The Walls May Have Changed, But the Love Hasn't

Putting my new e-bike together!

On Sunday, we turned in the keys to our rental home.

It was just a house, I suppose. But it was also so much more.

It was the place where our blended family came together. A place filled with teenage energy, chaos, laughter, growth, and surprisingly, a lot of peace.

It was the place where I always knew Hunter was home by the sound of his boots crossing the hardwood floors and whatever delicious smell was coming from the kitchen.

It was the place where Dalton's room was right next to ours. I'll miss hearing him gaming with friends through the thin walls at two in the morning. I'll miss how all the kids somehow decided midnight was the perfect time to do laundry, leaving the washer perpetually off balance. The laundry room was right outside our closet, and there was no escaping it.

I'll miss Campbell knocking on our bedroom door just to say hello, a small gesture that somehow made our whole day. I'll miss walking past Jaynie's room and hearing her call out, "Luma!" with a smile on her face.

Closing this chapter has been more emotional than I expected.

There are moments when I wish I could go back and have those days again. But lately I've realized that I do still have them. Not in the same way. Not within the walls of that house. But in my heart.

The memories didn't stay behind when we handed over the keys.

What's most important is that all four kids are exactly where they should be. Two have just completed their first year of college and did it beautifully. One is heading off to college in August. One is preparing for her senior year of high school.

They still need us.

Just not in the same ways they once did.

And that's okay.

Moving to Vancouver, Washington has been hard. It's three hours from almost everything I've known for years. Three hours from most of the kids. Three hours from the life that felt familiar.

Some days that feels scary.

I can't be there for every little moment anymore. I can't be the first person to solve every problem or witness every milestone as it happens.

But caregiving doesn't end when children grow up. Motherhood doesn't disappear because miles separate us. It just changes.

The truth is that I am still their mom. I am still a safe place. I am still a phone call away. I am still cheering them on, worrying about them, celebrating them, and loving them with every part of me.

Just because I'm not physically there doesn't change any of that.

The truth is, this is probably just preparing me for empty nesting a little sooner than I planned.

For more than twenty-five years, so much of my identity has been wrapped up in being a mom, an advocate, a caregiver, and often the person everyone counted on. And while those parts of me will always exist, this season is inviting me to discover who I am beyond those roles.

It's an opportunity to explore my creativity. To follow my curiosity. To embrace a little whimsy and find joy in unexpected places.

If you had told me a few years ago that I'd be happily riding the most grandma-looking bike imaginable around my neighborhood, I would have laughed. (Those of you who have seen me ride a bike will understand.) If you had told me we'd have a full-size Ms. Pac-Man arcade machine in our bonus room—Bergen's lifelong dream—I probably would have laughed at that too.

And yet, here we are.

Bergen and her new Ms PacMan arcade game.

Somehow this strange, beautiful, unexpected life has become my reality, and I'm completely here for it.

As hard as this transition has been for me, I know I'm not the only one navigating change.

Our kids are too.

They're learning how to build lives of their own while still staying connected to the people and places they love. They're figuring out independence, responsibility, relationships, and who they want to become.

In many ways, we're all doing the same thing.

We're learning that family isn't a house. It isn't a bedroom down the hall or hearing someone start a load of laundry at midnight. Family is the connection we carry with us wherever we go.

The walls may have changed, but the love hasn't.

If anything, this new chapter is showing me that love evolves right alongside us.

I've been through some incredibly hard things in my life. Parenting children with disabilities. Advocacy battles. Grief. Loss. Divorce. Coming out later in life.

But in many ways, this year has stretched me more than any other.

Not because anything terrible happened, but because I've been learning how to see motherhood and caregiving differently—and how to see myself differently. I've been learning how to do less. How to stop measuring my worth by how much I accomplish, how many problems I solve, or how well I take care of everyone else.

For so much of my life, I've been known as the person who could juggle it all. The one who could hold everything together, manage the details, solve the problems, and keep moving forward.

But these days, I'm less interested in doing it all and more interested in simply being.

Being present. Being joyful. Being creative. Being the sensitive, loving, slightly whimsical woman who is emerging in this next chapter of life.

I've been learning how to listen to my heart.

How to find joy, peace, and love within myself instead of earning it through being a good mom, wife, daughter, friend, or professional.

The world feels a little upside down right now.

But honestly? I'm beginning to think that's okay.

Sometimes things have to be turned upside down before we can see them from a new perspective.

And maybe that's what this chapter is about.

Not letting go of the people I love, but finding myself again while loving them from a different place.

For years, I wondered what I would do with myself once the kids went to college.

Now I know.

I'll be riding my new bike around the neighborhood. I'll be playing Ms. Pac-Man and working on Legos and puzzles. I'll be discovering new parts of myself, following my curiosity, and embracing a little more whimsy than I ever thought I would. And, who knows - maybe I'll even pull out my violin again.

I'll be loving my kids from afar, smiling when they call, and visiting them whenever I can.

And I'll be cheering them on as they build lives of their own.

Because the truth is, I haven't lost anything.

My family is still here.

We're simply growing into the next chapter together.

For those of you who are embracing similar changes, whether it's children growing up, a move, a new chapter, or simply becoming a different version of yourself, I hope you'll give yourself grace.

The walls may change. The routines may change. Even the roles we hold most dear may evolve.

But love has a remarkable way of growing right alongside us.

And perhaps the greatest surprise is discovering that there is still so much joy waiting to find us in the chapters ahead.