We closed on the condo June 30. But really, this whole thing started on May 30 — when we made the offer and locked ourselves into a 30-day closing window. Because of course we did.
Nine days later, my mom died. Not Completely unplanned, she was on hospice and at the end of her Lewy body dementia. Nursing home staff found she had passed during rounds after an uneventful day. I never thought I’d be organizing a move and mourning in the same breath, but there I was. Toggling between movers and grief and inventory and my poor dad and wire transfers and how’s my siblings grief and can I just sleep for more than 4 hours and oh, yeah, I live with a man—he’s the most important but gets bumped to the least more often than I’m proud of. Shipping…payroll…titles…grandsons…in-laws…mourning the biggest loss of my life…moving to a new home on the Lake of the Ozarks..what more can we pile on?
By the time we moved in, I was already un-fucking-believably tired. But life doesn’t pause just because your heart is broken and your soul is crying hidden in the black corner of your gut. Within an hour of being alone, we argued and he left—I couldn’t find something and forgot to have the movers unload my car…I unloaded my car alone, and stood on the deck by myself thinking about how proud my mom would be. And how, at 83, dad probably would never see my new home.
A week after the move, CliffHouse picked up a new TMG industrial dealership. That should’ve been exciting — and it is — but it hit us like a freight train. The marketing, the logistics, the meetings, the pressure. None of it waited.
Now, weeks later, I’m still trying to find mail. I don’t know which gate code goes out where. I’m trying to establish a home office while arguing with (and also deeply loving) my partner. L and I pass each other in silence sometimes — not because we’re angry, but because we’re maxed out.
I’m learning the complex. Trying to meet neighbors. Trying to remember what normal used to feel like — before the boxes, before the dealership, before my mother’s voice went quiet.
Meanwhile I’m wearing a dozen hats:
- CFO
- Marketing lead
- Domestic coordinator
- Grief survivor
- Grandmother
And in none of those roles do I feel like I’m doing it right.
This isn’t a Pinterest post.
This isn’t an inspirational wrap-up.
This is The Real Deal.
I’m writing it because I don’t want to forget how hard this was. I don’t want to pretend it was all smooth when one day I look back and only remember the lake view.
Here’s what I know right now:
- You can grieve and launch something new at the same time.
- You can love your partner and want to scream at them in the same moment.
- You can build a beautiful new home while feeling emotionally homeless. Cuz that’s exactly how I feel.
- You can do too much — and still wake up and try again.
If you’re reading this in your own version of “too much” — welcome. You’re not alone.
We moved. And then everything else happened too. And somehow, we’re still here.
- #TheRealDeal
- #RebuiltFromTheLakeUp
- #WomenWhoBuild
- #MidlifeReinvention
- #FromNurseToBulldozers
- #GriefAndGrowth
- #WeMovedAndIMelted
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