All Consuming

As those who regularly read this blog will know we are moving house. It has become all consuming. We have a buyer for our house, a lovely young couple with a lively 3 year old boy, who love our house. Definitely want them to live here. But we fell in love with a house in North Wales which turned out to need a lot of work doing on it and the people selling would not negotiate a lower price. Well to us that said it wasn’t meant to be our house. But now we have to keep looking. The first time we went up, where we met and felling love with the area and the first house, was in fact only meant to be a recky of the area to see if we liked it. Did we move too soon? Who knows there and we can’t go in shoulds and oughts. But now we need to relook and the specifications have changed and broadened.

But what it means is that the task has become all consuming. In fact the whole moving house thing anyway is all consuming. There is nothing else to think about, nothing else to talk about. Even this morning, when I had told myself clearly that I was going to get up and blog, I finished up looking for houses to view because we are going up on Monday and need a plan!

In these stress charts they say that moving house is on the same stress level as a family member dying. Well I must say from personal experience that is rubbish. Ok now when people ask me how I am I will say I’m moving house and chatter on about that – to anyone from friends to supermarket checkout people! Three and a half years ago after our spate of untimely deaths I did do similar, telling anyone who asked how I was about the deaths, often in a very cold, newsreporting sort of way. I am more animated with saying about the all consuming with the house moving. But no they are not the same at all.

Grief grabs you by your soul’s coat lapels and flings you down, not just into the mire but below it so you can hardly breath, are not even thrashing around in the mud and dross but are filling your lungs with it, trapped in it, caught and feel like you will never leave it. Moving house is euphoric in a scary way that euphoria does. You are up, running high. Yes there are worries and concerns, especially with moving to a new area but it is a high not a low. It is fearful whereas grief is not fearful at all. Grief is full of non-emotions but that chew you up and eat you up, and make people want to avoid you, not know what to say to you. House moving is full of people wanting to be with you, wanting to catch the buzz.

A relative was fearful about our move and when I ask what was the worst that could happen she said we could have no jobs, no money, no friends and finish up “in a pickle”. I can cope with “pickle”. “Pickle” you can walk through and come out the other side. Grief, even after three years, still sticks to your clothes a bit, still shapes how you look at life. “Pickle” will pass and we will cope with it because we can be in control of it. Untimely death we are not in control of.

Maybe if we hadn’t gone through what we had gone through then moving house would be overly stressful, instead it is just all consuming. So for now forgive me if I don’t blog deeply – I do have lots in my journal that I would love to find the time to blog – and forgive me if no matter what you say to me I turn it back to “did you know we’re moving house?” 🙂

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dianewoodrow

I married Ian in 2007. I have two grown up children, who I home schooled until they were 16. One now lives in London, the other just outside Bath. I have a degree in History and Creative writing and a PGDip in using Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes. I love going for long walks with my little pughasa dog, Renly. We also have a crazy cat called Damson, a rabbit and two chickens. Until Feb 2016 I lived in a beautiful part of England and now I live in a beautiful part of North Wales, and I love God.

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