Even before Derek passed away last week I had decided that I needed to move.  It was as much a financial decision as an emotional one.  After Derek moved back to his hometown, it was painfully clear that I didn't need a three bedroom, two bath apartment.  On top of not needing all the space and not wanting to pay for a place this big, the apartment his haunted by memories — ghosts of a life now behind me.

Derek was sick long before we moved here in April of 2003.  In fact, the move was doubly difficult because I had to do all of the work.  I'm not complaing, mind you, as Derek was ill and not able to do more than drive between the two apartments.  After his car accident a few days after we moved, Derek's condition went downhill rapidly until he was hospitalized later in the year.

So this apartment is full of those memories — the ghosts of our last move together, forever marking a turning point in the time we had left; the thoughts of his failing health and the then present knowledge of where it would lead him; the idea that we both liked this place when we chose it, yet I was the only one who really used it because Derek spent most of the time in the hospital; and the clear and indisputable truth that I knew, even back then, that, when our lease ended here, Derek would probably be gone.

I can barely sleep now, haunted nightly by the life we had together before we moved here.  Every time I walk into this place I am reminded of what has been lost.  It's increasingly difficult not to cry when I'm here as I look around me and am assaulted by constant reminders of Derek.  There's the bedroom where his hospital bed is, the place where he spent most of the time when he was here.  There's his office, the room that he only used for a few weeks before being hospitalized and, after that, unable to get his wheelchair into the room because of his desk and other furniture, it remained unused.  There's the bathroom that Jenny and I spent an entire day cleaning after Derek was hospitalized because his body had literally begun to fall apart in there.  There's the kitchen that Derek loved so much despite the fact that he couldn't cook.  There's the patio he adored because of the view but couldn't use when he was home from the hospital briefly because his wheelchair couldn't get out the door and around the corner.  There's the living room where we would sit for hours watching favorite movies, television programs, chatting with each other about work and life, playing with The Kids, reading (each our own thing, of course), eating, and generally spending time together.  There's the long walk from the parking garage — the walk that he could barely make when we moved in and couldn't make shortly thereafter.  And the list goes on…

I am besieged at every moment that I am here, besieged by memories of what was, besieged by the ghosts of a life now behind me, inundated by the images of someone taken too early from this world.

I cannot remain in this place.

So I went apartment hunting recently, looking only for something temporary until I get my feet back under me and my life back on track.  After spending two years caring for Derek and keeping him alive and dedicating my life to his well-being, it's difficult for me to know where to begin to get back to living, but moving out of here is the first step.

I found a place — a nice little one bedroom flat with an attached garage that is just around the corner from where we are (meaning I don't have to leave the neighborhood I love so much).  Because I'm focusing on getting rid of so much of the furnishings that we shared (only because I need desperately to put that behind me and to move on with my own life), I don't need much room right now.  The place is about 760 sqaure feet and will work just fine for the next six months.  It'll be a place where I can work on getting back on top of things, getting my life together again, refocusing my efforts on living rather than on caring for someone who is terminally ill.

I'm going to sign the lease on the new place on Wednesday.  Once that's done, I'm trying everything in my power to move by next weekend.  As of right now, that appears to be entirely doable.

I'm naturally worried about The Kids.  Cats like routine, normalcy, dependability.  Moving is always so hard on them (especially Kako due to her tendency to develop urinary tract infections).  I'll have to keep a close eye on them as cats don't respond well to stress.  I'll be spending extra time with them to assure them that I am not leaving.

You should expect me to be offline for at least a few days starting on Friday.  I hope to be back online by Sunday at the latest.

I step out into eternity…