As I was scurrying around getting things ready to go for my trip to Denver, thoughts and images from my old life kept popping up—and so did emotions. Well, I didn’t have time for that, not to mention that breaking down in the post office or the bank is generally a bad plan all the way around. When I got home, I still had a lot to do so I kept busy, kept myself distracted. The random thoughts and feelings still crept in, but I kept working because I had to get things done. Finally, about 7:30 last night, I sat down and let it flow. Literally and figuratively.
Now, I could have just decided to relax and watch television—and I had the remote control in my hand several times to do exactly that. It would have distracted me and I would have felt better—at least for a short time—but it wasn’t going to actually fix anything. And whatever this was, I wanted it fixed.
On some level, I knew I hadn’t fully grieved the loss of leaving Colorado, and particularly my home in the mountains. It was home in a way no other place ever has been for me. I have a deep love for it even though I complained about it constantly and resented being “trapped” in “Siberia.”
So much is tied up in that time and place. My children grew up there—and I started growing up there too. I started reclaiming parts of myself that I had turned my back on. I did incredible amounts of physical work on that property, and I expanded my beliefs about my own capabilities and skills. It made me strong in more ways than just physical strength. I think it was that way for all of us. The place changed us. And then, after 13 years of building and growing and living, it was over. Like a switch being flipped, it was just over.
In many ways, life as I knew it ended that night I drove out my gate and down that dirt road with the moving truck. It was what I wanted. I had been determined to sell the place from the moment we bought it, but when it actually happened, I was in shock. Of course, the unraveling of our lives had begun long before that night, but I couldn’t face the truth of all that. I couldn’t face much of anything at that point. I just put all those thoughts and feelings in a box and focused on doing what I had to do, focused on managing the real-world details of the fallout. I blocked out everything and everyone else, to the point that I left without saying goodbye to anyone, even my best friends.
The ending of it all was a huge shock and I’m not sure any of us—my children or their parents—have recovered from it. Obviously, I haven’t. Today, however, I hope I am much closer. The two-plus hours of uncontrolled sobbing last night better have helped something. I can’t remember the last time something hit me that way. And the funny thing is I didn’t think about anything but the good stuff. There were some important insights, but mostly, I think it was just a deep grieving that was long overdue.
The ending to this story isn’t written yet. I do feel a sense of closure and release—of many things—and feel it will continue to evolve. I’ll let you know how I feel when I go up there and walk around the property and hike the area again.
In the meantime, here are a few photos of the property and area.