The last few weeks, I have mostly been about the business of packing, organizing as it relates to packing, or home improvement as it relates to selling. When I know what I want, I am relentless about making it a reality. The courtesies of keeping in touch, often fall away. I’m not consciously being rude. I am consumed by the task at hand, and I despise stopping before a task is unfinished. I’m typing this under the guise of having breakfast. My coffee cup is beside me, but there are empty boxes in the garage and an assload of cds to sort.

The Mister has not been as motivated, but he is taking care of tasks I detest like making telephone arrangements. He’s lined up inspectors for the new house, shopped around for the best interest rate, and found a van company to transport our belongings. He’s also been more involved with his parents. Guilt is a very effective motivator for some people.

Mister Hombre’s family knows about the move, and considering the circumstances, they are taking things well. They are happy about our new adventure, and understand the benefit of moving closer to a major airport for the Mister’s job. They are also concerned about what this means for them personally not having him nearby to help out. They are simultaneously excited and petrified. If I were the one left behind, I would feel the same.

Mrs. One Eye is more emotional. Our move is something she remembers vividly, unlike where she put her gloves or hid her purse. One of the frustrating elements about dementia is the unpredictability of the memory. You never know what will become the object of obsession. Days can past without a glimpse of the person you recognize as your parent, and the moment you consider letting go… a glimpse of the person you remember becomes recognizable.

I haven’t told my family yet. I had planned on mailing a card with a cute illustration and an inappropriate ebonics style announcement, but I wasn’t finished on time. This means I get to tell them in person over Easter dinner. I’m not looking forward to this. It isn’t because I dread something emotional or crappy confrontation. Honestly, it interferes with my packing. This will take me away from most of a days work. I will spend a nice day with them, but I will be preoccupied by boxes, packing tape, pine straw bales, bubble wrap, transporting cats, and packing art. I’m that consumed about finishing the packing. This has been underway since January. I’m ready to be settled. There is an unfinished oil pastel calling out to me

I suspect I will catch a minimal amount of crap for not saying something sooner. I had to be reasonably sure this move would happen. I’m not the type to discuss hopes, dreams or goals. I prefer to wait until I’ve already started the process of making things happen. I hate explaining why thing didn’t happen, it makes me feel like a failure.

Even if I had voiced my intentions to them earlier, it wouldn’t have changed much. Their lives wouldn’t have become miraculously less busy, nor would mine. I’m the one without kids, so by default, I’m expected to drive to their houses for their milestones. I could elaborate on the lack of frequency of family visits to my home, but this isn’t about my suffering from bitterness. My only point is distance isn’t always the deterrent people make it out to be. I will still see the entire family together twice a year, which ironically is he way things are currently and we live less than seventy miles apart.

Life is full of changes, and it marches on whether we choose to or not. I will miss them and the conveniences of being near, but five hours isn’t a lifetime away unless you choose to make it that way.

For those who celebrate the holiday, I hope you have an enjoyable one. For those who simply celebrate the weekend, have a great one! I’m still reading, I just don’t have much time to comment.

And, Sari, I haven’t forgotten.