As someone who loves permanence, I never thought I'd be the one to move multiple times in my life, especially over the last few years.
When we moved to Channahon to start a new life as a blended family in the house my husband's parents built, I never thought I'd move again.
But I also didn't expect early-onset dementia in my husband and having to make the care decisions one typically reserves for my parents. By contract, my parents are 86, don't have dementia, (although my father is now in the very early stagers of Alzheimers), and are in pretty good health, even considering their age.
However, when my husband lost his job, we knew moving would only be a matter of time. My three youngest children and I (two at Joliet Junior College and one recent graduate) spent nine months at my parents, then nine months in an apartment, then four and a half years in a two bedroom townhome and then the youngest two and I moved three doors down into a three bedroom townhome, where we will all spend our last nights tonight.
We went to my parents because we had nowhere else to go.
We moved to the apartment when Shaw Media hired me as the features editor of The Herald-News and I rolled out of freelance work. The apartment was a strategic move because we only had one vehicle of iffy quality - and Timothy needed it for work. Rebekah and Daniel bussed to JJC, where they worked and went to school, and I walked to work.
Unless the weather was below zero, I walked. Unless I was working remotely, I walked every single day for about a mile and half each way to and from work, from May 2014 until we were sent home to work remotely in March 2020.
In the heat. Layered up and on ice. In the rain.
We walked our cats to the vet. We walked to Walmart for food and household items. We walked to the pharmacy. We had everything we needed in walking distance.
In those early years, I voluntarily shouldered most of the financial responsibility, with the kids taking on more as they graduated, moved into better paying jobs, and made more money.
During that time, Timothy was able to save for a new car. And then Daniel saved for a new car. And now Rebekah is nearly ready to buy a car.
Where is my car, you may ask?
When Timothy buys the new one, the older one will come to me for local trips, and that is a good start. If not for COVID and his holding off in buying a new car, that would have happened a year ago.
I feel it's amazing what can be done, and the level of recovery that can be had, when people work together.
We are not moving far. But the space is definitely another upgrade. For one, these townhomes right next to each other are completely new contructions. They are three stories high. Each unit has a garage. Each unit has a hookup in the garage for a hose. These common place items to others are luxuries for us.
Timothy is moving into a two bedroom. We are moving into a three bedroom - with three bathrooms. The complex is beautiful.
Jasmine came down last night to help pack. She will be back this morning on her day off while Rebekah and I work upstairs. Cindy will be here tonight and back in the morning. The help is wonderful, especially since I threw out my back while favoring my injured knee while lifting something heavy.
I am working the weekend, so we need to get a lot done on Friday.
Everything felt organized until last night. Ugh.
I don't like packing or unpacking.
But I am excited for new beginnings.
During our marriage. Ron and I had two vans that we ran like taxi services when we ran a youth group for our church. Anyone who needed a ride, not just in the youth group but anyone, could get a ride from us.
And in my van-less years, I have been equally blessed by friends and family who've given me rides.
Rides to and from work assignments. Rides to work when temperatures were 20 below zero. Rides to the doctor or medical tests. Rides to and from WriteOn Joliet (with coffee and dinner ALWAYS included, thanks to my wonderful co-leader Tom Hernandez). Rides to miscellanous events that are too numerous to be named.
Not one person, not a single one, every asked a penny for gas. Ever.
So I feel with this move, we are headed in the right direction to meet a future we cannot see.
But because God, not me, is in the driver's seat.
Illustration by Kathleen Rose Van Pelt for "Bryony."
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