I helped my friend pack up his house because he was moving to a new condo. It was an interesting journey into the psychology of moving.
He’s moving because he is divorcing. His children haven’t lived in that house for a couple years, but they did stay there on his custody weekends.
He’s a dear friend. He means a lot to me. I’ve known him for 30 years.
In my darkest hour, he was one of the few people completely there for me, and I will forever be loyal to him for that. Whatever that man needs, I will do my best to give him.
After my darkest hour abated, his peaked. What he needed from me was space to process his big life changes, so we didn’t talk for a few months while he withdrew from the world.
He said he thought about the house, about how his children were born in that house (well, came home from the hospital to that house), how his family lived many good years there, and how his marriage lived – then died – in that house. Selling the house because it was too big for a single man was really a sell out of the dreams of his past: having a happy family unit, a stable and content existence.
The divorce is contentious. The children suffer in the middle. He eats bitterness all the time.
His children took what they wanted from the house, but left behind many relics of their early childhood. Those are what we went through together, and none of it, he wanted to discard.
It took a long time. Everything has a story behind it.
Those precious memories now live at my house in a storage space. At least I can provide a home for part of his heart.
But just as much as this is a journey through the past and a goodbye to some dreams, it’s literally a move to a new future and a hello to new dreams. He’s strong, he’s loved, he’ll be OK. He just needs time to get there.
He can always visit his old life. He just has to come over to my house to do so.