For the next couple of days, I am facing a difficult challenge and let's hope that I can muster my inner strength and intestinal fortitude to conquer what is set before me.
This particular obstacle is multi-layered and each layer presents its own unique difficulties. While performing my task I must maintain a semblance of polite tolerance for someone I would like to set out for the next garbage collection. Ignoring not too subtle body language, focusing in on sounds other than angry remarks and keeping my opinions bottled within will tax my already overloaded fuse box.
There are fragile items to be bubbled wrapped; appliances to be unhooked and loaded; bedroom furniture to be disassembled; pictures to box (what to do with the large wedding portrait over the fireplace?); and many other preparations completed before the movers come next week.
My frustration with the situation will be shoved down. Frustration that nothing is packed, yet; organization and planning for moving has reached a standstill and emotions are right on the surface for everyone.
Can I actually be in the same house as the person who has crushed our daughter? Should be interesting; we'll see.
This is where my past of surviving intolerable situations kicks in. I put my head down, complete the tasks at hand and draw strength from the fact that once this move is over, a new, better life is in store for our daughter and her beautiful boy.
My payment for all the planning, monetary contribution and physical help is waiting for me in the form of hugs, smiles and kisses from my sweet boy and his priceless momma. I get to hug them both and smell the tops of their heads, breathing in the aroma of love and hope for brighter days ahead.
