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…… mixed feelings.

Today I close on an apartment. After 10 years (and a hurl-inducing amount of rent payments) I decided to purchase. I’ve spent months looking online and in person. It’s taken months to get to this closing. (Buying a home in NYC is NOT like buying one in Texas. It’s complicated. Very complicated.)

People keep asking me if I’m excited.
I can’t say that I am.
I have mixed feelings.
It’s bittersweet, like so much has been over the past 15 years.

I’ve been in the same building these 10 years.
I’ve made good friends.
I love the people who work here.
To say that I will miss being here, next to Central Park and across from Lincoln Center is an understatement.

I’m moving to a totally different area of the city.
At first I didn’t want that.
But then I figured that it’s time to learn a new part of the city.
And so I will.

It’s not excitement that I feel, exactly.
It’s more like hope.
Hope that I’m not making a huge mistake.
Hope that this apartment will truly feel like home to me.
Hope that interest rates will go back down and I can re-finance. 😉
Hope that nothing breaks down for a least a year.
Hope that I’m going to absolutely love living in this place.

So much hope.
That word has guided me since Jim’s death.
Hope.
It’s a small world but it holds so very much.

Hope was waiting for me as I walked through the Valley of Death.
It was a long walk.
Hope helped me believe that my kids would be alright.
Beyond alright.
Hope helped me find so many wonderful friends on this same path.
Lifelong friends.

Hope brought me here to NY.
Hope helped me find new friends.
Lifelong friends.
Hope had a big part in bringing me grandchildren.
Hope is a pretty calming companion.

Hope is like a living being.
It can be very, very small and then morph into something very, very huge.
It ebbs and flows.
Sometimes it seems to disappear completely, but it doesn’t really.
It just waits for us to be ready to see it again.
It’s always there.
Waiting.

So, I have hope.
I also have some sadness, trepidation and melancholy.
Mixed feelings.
My life has been full of mixed feelings since Jim died.
And that’s as it should be.
Hopefully.

15.
It’s  a substantial number, right?

15!!
I mean, it’s not a huge number (depending on one’s perspective) but it’s certainly a number worth celebrating.

Usually.

15.
The fifteenth year that I have blogged about this date.
The fifteenth year that the tears have come.
The fifteenth year that my children have not had their father.
The fifteenth year his friends and family have missed his presence.
The fifteenth year that I’ve lived (depending on one’s perspective) with an ache in my heart. The severity has dimmed but the ache is still there.

15.
It’s a number that can seem like eons.
It’s a number that can be gone in a flash.
It’s a number that can seem like nothing.
It’s a number that seems unfathomable.

15.
The number of years my children have pushed forward, even after having fallen back.
The number of years where many friends became so much more.
The number of years I’ve wandered, trying new places, people and food.
The number of years my heart has continued to grow and love new friends, who became so much more.

Yes, 15 is a substantial number.

But there are others.

5.
The number of years it took me to remember that Jim and I had talked about moving to NY.

4.
The number of years it took me to give up the fight and follow my heart to NY full time.

8.
The number of years I’ve been a Gigi.

9.
The number of sons and daughters I now have, thanks to my children.

10.
The number of years I’ve lived in NY.

27.
The number of years I had Jim.

48.
The number of years (minus 3 weeks) he lived and the number of years he impacted people.

15.
The number of years I have survived, strengthened, grown, messed up and kept going.

Forever.
The number of years I’ll love him.