I have always believed that things happen for a reason. It has helped me understand and accept things that have happened in my life and in my family’s lives.
I wasn’t too happy moving into a two bedroom condo a few years ago at the age of 50 something. I didn’t feel like we belonged in a building where there was a pull cart in every parking space in the garage. Where did the time go? Why didn’t my life turn out the way I dreamed it would be?
Don’t get me wrong, I am so proud of my children and my husband and the times we had raising our family. There were wonderful moments- and some not so wonderful. (Teenage years- not so much) I just always thought we would raise our family in one house, where we made memories and had traditions – a house where our grandchildren would come and carry on those traditions. I thought we’d have a house where our grandchildren would see where their parents grew up- a house that had memories in every room and a wall that marked the heights of their parents from the time they were two.
It actually hurts inside when I think about it. My kids don’t have a childhood home to visit. All their things are packed away in a storage unit. Their lives are moving on, I get it, but I wish they were able to come home to something familiar and comforting. I always told Jim, “Home is where the heart is” (not my own words, but I use them often) and I do believe that. We have made wherever we lived “our home” but I wish we didn’t have to live in so many places. I could get into why and how we lived in six different homes, but that is another story and another month of blogging.
My point to this blog tonight is to say, we are living in this condo because we are supposed to be here. We are supposed to be in a place with no stairs, an underground garage for those cold and icy mornings, and a guest bedroom. We are supposed to have a step-in shower and a beautiful view. I was supposed to be married to the most unselfish, wonderful husband anyone could ever ask for. We were supposed to live in this condo so my parents could live with us for a short time after my father’s surgery. We were supposed to live near Hinsdale Hospital and Lagrange Inpatient Rehab hospital.
It’s funny how life can change so quickly.