Growing up we moved every year and a half. I never lived anywhere longer...sometimes we moved even more often than that. They weren't just moves across town (although we did those too), they were moves across country, across oceans even! We moved to England, Toronto, Edmonton, Kelowna, Peachland, Westbank, Abbotsford, Mission, Langley, Oregon, Texas....I think that is it! Every year we would move and every year we would have to make new friends, new routines, new traditions. Every year I was the new girl. Every year I was ripped from the best friends I had just barely made. There was one thing that remained the same each year, however. Every year at Christmas we would drive to my Nana and Grandad's in Peachland, BC, to celebrate with them and the rest of our family. Even when we lived as far away as Texas we would drive the 4 day trip out there just to spend the holidays with them. It was the constant in my life. Every year it was the same: we would see my Nana and Grandad, my uncle David and his kids, my Aunt Leslie and her kids, and before he passed my Uncle Glen and his kids. We ate rumballs every year and always played balderdash. I would stare at all my Nana's english decor: the painting of the English soldier, the statuesque head on her shelf, and the metranome that sat on her piano. We would play in their backyard looking at birds and running around with their dogs. Every year we would come back to it...to them.
I have deep scars, and it bothers me that to this day that I don't have my child hood places to return to. I don't have the house I grew up in, the park where I first kissed a boy, the school yard where we ice skated for recess or the church where I first met the Lord. I can't show my children any of that. What I did have though, was my family. This year though, things have changed. Earlier this year I lost my grandma, then in November I lost my Grandad, and earlier this week I lost my Uncle David. I can't describe how strange it feels to be losing my family because to me it seems like so much more than that. It isn't just my family...it is my childhood. They are the only people and memories I had every single year outside of my own mom, dad and sister.It is as if my history is dissapearing before my very eyes.
I struggle with these thoughts yet I know I shouldn't. I know the Lord has blessed me with a new family. New memories to make and new places to visit. I know the things of this earth are simply that: things! As much as I know that, it is still hard. I guess I just needed a venting post to let these thoughts out. I don't normally blog about anything other than adoption, haha as I'm sure most of you are aware of, but today I felt like switching it up. Perhaps God is giving me a tiny glimpse of what so many of the children who come into my house must feel, moving from foster home to foster home, never living in the same place, and having complete histories unknown. I only pray that our home can be the last stop for these children and that a new history can begin for them!
