Five months ago, my family and I moved from Antigua,to Oklahoma City, OK.
"A bit strange..."
"Why on earth..."
"That's a change!"
Yes - we've heard.
And our replies?
"Yes."
"Don't ask."
And "Yes!"
Forget the places - in some ways, they are immaterial. Just moving across town can be a difficult change - new church, new neighbours, new schools if you have children, new routes to ...everything. And don't forget the expense of replacing everything that broke during the move (including the backs hauling the upstairs dresser - who wanted solid oak anyway?). Moving is hard.
I miss the challenge of working with the swim team and the bond we were developing. I miss taking religion classes - the instruction from Paul or Josh, and the insights of my classmates. I miss talking with Cindy, or Rhonda, or Michelle, or Donnette (the list goes on) after church. I miss the hugs of Miss Clarke; the kisses on the cheek from Mac. I miss Mrs. Titus' no-nonsense humour. I miss the laughter and teasing from Ron or Karim or Donique or Kazende. I miss banging away on the steel pans with Genesis (yes - sorry, Kristin, that it was too often banging on my part!). I miss meeting friends at the beach and talking as the children play. I miss my dogs' greeting when I come home. I miss get-togethers with the other mission families. I miss games of Catan with Paul and Betsy. I miss the comfortable familiarity of people and places I know.
But I understand why we left. I helped plan every detail of the move. I even drove first 17 hours and then 15 hours to arrive in Oklahoma City (yes, it was a very round-about route). My husband and my son also understand the move. My daughter does not.
Boo is four years old. I thought that she would be fine since she is so young. I was wrong. There isn't a day when she doesn't say something about Antigua.
"You have to pack everything when we go, Mama," she says, indicating the toys in her room.
"Go where, dear?"
"Back to Antigua."
"We aren't moving back to Antigua."
"We aren't?"
"No. This is our home now."
"But if we don't move back, then someone else will live in our house."
"What are we going to do with this car when we leave?" she asked as we were driving in the mid-west this summer, having bought a car.
"We'll drive the car, dear."
"The car can't go on the airplane, Mama."
"We aren't going on an airplane anymore, dear. We live in the USA now."
"We aren't going back to Antigua? But Rachel might forget me then."
"Will the people let us have our dogs back, Mama?"
"Our dogs have new homes now."
"But when we go back, we'll want our dogs."
"We aren't going back to Antigua; that is why our dogs have new homes."
"You mean we'll never see our dogs again?"
Each day, there is something else to remind her of Antigua. Each time it is a new perspective of what it means to move. And her mind cannot grasp that the only home she knows is gone. She can't believe it. She doesn't understand no matter how much we explain. She ends up crying each time.
It is heart breaking.
Often, I envy those people who live in one place for their whole lives. They develop their friendships for years and years - they discover dimensions I can't imagine. Those of us who move constantly have a few short years to form bonds and then have to start over again.
I have lived on three different continents and two islands. I wouldn't mind living on three more continents (ya - not Antarctica - never had any desire to live there) and I'd be up for another island (in the Pacific, maybe - could Australia count as both?). After all I just wrote against moving, why on earth would I want to do this?
I have the seven-year itch disorder. After 5 or 6 or 7 years, I itch to move, to experience a new place. I am beginning to understand that this is just another manifestation of the "grass looks greener on the other side" condition.
Please, next time I start itching, remind me that the grass isn't necessarily greener. It's just more of the same, in a different flavour. And it may not be worth the difficulty of crossing the road called moving.
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