This time last year, we were enjoying the warmth of the desert in mid-October, full of promise, hope and happiness. It's hard to believe when I think back to that time. So much carnage in the months following that happy, hopeful time.
You couldn't have convinced me that we'd come back to the PNW. I'd have told you that was an insane thing to say and laugh. For I was quite sure I was where I was going to be for along time to come, and the thought of returning to the clouds, cold and the rain was an impossible feat.
Yet, here I sit. Looking out the big window of our living room to the gloomy, rainy October day thinking "How the F--- did I wind back here again? This is NOT what I signed up for."
When in actuality, it is exactly what I signed up for, right? I'm married to the breadwinning man of our family, and where he goes, I willingly (albeit kicking and screaming) follow. Getting his solid, secure, well-paying job back was a miracle and I should be grateful. Don't get me wrong reader, I AM grateful. The Lord certainly blessed us with this opportunity, but at the same time, I feel cursed. But nonetheless, it makes me sad.
I absolutely LOVED the daily blue sky, the sun, the wind, and even craziness of life in Las Vegas. I walked around with a cocky-ness of "yeah, I've arrived, what of it?" It was MY town, and I belonged there. It's jus that some cosmic force disagreed with me, and it was never really in the cards for us to stay, live and be happy there.
So as true to my nature, I adapt. I harbor my ill feelings carefully and without voicing them too often. In no way would I want to make Walter feel worse than I know he did about the whole debacle. It's not his fault in the big scheme of things, and it wouldn't be very nice of me to rub it in his face.
At the end of this week, we return to the scene of the crime - no pun intended for those how know part of our history in Vegas - to hook up with Walt's family to celebrate his mother's 80th birthday, and to load up our household stuff and bring it home.
Yes, you heard me right, home. Home isn't where you get your mail or your "stuff" is located. Home is where you feel safe, secure, loved, warm, and comfortable In the two weeks since we moved into this house, I have felt all of those adjectives I stated above. I can't say that the house we lived in down there even accomplished half of adjectives.
Bringing the rest of our stuff, hanging a personal picture and having the things that make it completely our home will certainly catipult us to the level of living we had always hoped we'd achieve in Las Vegas. Yes, we hung pictures, but neither of us really "wanted" to but felt we had to because Sarah was coming to visit. Seriously, it was an effort. We had such hope when we signed the lease down there.....and it didn't take long for it to fizzle, and eventually die.
So we've almost made the full circle....and I am quite confident it isn't just the location of our bodies or stuff...but also in our marriage. Being home means feeling safe and comfortable, and while I still suffer pangs of hurt due to all my husband has put me through, I know that I can rest assured that he's 100% here and everything he knows I need him to be.
A side note: we are making this a mini-vacation, and I am so looking forward to it. As much as I love my doggies, it will be nice to be dog-free, enjoy our time together and with family.
And we'll know......we're heading home....to wear our hearts are meant to be......
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