A couple of nights ago, I had a dream about the old house. I knew it was inevitable. In the dream, the dutch door was half open (top half, obviously) and I opened the bottom and ran into the house. I felt like my heart was exploding with joy. I was running in to my family, who I knew were in there waiting for me.
I made it about 8 steps into the house, and it was empty. It was just the same way we left it on the last day, on August 31, empty.
I was standing in front of the giant kitchen hearth, and I felt the sadness just drain from me. I felt wave after wave of unbelievable loss.
Waking up from this, right at that moment... I felt the loss in my heart while the dogs and Doug all snored softly around me, in my same bed from that house, my same sheets, my same pillows. My same everything.
And I thought about how you can really see a lot more stars here at this house, when standing out in the yard, you can actually see the Milky Way. That is kind of cool. But when I am in my bed, I can't look out the window above my head and see Orion guarding me, as my bedroom is on the total wrong side of the house.
These things shouldn't bother me.
But they really do.