The movers are back today. Most of the big stuff went yesterday - the household furniture, the appliances, the patio furniture, the kids' trampoline. Today it's clothes, boxes and the decor.
I watch them as they move to and fro, coming and going. I make sure they are handling the hanging pictures with care. As much as they're getting paid I want to make sure they're doing it right. I don't want anything damaged. The things in this house made it a "home". A home where laughter and love dominated; where family meals were eaten at the table, the kids' art hung on the fridge with pride, where memories were made. This was a safe place. At least it was supposed to be safe. No longer is it safe.
The movers talk as they work, mostly about their lives - what happened at one kid's Little League game, how another one is doing in school; harmless, every day things. I want to brag on my kids, too, but I don't talk to them.
The kids are not here; they are with my parents for the time being until everything is settled. It's a lot for them to go through. Their lives will never be the same. I should be there with them, but I felt I should be watchful of the movers. They are in good hands with my parents, there really is no need to worry. But a mother always worries.
My husband comes in as the movers are finishing up. I feel a twinge as I see him. I know he was sitting in the car, waiting until the movers were nearly finished. He didn't want to be in the house any longer than he needed. He looks tired. So very tired. I know this has taken a real toll on him. Things like this are never easy. He goes through every room in the house to make sure nothing is forgotten. I hear him upstairs opening and closing doors and drawers, ensuring nothing is left behind. I watch him come down the stairs. He hasn't looked at me since the intruder. He repeats the same process downstairs.
"Sir? We've loaded everything up. Is there anything else?"
"No, no that should be everything. I will meet you there."
My husband stands at the kitchen island, across from me, crying silently. I want to tell him everything will be okay but can I really promise that? I walk with him to the front door, watch him lock it, and walk with him to the car. Sitting in the car he looks past me at the house. He sits that way for some time, crying.
Oh how I wish he could see me.