the courage to lose sight of the shore (part 4)

wow.

though the written word is how i best express myself,
it is hard to explain what the last 12 days have felt like.
(especially the last three.)

this venture has been extremely hard in many different ways,
and nine solid days of packing up our lives was exhausting.
but the last three days have been a true test of our fortitude.

day 1 of the shipping fiasco (monday 10/10):

we were completely ready, at 9 a.m. as scheduled,
with our 606 items carefully labeled/numbered/recorded
and our moving crew on time,
waiting for our container to arrive at our home.
then my husband received an email,
stating that it had been “delayed.”

unaware at this point of the overall impact, we thought
“oh well, nothing’s been easy so far about this move. why start now?!”

but then more emails came.
“trying to locate a container.”
and “held up at the port in seattle.”
(seattle is six hours away.)

we live in a small town, and our movers were only available that day,
then booked for the next three weeks.
we needed the ramp that only they could provide,
and we lacked the manpower in numbers.

so the shipping company said they’d send a truck from spokane,
which would be loaded and driven to seattle,
where the contents would be transferred to the container.
i wanted to scream “NO! NO! NO!”

because what was vitally important to us was monitoring the packing,
then sealing the container here, at our house.
our assurance that no one had touched it throughout its journey.

and now we had to trust.
that it would all be correctly transferred,
that the loading would all go smoothly a second time.
without damage, without lost or stolen goods.

we had everything carefully planned out,
down to which room we’d pack in which order.
with special attention given to my husband’s baby grand piano.

and then this.
but we had no choice.

so the moving crew did what they could and left,
saying they’d come back if/when necessary.
finally, three hours later, an email.
“the truck will be there in an hour.”
our movers came back and waited in front of our house.

the truck eventually arrived, in two hours,
and the loading began.

the driver said he didn’t know where he was supposed to take it.
he needed a bill of lading that no one seemed able to provide.
(our inventory sufficed.)
on and on and on.

trusting all of our belongings to apparently unsure hands.
would we ever see our stuff again?

the local crew did a wonderful job packing the truck.
they worked and worked (after being delayed five hours).
and finished up the job around 7 p.m.

the truck took off for seattle,
and we were told the contents would be transferred
the next morning at 6:30 a.m.
we could only hope everything would go smoothly.

day 2 of the shipping fiasco (tuesday 10/11):

feeling stiff and sore, all over my body.
feeling tired and depleted as well.
trying to do normal life in our new empty spaces,
waiting to hear that the transfer had taken place.

we soon found out, however, that the warehouse didn’t have any idea
what the driver was bringing when he arrived.
so the truck sat all day with our stuff inside.

then things got even messier.
a woman from the trucking company called my husband
complaining that the truck had missed its next delivery,
insisting that we would be paying for the delay costs,
threatening to just dump our stuff “somewhere.”

this whole ordeal was especially hard because of my husband’s efforts.
he worked so hard, researching and reading hundreds of reviews.
meticulously planning each step.

things felt unreal, surreal, yet were unfortunately very real.
would our stuff get transferred properly? completely?
no clue.

our fortune cookies at dinner:

day 3 of the shipping fiasco (wednesday 10/12):

as of 9:00 a.m., our shipment had been “loaded into a container.”
sincerely hoping this was true,
but we were told the same thing yesterday
and it hadn’t happened.

several different places involved now.
the shipping company, the trucking company, the warehouse,
the loading company, the port of seattle.
in conflict with each other, blaming each other.

final email at 10:22 a.m.:
“your seal number was used to seal your container.
it is currently in transit to the port.”
okay.
we’ll take that.

throughout the entire three days,
trying to breathe and keep the end goal in mind.

i know it’s just stuff.
but it’s my stuff.
and it’s not the furniture or clothes or kitchen appliances or piano
that i’m worried about.
it’s the lifetime of irreplaceable memories.
my journals, my sons’ baby blankets, my books.
our photos, the letters from my mom.

problems, problems, problems.
visas, pets, shippers.
moving internationally,
and orchestrating all of the details entirely on one’s own,
is not for the faint of heart.

let me just say that i am so so proud.
of my strong determined husband.
and of myself.

we’ve both been willing to step outside the safe and comfortable box,
and push ourselves beyond imagined limits.

“don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life.”
(robin sharma)

but last night, for the first time since this adventure began,
i had to admit that i felt a bit defeated.
physically collapsed, emotionally emptied, mentally drained.
and then i got one of the worst nosebleeds of my life.

our shipping company is based in north carolina.
and so, on top of other obstacles to this process,
their offices are closed due to the hurricane.
it’s been difficult to communicate back and forth,
with no one there to answer the telephones.

as i sat there, mopping up the blood
and wondering if we’d ever see our worldly belongings again,
it suddenly hit me.

“oh yes, the devastating hurricane.”
hurricane matthew, that’s not only destroyed people’s homes,
but taken many lives as well.

and i began thinking of other battles that have consumed, shattered.
much more devastating battles than mine.
most of all, my mom’s valiant fight with cancer and ultimate death.

sometimes we simply have no control.
and we must accept that.

moving to another continent is NOT a light undertaking.
logistically, physically, mentally, emotionally.

and you know what?
i’m scared about what’s still to come.

but you know what else?
it will be okay.
i will be okay.
and my husband and i are one united front.

for now, living minimally.
facing each day together.
still laughing and loving.

 
 
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