Counting Down the Days

It’s cliché to say that our time in England has gone quickly, but it’s true. We are moving back to the U.S. in December, as Tim has a new role that requires him to be back in the office there.  My feelings on this are complicated, and I’m going to try to work through some of them by writing.

When we were talking about the possibility here, I remember Tim saying it would be for at least three years. I shook my head and said that was too long – if it was two, then maybe I could do it. It seems like such a long time, doesn’t it? In the end, we’ll have lived here about two and a half years, and I’m eating my words…because it went by so incredibly fast and I wish we had more time to spend here. 

It’s not that we don’t miss our family and friends, we do terribly. But we have always treated this time as a “one-time only” sort of thing. You know, not throw away our shot, à la Hamilton. It was hard to make the decision to go, but once we did, we decided to immerse ourselves into the community and culture, while traveling and seeing as much of this side of the Atlantic that we possibly could. 

And to an extent, we did! We travelled a lot around the U.K., from the southern beaches of Cornwall to the upper highlands of Scotland (more regularly scheduled trip recap posts soon). There are so many beautiful sites to visit within this spectacular island. We got into mainland Europe a few times as well, to Copenhagen, Prague and Vienna. And there are trips we hoped for that didn’t happen – Ireland, Italy, Belgium, Germany, Spain, Portugal, Greece, France…we didn’t even get to Paris.

Could we have visited all of those places anyway?? No, of course not. And we know that. But it seemed like they were a possibility , just for logistical reasons. We had hoped to check a couple off of our list. I know these are very privileged problems, and I’m not whining. We’re so lucky to be able to travel and to see what we have. And this isn’t the only time we’ll ever be able to travel again. That’s not the reason why it’s hard to go.

It’s the blessings of time and people. We’ve gotten to surround ourselves with amazing friends who have both welcomed and included us in their lives. We’ve had time as a family that has helped us to continue to work through the pain and grief of losing Grant, which was still so raw when we first moved here. As I’m sitting and looking out the window at the green field behind our house, the towering sunflowers that we planted months ago, the garden where the boys have played countless hours of football, I am grateful for the feeling of home. It was hard as hell at the start, and we worked through it. With that came a sense of calm and beginning to feel settled.

In some ways, I feel like we’re living a few versions of life right now. The first version is simply living in the here and now. Tim working, the boys in school knowing they’ll have to leave before the year is over, paying bills, getting groceries, going to football matches and Cub Scout meetings. Cleaning, homework, errands. And, oh yeah, the pandemic and accompanying restrictions, worries, and varying levels of lockdown.

The second one is planning for the future – trying to figure out where we’re going to live in Wisconsin, constantly scouring the Internet for any leads or to send a rental application off into the abyss of the Internet, thinking about where the boys may be going to school. What school district is that house or apartment in? Are they online or hybrid or in person school five days a week? Has that changed, or what is the criteria for shifting? How are we going to get everything packed up , what’s our shipping date, how are we going to sell our cars here while still needing to drive them, but also what cars do we need to look for once we’re back? When and how and where to buy a house? Packing, moving lists, an endless list of both mundane and complex to-dos. My blood pressure spikes just tying that out, ha.

And then there is this third, nostalgic/romantic side that wants to enjoy every second we have here. This is the part of us that thinks – what magical thing should we be doing? What castle should we visit, what fell should we climb, what antique store should I peruse for beautiful wares… even though that’s something I never used to do in America. It’s the desire to soak up every moment so we can get on the plane feeling perhaps sad, but contented knowing that we made every moment count. It’s a self-inflicted pressure, and admittedly impractical.

The reality of our life at this moment is a mix of all of those, shifting in priority and focus at any given time. Once I found out we were moving, part of the reason I was sad is because I knew it meant that we could no longer hold still and enjoy life; it meant the stress and to-dos were starting all again, complete with a ramp-up in my anxiety that sometimes has me worrying so much about what needs done that I’m just spinning in circles.

I’m trying to look at the positives. There is an opportunity for us to look for a new house, maybe back in Tosa or nearby. We get to see our family again, not just once a year, but many times a year. We can be back and see our nieces and nephews play sports, graduate high school, make memories with our kids. We get Jack back! (I’m not sure he will be as giddy as we are; I know he has been quite pampered and spoiled. 😉 ) We get to see our friends again. We will figure out what the boys love to do back in America, explore where my career will take me, and Tim can focus wholeheartedly on his new job. We get to create the next version of home. Our next chapter is unwritten, and that is scary but exciting.

But the sadness is there. When we were leaving to move here and we had to say goodbye to loved ones, we knew we’d be back. And now, saying goodbye to friends here feels heavy, more permanent. We are planning to come back for a visit next summer, fingers crossed, but we know we won’t be able to make it a frequent thing. But the roots are planted. The bonds are formed. And like a wonderful book, I hate to see it end but am so grateful for it.