SUZANNE TATE: Trading Old Memories In Norfolk For New Ones Here

By the time you read these words, I should be moved into my new home in Bristol, Va., and most of the stress should be behind me.

As I write this, I am stopping after nearly every sentence to respond to calls from the moving company, or to call about our utilities, or to answer text messages from my husband, who is coordinating our move from Norfolk to Bristol with a dog underfoot and in a downpour.

The movers came later than expected on Tuesday. Then the sky opened up and our things were getting wet.

They r being paid 2 move it. Let them get wet. Just try 2 relax. Ily: was my last text message response.

Truth is, there wasn’t a thing I could do from here. I came out here ahead of my husband barely four weeks ago. I made a dent in the packing, but the wrap-up was left to him. I got all my children’s possessions packed – clothes, toys, bedding, books and games. Ditto for the crystal, china, glassware and nearly all our books. I did a rush job on my own things a day or two before I drove across Virginia on my own. My husband was left to finish everything else – the kitchen, living room and den, outdoor furniture, basketball goal, plus all his own clothes and belongings.

About 70 percent of our stuff is loaded, he just texted. By the way, the rain has stopped. Thank goodness.

And did I mention that I needed him to clean out our closet? And the attic. And the garage. And break down the computer. And would he mind to mow the grass one more time? And can you fix that old TV because I’d hate to throw it out? And gosh we have a lot of stuff, maybe we should have a yard sale.

I stopped short of actually asking my husband to do such a thing because I figured he would run away screaming. I actually want him to come to Bristol. If moving is one of the most stressful things in life, it’s only made worse when you are trying to do it across hundreds of miles and without your spouse.

For almost four weeks, I’ve been living in an apartment in Kingsport, Tenn., trying to get acclimated to my new job, find a new house for us, coordinate plans with him and stay reasonably positive. I haven’t been a screaming success on all fronts. He’s been working full time and packing when he isn’t at work. We’re both glad this is coming to an end – we have a house, the movers have a destination, we have a plan.

So I told him to use his own judgment on what to keep and what to pitch. If I needed it, I would have already packed it. If it’s been in the attic for three years, I can survive without it. Toss it and I’ll probably never know.

It got quieter into the afternoon on packing day, then before 6 p.m. he sent a simple message: We are done and movers are leaving. Whew, I was glad to hear it.

A few minutes later, he sent me a photo taken inside our empty house and another of the moving truck pulling away. Both brought tears to my eyes. I thought of trimming Christmas trees in that house and decorating birthday cakes that looked like dragons or volcanoes. I remembered working in the flower beds with my sons and later cutting the zinnias we had planted from seed. I remembered my son and husband choosing our dog from the pound more than two years ago. I thought of my daughter, sunning herself in the yard; or the boys wetting a line in the river.

We had many great memories in that house and were blessed to have great neighbors and friends during our time in Norfolk. My children were deeply loved by our next-door neighbors, and, of course, by their grandparents who were just around the corner. It is my native home, and it felt like home when we lived there.

An old acquaintance called me on moving day to ask a favor and to welcome me back. “I know Norfolk is your native home,” she said, “but I think this is your real home, your chosen home.” Those words were a gift.

Soon our new house will feel comfortable and familiar, the two requirements of any place called home. I’ll feel that way once I unpack a few more boxes and scatter a few zinnia seeds.

Suzanne Tate is the opinion page editor at the Bristol Herald Courier and can be reached at or (276) 645-2534.