly in myself.
It's heartbreaking, hearing you know this feeling all too well. It's such a difficult thing to reconcile and all the unanswered questions surrounding the things you held dear being suddenly gone... it's a loss, nonetheless. We *should* talk about it more, if only to not feel so alone in the feelings. <3