Are we there yet?

This is the face of shock and utter delight when I saw that our moving truck had FINALLY arrived

Two weeks to the day after we arrived in New Jersey, the moving truck finally arrived with our home inside of it. I stood near the front door for hours making sure each box and piece of furniture was delivered to it’s correct place. Thriving on organization, I had placed a sign on each door that matched how I had labeled each box so there were only certain items that needed more direction. 

“That bookshelf goes to Jackson’s room”

“That rug goes to the basement”

“The IV pole goes to Adelaide’s room…”

Every time something of Adelaide’s came in the door I took a deep breath, hoping that the intake of oxygen would release the tightening in my chest. Her things were here, but there was no little girl to own them. Did the movers wonder where Adelaide was? Had they put it together that she was gone? It didn’t matter of course what they knew or thought - that was my anxiety taking control of my brain. Anxiety often has no visible symptoms so I was able to stand there making jokes with the movers while inside I wondered if this was what a mild heart attack felt like. My hands were shaking at my side. Several times it was all just too much and I went upstairs for an emotional and mental break. A little medication, some water and a few deep breaths later and I resumed my post near the front door. Finally, our stuff was all in, the movers were gone and we were left to navigate the great unpacking. Yet, I still found myself asking a familiar question, “are we there yet?”

I had hoped that having our belongings in our house would be the miracle salve to soothe my emotional wounds. And it did help some: unpacking has a kept me busy, I am no longer worried about if our belongings will ever arrive, and goodness knows I enjoy a good organizational task. The biting edge has dulled but even as our home is unpacked that nagging thought persisted.

Even before COVID, Miguel and I knew that 2020 was going to be a year of waiting for our family. We were waiting for Miguel to start in Hamilton on Broadway, then we were waiting for each visit that would reunite our family. Waiting for school to be over, for one last summer in Chicago, for Jackson and I to move to New Jersey to join Miguel. Physically, emotionally, logistically, basically in every way possible, 2020 was going to be a transitional year, a year of waiting, for the Cervantes. COVID just heightened it all a touch - and by a touch I really mean as if 2020 took the gnarliest steroids imaginable.

Pre-COVID, I thought ‘there’ was finally relocating to New Jersey and beginning this next chapter. But now we’re here in NJ, together as a family, reunited with our belongings and I’m still wondering, “are we there yet?”. 

A cake from dear friends

Sure, Ralph Waldo Emerson reminded us that “Life is a journey, not a destination”, but wouldn’t it be nice if there were like, I don’t know, confetti, balloons and more parties along the way? When we’re younger we have milestones to celebrate, (and inchstones too, of course). But as we get older those milestones are spread further and further apart. We don’t celebrate cross country moves culminating a major life journey the same way we do a graduation - but maybe we should. 

While we were waiting for the moving truck to arrive we painted and did shopping for the house. Each day, my mom and aunt would look around and comment on how much we had accomplished and wasn’t it amazing. I was too depressed, anxious and overwhelmed to give it much thought but you know what, they were right! We did get a lot done while we were waiting for the truck, and since it’s arrived we’ve gotten a lot unpacked. We managed the pending sale of our condo in Chicago, a cross-country move and virtual learning before that. Actually the more I think about it, I learned, accomplished, celebrated and grieved more in the last four years than I ever did during high school or college. 

So, tonight, I am throwing our family our own graduation party. A life graduation of sorts. Because we earned it and deserve it. Maybe then I won’t feel like I need to keep asking if I’m ‘there’ yet, because I don’t need to be wherever my anxiety thinks the fictitious ‘there’ is. Right now, I’m right where I’m supposed to be: with my family, with our things, with our memories of our Adelaidey baby. I’ll drink to that tonight and invite you to join us in celebrating being right where you are too.