Jennifer Lambert

A Sacred Balance

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Regret

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What is your greatest regret?

Does it keep you awake at night?

Do you regret that romantic encounter?

Do you regret something you said?

Do you have regrets for others? Secondhand embarrassment is real and I suffer.

We usually regret something left undone, rarer the accomplished tasks.

What derailed your dreams?

Where did your intention go?

Who failed you?

Do you fear?

Are you angry?

Do you hear?

Listen.

Your walls are ever before me.

Isaiah 49:16

Walls are a protective shield. They’re not necessarily good or bad. They’re neutral.

I have built up more walls than I care to think about.

I build them up. I tear them down. I build them back up.

God tears them down. People knock and try to peer inside.

I build a wall of fear.

I build a wall of distrust.

I build a wall of doubt.

I build a wall of low self-esteem.

I build a wall of anger.

I build a wall of grief.

I’m tired of walls.

When I began blogging back in about 2005, it was more a scrapbook our homeschooling.

We have evolved and come full circle and continue to grow in our family and homeschooling journey.

When I began homeschooling, I had no idea the heartache and challenges and soul-swelling that I would undergo as I learned to step back and watch my kids explore in spite of me and my trauma.

I live in that liminal space between hope and despair, clarity and confusion, resolve and surrender.

Amazingly, I am able to recognize and catch glimpses of harmony in the hell that is military life and the thanklessness of being a housewife and parenting teens.

The zen view is something you glimpse in passing and that comes as a surprise—to wake you to the moment and a flash of hidden truth.

Rivvy Neshama

The last few years could have broken me had I not stepped back to see a bigger picture. I had to learn not to take things personally. I have had to re-parent myself. I have had to give myself timeouts and rest and relearn and shut my mouth. I had to be alone in my grief and work it out inside myself.

After years of survival mode, I suddenly felt lost and alone and almost at rest, so there was too much time to think, feel, wonder, regret.

I had to set hard boundaries with my parents and they stopped communicating with me altogether.

My eldest child and therapist asked me why I stay with my husband. It surely seems like an easy question from young, single, independent women. I have never been that.

I feel that I failed my eldest child all her life, and recently she moved out and quit college. What could I have done better, more, different – to set her up for success? What will her future hold now? She’s had COVID twice. She has so many financial worries that I didn’t want her to experience.

I’m twice divorced from abusive men. I escaped. I don’t know if I would have had the strength merely to save myself. I rescued my daughter. There were situations no one can understand but me.

This man is not abusive. He’s neglectful. He’s often thoughtless. I feel I change and evolve and grow while he is stagnant. There are way worse sins than being boring.

We have history. We have duty.

We share eighteen years of highs, lows, depths, cross-country moves, deployments, births, deaths, sickness, pain, joy.

Our society encourages everything and everyone to be disposable.

I’ll stay and wait and see what’s next.

I don’t like the alternatives.

She had always thought that exquisitely happy time at the beginning of her relationship…was the ultimate, the feeling they’d always be trying to replicate, to get back, but now she realized that was wrong. That was like comparing sparkling mineral water to French champagne. Early love is exciting and exhilarating. It’s light and bubbly. Anyone can love like that. But love after [four] children, after a separation and a near-divorce, after you’ve hurt each other and forgiven each other, bored each other and surprised each other, after you’ve seen the worst and the best—well, that sort of a love is ineffable. It deserves its own word…It was so good to find that their relationship could keep on changing, finding new edges.

Liane Moriarty

I know under certain circumstances I had so few good choices and I chose what I felt was best at the time. I might even choose the same again if I could go back with what I know now. Who knows?

This is who I am and those choices molded me into this person. Do I really want to be someone else?

I can’t continue to twist and turn and lie awake at night in anxiety of what I should have done, should have said. It’s over and done and there’s no going back. We have to keep moving forward. We have to seek the blessings and stand firm on hallowed ground.

One should hallow all that one does in one’s natural life. One eats in holiness, tastes the taste of food in holiness, and the table becomes an altar. One works in holiness, and raises up the sparks which hide themselves in all tools. One walks in holiness across the fields, and the soft songs of all herbs, which they voice to God, enter into the song of our soul.

Martin Buber

I count the summers, months, days that I have with my three kids still living at home. It’s not enough! I want to go back and be kinder, nicer, more loving, patient. I want to hug them more. I don’t want to say, “just a minute.” I don’t want to be tired. I don’t want to be distracted. What was more important? Nothing! Why did I think that would have enough time? Did I make enough good memories to push out the bad? Did I make them feel special? I imagine them as toddlers – trusting, seeking, demanding. I’m alone in my regret, bombarded by toxic positivity.

Now, the tables are turned and they’re often too busy for me and my heart is breaking.

My middle two kids begin college later this month and I lie awake strangling on my own doubts and fears and lack of control. Why doesn’t my husband, their father, have any worries? He’s already asleep, in oblivion. I want to shake him awake at 2 AM and pour out all my fears and regrets, but he never knows what to do with me, so I keep it all inside. I can’t protect them from the world, from abusive men, from arrogant professors, from false friends, from themselves. I make up scenarios in my head to warn them about. I feel I am running out of time. I’m late; I’m late; I’m late! What else can I teach them, impart from my own experiences? What script can I help them memorize for an unknown circumstance? What situation can we anticipate together?

I feel prickly with fear of the future.

I don’t want them to live in fear but to walk in wisdom.

(I need to remember this and stop wallowing in guilt and shame.)

I tell my kids often:

Almost everything can be fixed. The consequences may be unpleasant and people may get upset, but almost every mistake can be remedied.

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Linking up: Random Musings, April Harris, Ridge Haven, Create with Joy, Pam’s Party, Pinch of Joy, Mostly Blogging, LouLou Girls, OMHG, Jenerally Informed, Pieced Pastimes, God’s Growing Garden, InstaEncouragements, Suburbia, Eclectic Red Barn, Simply Coffee, Ducks in a Row, Fluster Buster, Ridge Haven Homestead, Soaring with Him, Silverado, Anchored Abode, Joanne Viola, Shelbee on the Edge, Lisa Notes, Momfessionals,

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Children and Loss: Stages of Grief

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There is nothing in a child’s life to prepare them for death. While children pass through the same stages of grief as adults, due to their limited life experiences, they will grieve differently. It is important to remember that every person and child grieves differently and at his or her own pace. 

Children experience loss and grief in many different circumstances. The sadness they feel due to the loss of a parent or other loved one may be experienced in many different ways over time.

Swiss psychiatrist, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, described grief as having at least five specific stages, moving from denial to anger to bargaining, then to depression and finally acceptance. In fact, while this is a useful framework for describing the components of grief, people do not move through the stages in a linear fashion. Recent research supports a more dynamic experience with movement in and out of these states over time.

Denial

This is the first stage of grief. Children want to continue to believe that everything is okay and that nothing bad has actually happened. If they were to take in all the emotion related to the loss right away, it would be too overwhelming so they may deny the loss thus giving their body and mind have a little time to adjust to the way things are now without the deceased.

Anger

During this stage, a child may blame others for their difficulties. This particular stage can last for days, weeks, months and years. It is when the earliest feelings are replaced by frustration and anxiety. Kids may be angry, irritable, and difficult to get along with. It is best for your child and others involved with your child to encourage expression of and discussion about their angry feelings.

Bargaining

A child may start to exhibit behaviors that seem very positive, including appearing to be very mature. School work may improve dramatically. The child may believe that doing everything “just right” will fix the situation. Bargaining is often accompanied by guilt. This is basically our way of negotiating with the hurt and pain of the loss.

Depression

This phase may be a delayed but often occurs when reality really sinks in. During this stage of grief, intense sadness, decreased sleep, reduced appetite, and loss of motivation are common.

Acceptance

Finally, children often enter this stage once they have processed their initial grief emotions, are able to accept that the loss has occurred and cannot be undone, and are once again able to plan for their futures and re-engage in daily life.

It is important to recognize that children, like adults, may move between the different stages at different rates and can jump around between each phase. Recovery is more of a process than an event.

Parents can help their children by grieving with them, listening, offering love and reassurance, helping memorialize the deceased, encouraging questions, and seeking professional help if needed.

About Charlene Khaghan:

A mother of five children, Charlene’s husband passed away suddenly when their youngest child was only three years old. Not only was she forced to deal with her own pain from the loss, she had to find ways to help her children deal with their own feelings of grief and sadness.

Khaghan has a master’s degree in special education and LMSW in social work. She taught high school special education for many years and currently works as a therapist in a university counseling center.

In her newly released book, A Tiny Step Forward, author Charlene Khaghan lets young children know that if they have lost someone close, be it friend, pet or family member, it is okay to feel upset and miss the person they are grieving. And, in the days that follow, it is okay to once again feel happy and to enjoy life as their loved one would have wanted for them.

When it comes to explaining grief to a child, this book can help children know they are not alone and normalize what they are experiencing. 

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Grieving Family Who Are Still Alive

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We don’t have any family nearby or any relationship with any family really anyway.

When my daughter and I told our therapists about my parents and the in-laws, they were just like, “Well, that’s a clusterf*ck.”

I really needed the affirmation that it’s not me. I needed an outsider to tell me that I tried really hard to develop a relationship and was met at every turn with negativity, disdain, ridicule. I needed a third party to tell my my parents aren’t the nicest people and that I’m not a bad child.

I’ve always felt out of place – at home, at school, with my own aunts and uncles and cousins, with people whom I thought were my friends over the years and at various places where we’ve lived.

May all that is unforgiven in you Be released. May your fears yield Their deepest tranquillities. May all that is unlived in you Blossom into a future Graced with love.

John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

It was nothing new to me to feel a little awkward around my new family. I just tried harder. and more.

I don’t have any good role models for healthy relationships. I am winging it and reparenting myself and doing my best to raise four healthy children without trauma.

We live in a generation that is highly skilled at allowing connections to fade away. Because of social media and cell phones, we think people are replaceable, and that’s silly. You cannot replace the energy of someone who is genuine especially if they’re putting the consistent effort out, to be in your life. Appreciate them, cherish them, those people are gold.

Sylvester Mcnutt

Grieving Family

My husband’s parents passed away the first year we married.

I know it’s really hard for him even still, probably forever. I never had time to build a relationship at all.

While most newlyweds stress over which holidays to spend with which inlaws, I never got to have that delight. We’ve never had the ability to travel over the holidays to visit my parents in Georgia or Aaron’s two sisters in Illinois after his mom passed.

Neither my husband nor I really know our cousins or extended family.

I am the youngest grandchild and many of my aunts, uncles, and older cousins have been passing away frequently the last few years.

We moved to Texas our second year of marriage and I tried really hard to develop a relationship with his paternal uncle living there – which was my husband’s entire reason for wanting to move there. A relationship just never developed after two years. We had dinner a couple times and that was about the extent of it. We were just never accepted. It doesn’t help that he raves about the two sisters and their kids online and travels annually to Illinois to visit them and extending family. He just completely ignores us.

Grieving Sisters

I tried and tried and tried to develop a relationship with my husband’s two sisters but it has always been a failure.

They don’t want me.

As an only child, I am equally devastated and indifferent.

I didn’t see them from our second year of marriage at his mom’s funeral until about four years later.

I flew from Utah to Chicago for his youngest sister’s outdoor July wedding with four children, alone, while my husband was deployed. At the time I felt honored my middle girls were requested to be flower girls. My son was barely a year old and spent too much time with babysitters who were strangers to us. My eldest daughter (from a previous relationship) was asked to be an usher until I pitched a minor fit for her to be a junior bridesmaid like the other sister’s daughter. The uncle was even rude to me at the wedding and reception, seriously?

I was picked up from the airport by the middle sister and put my son in a filthy borrowed carseat. She took us to her house and fed my kids eggs and ramen. I was stressed and exhausted and I felt like a burden the entire week as I tried to compensate by cooking every meal for 9 people, cleaning, doing laundry, buying presents. I even disposed of a rodent family in her basement and cleaned up cat pee when the cat freaked out with all the air mattresses my kids were using in her territory.

That might have been the beginning of the end for me.

They drove down to visit us our last summer in Utah before we even knew we were moving to Europe. It was stressful. I felt like an entertainer, cook, tour director. We were constantly on the move since it was their vacation. Nothing I did seemed good enough and I was exhausted.

They haven’t visited us since we moved to Ohio. They couldn’t fit us in their schedule between sports tournaments that they traveled to/from on the road right near us.

I had to stop following my husband’s sisters, brothers-in-law, cousins, and uncle because their entire social media is softball, baseball, sports, kitschy crafts, home remodeling, and how great their friends and family are – except me and my children.

They’ve told my husband to tell me to quit writing and posting online about homeschooling since they feel it’s a kick in the teeth to them, as public school teachers. As if I didn’t teach in various school environments for ten years before committing to homeschooling. I’ve examined my posts and my heart and I’ve tried to be kind, welcoming, open, forgiving over and over again. I realize many families have vast differences and I want to accept and learn from those differences. I have a voice and I will use it.

For a long time, I just told myself it’s because we didn’t get a lot of time to get to know one another before I married Aaron and we move frequently with the military. I want to understand they’re closer to each other than they can ever be to me and my kids. But it’s becoming obvious that I’m not wanted nor welcomed.

I stressed for ten or so years to send the perfect thoughtful presents of equal value to my husband’s middle sister’s three kids at Christmas and birthdays while receiving handmedowns that I wouldn’t even donate to thrift stores and dollar spot junk in return. When I asked to exchange gift cards instead since we moved overseas, it was met with exasperation and online gift lists. I asked to just stop exchanging gifts or gift cards and I know that didn’t go over well.

We offered to meet any or all of them for dinner when we visited Chicago, which is about an hour away from where they live. We drove 7ish hours for an event that got canceled last minute. They couldn’t fit us into their schedule.

His youngest sister and husband fostered and recently adopted a little girl and I didn’t even know. I found out on social media.

I just always wanted to be a part of a big family and have my kids be loved by a big family and it just hurts me that we’re not wanted nor welcome.

Grieving my Parents

My parents adore my husband. They adore my son.

They don’t care for me or my daughters and they aren’t even trying to hide it. We even often get lesser gifts at holidays.

My parents claim they’re on “a fixed income” which is a great reality for many elderly people, but they own a 3500 sq. ft. house, 3 vehicles, no bills, and a mortgage of $850/month as they sit back and receive several retirement checks and social security that total more than my husband makes.

I try not to be bitter and I seldom ask for anything.

When my parents casually ask any of us what we want for a birthday or Christmas, we never know what the right answer is because we’ve been told so many times to choose something else, that they won’t be able to get that.

I received hate mail after my parents visited me during my husband’s deployment – in May, but not the week of my youngest daughter’s birthday or over Mother’s Day. They refused to stay at my house and instead opted for a nearby hotel. They sauntered over midday, about lunchtime and then naptime for my son. It disrupted our whole schedule and they kept telling my girls to go away and play outside or in the basement. I was super stressed and confused. My mom made my middle daughter cry about something irrelevant. They didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything except sit on my sofa and they were upset my TV was in the basement. Then, they got mad and left early and I later received an actual letter in the mail, outlining everything that’s wrong about me, my children, and my lack of good mothering skills. Also, that I should hit my children to make them never cry and behave perfectly.

I just always envisioned my kids having loving generous grandparents and it hurts me so bad that they don’t.

I never know what to say to my mother. She is disinterested in what the kids or I are ever doing. She doesn’t pay attention when I do tell her anything.

At least once a month, I realize I’ve really messed up again because my father quits communicating with me until I apologize and make amends for asking him to please stop sending me racist emails or he told me what an awful mother I am again and how worthless my almost twenty-year-old daughter is.

After 44 years of hearing how stupid and worthless I am, I wonder if I should just believe it.

I know I am an awful daughter.

They know what they’ve done.

I grieve the loss of relationships that never happened. I grieve my husband’s parents whom I never knew and only met a couple times. I grieve the uncle who doesn’t want us. I grieve the sisters I longed for my entire life who don’t want me. I grieve the cousins my children don’t know.

Just like mourning a physical death, my grief is real too. My grief comes in waves, at various times – suddenly and unexpected. I have never chosen to sever ties with anyone. I try and I try and I try again and again and again. I suffer the loss of something I never even had. There will probably never be closure. It’s never easy.

You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.

Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

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My Father is a Racist

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I tried to set a necessary boundary. I asked my father to please stop sending me racist emails.

After ignoring me and pouting for a week, he sent me a hateful email telling me that he is proud of being a racist and he can cut me off if I don’t like it.

Well then.

He just told me that he wants to complain about Black people to me and speaking his mind is more important than maintaining a semblance of relationship with me.

My parents are racists.

I am 44 years old and my parents are turning 80. I am an only child.

My parents have disowned me before.

I was 21. They sent me a torn-up copy of their will in the mail and informed me that they had a new one filed with their lawyer, leaving their estate to a local college.

He has ignored me for weeks, months, even years.

I didn’t realize I grew up in an abusive household until very recently. I was spanked as a child, but that was normal for my generation. He seldom hit me after I was a teen, but I have extreme trauma responses to certain verbal phrases and tones of voice. I was frequently told I was stupid and worthless when I disagreed with my parents or didn’t meet their expectations. I was often negatively compared to my father’s mother.

My mother doesn’t have a thought of her own. She just echoes my father. She brags about her selfishness as a teen, young adult, and her years of marriage before I was born thirteen years later. My family and I have seen her selfishness in action numerous times.

I was not allowed to socialize with anyone who wasn’t White and appropriate. This wasn’t exceptionally difficult until I was a teenager since there really just weren’t that many non-Whites in my elementary school or neighborhood and races often separated themselves at lunch and on the playground throughout high school and college. I didn’t understand or think much about it then. It’s just the way things were.

My father was often traveling for work when I was growing up. He always said he hated it and he had anxiety from the stress, but it was much more pleasant for my mom and me not having him around much.

I couldn’t have friends over to the house if he was home.

I don’t remember him being at any of my birthday parties.

He didn’t come to the hospital when I attempted suicide.

He refused to come to my first wedding.

He refused to attend my graduation ceremony when I earned my Master’s degree in education.

He didn’t visit me when I gave birth to my son.

He sent me hate mail while my husband was deployed the first time, telling me what an awful mother I am, after they cut their visit short in rage.

He had a tantrum and broke promises to my children when we stayed briefly at my parents’ house during our PCS from Germany to Ohio.

He’s told me many times that it’s all my fault, that I am disrespectful and selfish.

Since I always put myself last, it especially hurts deep when I’m called selfish.

It’s really hard sometimes.

Therapists makes it sound so easy that I should find and have a support system. Moving every 2-4 years with the military makes that harder than it should be.

I’ve never had a support system. I am all I have.

I’m tired of walking on eggshells all the time.

Grief is real.

Though its way is to strike
In a dumb rhythm,
Stroke upon stroke,
As though the heart
Were an anvil,
The hurt you sent
Had a mind of its own.
Something in you knew
Exactly how to shape it,
To hit the target,
Slipping into the heart
Through some wound-window
Left open since childhood.
While it struck outside,
It burrowed inside,
Made tunnels through
Every ground of confidence.
For days, it would lie still
Until a thought would start it.
Meanwhile, you forgot,
Went on with things
And never even knew
How that perfect
Shape of hurt
Still continued to work.
Now a new kindness
Seems to have entered time
And I can see how that hurt
Has schooled my heart
In a compassion I would
Otherwise have never learned.
Somehow now I have begun to glimpse
The unexpected fruit
Your dark gift had planted
And I thank you
For your unknown work.

John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

I just tried to set a small but clear boundary: stop sending me racist emails.

There’s a lot of white folks out there hanging on to their God-given right to look down on some other class of people. They feel it slipping away and they’re scared. This guy says he’s bringing back yesterday, even if he has to use brass knuckles to do it, and drag women back to the cave by their hair. He’s a bully, everybody knows that. But he’s their bully.

When men fear the loss of what they know, they will follow any tyrant who promises to restore the old order.

Barbara Kingsolver, Unsheltered

I couldn’t reply to his email or call him like he requested. I knew I would make it worse since I was so hurt, upset, and angry.

I try to capitulate. I try to write his attitudes off as old, retired Army, the way he grew up in the 50s. But those are just lame excuses. There are numerous others his age, military, with similar circumstances who are not racist.

Every time I think things are good, going well, I am shocked into this twisted reality where my parents are not good people, not nice people.

Then he sent me another email over the weekend that he had received his birthday card and orchid and apparently all is well.

This is not normal behavior. I shouldn’t have to appease him with gifts like he’s a god, like he thinks he is.

Is this the precursor to dementia, Alzheimer’s? I grew up with this kind of abuse cycle, but is it getting worse or is it that I’m just older and won’t abide it?

This can’t be ok.

We cannot control another’s behavior, but we can control our own response to another’s behavior.

Happiness is letting go of what you think your life is supposed to look like and celebrating it for everything that it is.

Mandy Hale

Want To Have Better Conversations About Racism With Your Parents? Here’s How

He finally reluctantly came around and pretended we never had that email exchange, but he occasionally refers to “not being to talk about politics” in a sulk.

But it’s way more than politics. It’s more than the financial differences of the two parties in America for the past several hundred years. It’s about lives. For a man who is proud to have voted straight Republican his entire adult life, I can’t excuse it. For someone who voted for Trump twice, it is sheer hatred of other and I can’t excuse it.

All the effort to be antiracist and teach my family to be antiracist is worth it. Loving others and healing from our own abuses and trauma and relearning how to live well is worth it.

Resources:

AntiRacism Resources:

How do you maintain boundaries in toxic relationships?

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Stages of Grief: PCS Edition

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PCS season is stressful.

I feel like our military family goes through the Five Stages of Grief every few years as we pack up and move to a new location.

The Five Stages of Grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Denial

As soon as PCS season begins to loom, I go into denial. I don’t want to purge, clean, organize, pack out, and travel to a new location.

We’ve tried to extend a year at several locations…and DENIED.

I go about my business as usual.

I pretend it won’t be happening until I can’t pretend anymore.

Anger

After getting denied our extension…and realizing others had been granted theirs…

I got angry.

I got angry at the military, at the assignments officer (who even teased us with a phone call and messed up our orders), at God, at my husband for dragging us all over for 20+ years.

I’m angry at myself for being angry.

I’m angry that we didn’t get to stay another year, even though my daughter is a senior. I’m angry we didn’t get orders to anywhere I want to go.

I’m angry about silly things too.

I regret the places we didn’t get to go. I regret so many things.

Bargaining

It’s not like we have any real bargaining chips.

We have to go where we’re told.

Even if we’re excited about the new location…

I go back and forth with possible packout dates, car shipment, what to do with the cats. All the checklist items like transferring mail, packing suitcases and backpacks, clearing the pantry. So much to do!

How much can I fit in a suitcase? Usually we’re living out of suitcases for 3+ months and it’s hard to determine how little we need, what we can live without.

If we’re not thrilled with where we’re going…

I go back and forth in my mind, wondering what we could have done differently.

Did we put the wrong locations on the list?

Are we paying for some forgotten sin?

Is there a reason we’re being sent there?

Can my husband deploy or volunteer?

And I start to think of the next station. Surely, it will be better? We only have to be at this station maybe 2-4 years. We’ll transfer as soon as we can.

Depression

Reality sets in.

I get depressed.

I start to slowly organize, purge, donate, sell items we won’t need.

I snap at my husband who always waits until the last minute to do anything.

I get anxious about our cats.

I get anxious about money.

There are so many unknowns.

I halfheartedly look at housing at the new location. I research places to visit for day trips. I join Facebook groups.

I start to distance myself from the current location.

I realize I have to say goodbye to my houseplants. I’m sad because the new people won’t love my houseplants or herb garden the way I do, the way they deserve to be loved!

Once the household goods are packed and shipped, the house always feels cold and dark and silent. Ominous. I have trouble sleeping in an empty house. There’s little for me to do to keep busy. No beds to make, no projects to complete.

This is usually the stage when I get physically ill. The stress that has built up becomes too overwhelming.

I spent one packout completely bedridden, except for rushing to the bathroom to vomit or have diarrhea. The girls were trapped in the bedroom with me since we didn’t have anyone to help. This was the one location my husband wanted so much, to be near his family members. Such a disappointment that was! It was also the worst packout we’ve ever had, with “cousins” and “friends” arriving the last day to rush the pack job and stealing some valuables I hadn’t stored properly. Because I was sick!

We’ve also had some rental horror stories.

We’ve never lived in a nice house. Most houses have been so embarrassing that we never want to invite anyone over for any reason. We’ve kinda resigned ourselves to having absentee landlords, lazy landlords, wornout and poorly kept rental houses, renting sight unseen…until we retire. We are always sure well get our deposit back from the landlord…we do our best to keep everything as nice as possible.

In the house in Utah, we’d made some expensive upgrades to lighting in the kitchen and removed wallpaper from the kitchen and living room and painted it a nice neutral color, but he kept making petty excuses. He wanted the lawn mowed and edged to perfection. In the dark! Our goods had already shipped and we hadn’t had a working lawnmower for over a month since he refused to pay to fix it. He even wanted my kids’ welcome chalk drawings power-washed off the sidewalk! We enlisted the help of neighbors to talk to him and we finally got it back later that evening.

In Germany, we had this weird fiberglass wallpaper in the kitchen. Nothing would clean off some grease spots and they had told us it was ok and could be painted, but then they tried to keep our entire deposit of two months’ rent. The housing office had to go back and forth with the landlady several times to work it out.

We are always devastated to realize how cruel some people can be. Deposits are our financial lifeline to move into a house in our new location.

Acceptance

The packers came. I’ve done all I could do. Luckily, we’ve been blessed with amazing teams (except that one time!) who make jokes, have fun personalities, and appreciate the snacks, drinks, and meals we provide.

I accept our fate as I stroll through my empty, cold, echoey house, awaiting the move date.

The last few days are always hard, stressful, anxiety-ridden. So many loose ends need to be tied up in such a short period of time.

I feel poignant about the memories we share about this location. The places we’ve been, the meals we’ve eaten, the people we’ve met.

I start to look forward to a new beginning.

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